The History of Music, from the Very Beginning to Now. The 11th of February, 2014, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre

Floating in space, hurtling around an insignificant ball of gas we call a star, a tiny little planet spins soundlessly in the vacuum of space.  Third one out, with a little satellite of it's own, the blue green planet tracks through space, circling the star again and again.  Life started on this planet millions of years ago, and the creatures and plants hum through the business of living and dying, over and over again.

There emerged, on this planet, a species of ape that, after millions of years of changing, growing, and moving grew a brain.  From this brain there came communication, really good communication, the transfer of ideas.  Maybe then came the recognition of patterns--patterns of time, as season followed season, as day followed night followed day followed night, patterns of light, of colour, and patterns of sound.  Then the ape became something called human.  And this human had hands, and fingers, and it made patterns, patterns of colour, patterns of light, and this ape had ears, and it could hear patterns of sound, and with it's hands, one day, it discovered it could make patterns of sound as well.  Humans could sing, and the singing was good.  Humans could clap, and bang and stomp, and that was good, and when some sang, and others clapped, some danced, and that was good.  With their hands humans could make marks, and shapes, and put sound and language into sight, into pictures and symbols.  Humans found they could make these patterns of sound into sight, into patterns of marks, and then there was music--and the music was good.  Music travelled, and music changed and music grew, and everywhere the human went, music followed, and that was magic.

Humans built, and the humans made objects, and some of those objects made music, and one day a human made an object that made music, and that object was called the guitar, and the guitar was good.  Years past and the human was clever, and a human learnt to capture sound, and recording was born, and recording was wonderful, and the record was born, and the record was amazing.  Humans  were really clever, and humans captured movement, and they put captured movement with captured sound, and that was good.  Humans made radio, and humans made television, and that was mostly good.  The humans made electricity, and humans learnt how to make sound with electricity, and then the electric guitar was born, and it was very good.

On Thursday, the 9th of May, in 1974, a human who bore the name of John Landau, went to a rock show where a very particular human was singing, and performing with an electric guitar.  Very soon after, that human brain, full of promise, and all the full weight of the legacy of the human past, put symbols together--all that history of scratching, and all those discoveries  stretched across the centuries, and all those nights and days of the making of sounds, of the moulding and shaping of hand, and eye, and ear, and brain met and melted and burst, and Landau declared:

"Last Thursday , at the Harvard Square theatre, I saw my rock 'n' roll past flash before my eyes.  And I saw something else: I saw rock and roll future and its name is Bruce Springsteen.  And on a night when I needed to feel young, he made me feel like I was hearing music for the very first time."

The time passed, the years turned, and music came and went, and people danced, and people sang, and people bought records.  People watched television, and people watched music, and people watched music on television.  People listened to music.

In 1984 on an ordinary day, an ordinary human walked into an ordinary store selling very ordinary take-away food.  In that ordinary store, up on a shelf sat an ordinary single speaker radio, and at that very moment, that radio played a very particular recorded song, it was called "Dancing in the Dark" and that moment was very good.

In 1985 that human got his hands on an album, and that album was called "Born in the U.S.A." and that moment was good.And the years went by, and the human bought many albums, and they were all good.

On the 11th of February, 2014--just last night, that human went to a concert to see Bruce Springsteen, and that was amazingly awesomely unbelievable.

The day saw the temperature rise above 40C for the twelfth time that summer, an all time record.  The air was still hot, and, sitting on the scooter, I lifted my visor at every red light to get a little relief from the stifling heat inside the helmet.  I made my way to Port Road, excitement racing through me.  For some reason, the only song I could think of, while I was riding along the road, was Dire Straits' "Telegraph Road."  In my head I saw the yellow concert ticket peeking out the top of my wallet that sat in the top box, behind me. I throttled the scooter around the corner, looking for a place to park, trying to avoid the steep parking fees they charged at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre.  I was thankful for my motorbike license, as I saw a row of cars, angle parked.  Next to the first car was a white triangular space, out of bounds for a car, but perfect for parking the scooter.  With the bike parked, my jacket packed with my helmet,  I made my way down the street, towards the Centre.  People in small groups hummed and buzzed along, no doubt we all shared a common destination.  I glimpsed people in Springsteen T-shirts, and there was no doubt about where they were going.

The mouth of the Entertainment Centre opened wide to swallow the steady stream of people presenting tickets.  A bright LED hoarding above the long line of glass doors flashed upcoming shows.  Once inside I made my way to the merchandise counter, and bought a shirt and the USB wristband that, in a few days I would be able to fill up with a complete recording of tonight's performance.

People moved about, but, while it was busy, the crowd was easy to move through, and I made my way to the entry gate, and then up to my seat.Slowly, achingly slowly, the seats filled up.  Tonight was a sell-out, a full house.  Months ago, we waited in front of the computer as sections were released, slowly, waiting until this seat came up for purchase.  People filed in, and soon there were people all around me.  The sea of red empty seats became a multicoloured quilt of faces.  Down on the stage the road crew moved around, checking microphones, thrashing every now and then on a guitar, or crashing and thumping on the drumkit.  Behind the stage, over the railing, a sign appeared that paid tribute to Clarence "The Big Man" Clemmons, and Danny "The Phantom" Federici, the two members of The E Street Band that were no longer with us.

