The Church of Bruce (notes)
“Hello, sinners and Concordians!”

It took us two and a half hours to get from my house to the Concord Pavilion. It really is in the middle of nowhere, between unlikely rolling brown hills.

“So where exactly the fuck are we anyway?”

In church, again, with an eighteen piece band—full horn section, 5 guitars, banjo, fiddles, drums, piano, organ, stand-up bass, accordion, percussion.

“San Francisco, I know where that is and that’s like, another country away.”

The weather was perfect, a true summer night, and I have not had this much pure fun, danced so much, loved it so much since Bruce was with E Street at PacBell park, three years ago, or was it four (another warm summer evening, warm, warm memories).

“The accordion is a sexy instrument.”

The sex was back, too. I haven’t seen Bruce this happy or playful since that night at the ballpark, and I’ve seen him three times since then. Transformation and transcendence. It happens to all of us. It happened to me again. It happened to K—, who said seeing Bruce with me was like going to mass with the Pope.

Johnny 99 in Philly-funk.
Ramrod as ska
Atlantic City as Dixieland swing
Devils and Dust as Gospel

The biggest horn sound you’d believe. You do believe.

Politics, anti-war protest, quiet. He hates Bush even more vehemently, now.

“Bring them home.”

Joan Biaz walked in the Pavilion as a fan and sat with the crowd. She got a standing ovation. Later, she danced with Bruce.

In five days, I get to see the show again in Minneapolis. It’s almost too much to take.

(but, I think I can handle it).