We had been asked, ages before, to make up signs requesting our favourite song.  I couldn't make up a sign, I couldn't pick just one favourite, though I suppose "Play All Of Them, Bruce" might have sufficed.  When you're a fan of Springsteen, any time you hear a song of his, anywhere, it just reaches you.

The lights went down, and the crowd went wild, and then we heard the man himself, "Why is it so fucking hot here?"  There he was, on stage, guitar in his hands.  He once said the first time he looked in the mirror and liked what he saw was when he was holding a guitar.  Next to him, off to his left, stood "Miami" Steve Van Zandt, dressed for all the world like it was a mild spring day, jacket, scarf around his neck, and a bandana covering his head.  A little further left was Gary W. Tallent, with his bass.  To Bruce's right stood Nils Lofgren, and Tom Morello.  Behind him was "The Professor" Roy Bittan behind a white grand piano; and in the centre of the stage, immovable, solid and thumping sat Max Weinberg, beating and artfully striking his modest drum-kit.  I took in all of this in a split second, and I didn't have to explain a thing to the people around me, they all knew what I knew, and there we were.

This was it, I felt goose bumps run down my body, because this was the first ever true rock concert I had ever been to.  A few years ago I had the amazing experience at the Clipsal 500 RocKwiz concert, where I saw "Born to Run" performed live, for the first time in my life, and that was amazing--but tonight, this was the real thing, the more real thing, the complete immersion and embrace of what music is, what rock and roll is.

I can't give you the sound, I can't give you the amazing breath taking moment in "Tenth Avenue Freeze-out" when pictures of the late great Big Man himself were flashed onto the screens, or the roar of respectful approval that greeted Jake Clemmons every time he took on the task of recreating his uncle's great work on the saxophone.  There was the moment when "Born to Run" surged out into the cavern of the Centre, and we sent it back to him, from the opening chords to the final "whoah oh whoah".

There was a rule, once, that at a concert, all the light had to be thrown onto the stage.  There was a rule, once, that the artist was the act... the performers and the audience were divided, cleft in two.  There was an order, the tight demarcation betwixt us and them.  Fences were put up, walls stood strong and oppressive and the crowd was kept out there.  With the spotlights in their faces, the artists could only see black.  But that is not this night.  There is no wall, as Bruce and Steve and Tom walked down the runway, as Bruce crowd surfed back to the stage, and we were one, we were all, we were undeniably a part of the show.  We needed nothing more than a nominal nod of the head from Steve to rise up off our butts, and dance, and sing, and live... all of us bright, all of us alive.  People held up their signs, asking that Bruce and the band take a little step this way in their song catalogue, or that way.  This was immersion, this was interaction.  There was no set list, at a moment's notice, the band would launch into a song, any song they wanted, any song we wanted.

After two and half hours or so, they wound down, but winding down for the E Street Band means jumping on the gas, song after song being jammed together without a stop, and we were standing, we had been standing, and we weren't about to sit down.

Last century, Tom Morello and the band, Rage Against the Machine completely deconstructed "The Ghost of Tom Joad," and reassembled it as a spitting, growling indictment of big economics.  They put fire and anger behind Bruce's lyrics.  Here, tonight, we felt the licking fire, as Bruce and Tom took us to another place, where we can rail and rant against the greed and deliberate myopia of a bitterly hard world run into the ground by big business, where we will see the character from "The Grapes of Wrath" keeping true to his promise.  And the song never lived like it does tonight.

Then the lights came up, the band took a bow, Jake Clemmons getting every drop of respect and understanding and love he deserved, and they sauntered off... for a moment.  And now we knew we had to pay... if we wanted them back we had to EARN IT, so we yelled, we clapped, we howled, we made noise, we stomped, and then, in the darkness, the man returned with a question:

"Adelaide!  Have you had enough?"

And as one voice we replied, "No!!"

"Have you had enough?"

"No!!"

Satisfied we had earned it, the man gave a nod and the band returned.  And they rocked all over again. "Steve!! I see a request... I see a request!!!"  Bruce yelled, while the band played, and all it took was a point at a sign, a nod of the head and the band launched into "Ramrod" without missing a beat.

Then the band bid us all a goodnight, but Bruce stayed, with his guitar, and his harmonica, and he said goodnight in the best way he could.

"Adelaide," he said quietly, "The E Street Band loves you."

The very last song fluttered and breezed around the auditorium, fully lit, to absolute crystal sharp silence--an acoustic "Thunder Road".

All through the concert, hanging behind the stage from the seats behind the stage, hung a simple, hand painted sign in blue letters on white, and it simply said "Thanks Bruce".  No one could put it better.

And then the Entertainment Centre, having well and truly lived up to its name, emptied, with a buzz, and with thousands of smiling, beaming people.

As the planet turned and hurtled through space, the only planet in the Universe to have seen a Springsteen show, we headed out into the heat, because, although the day had gone, the heat had not.

Adelaide woke up the next morning, still hot, and readying itself for concert number two, but that is someone else's story.