Diss Express columnist Will Porteous talks Rock ‘n’ Roll
I was around seven or eight when I was first properly plugged into rock ‘n’ roll through the likes of Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley.
In the late 1970s, there was a resurgence under the fostership of the likes of Malcolm McLaren that helped propel the germination of the punk scene and pub rock movement.
I wasn’t aware of this because I was too busy containing tantrums or playing Connect 4. There was a germination of my own taking place, however.
While standing, arms raised, in Hyde Park last week, watching Bruce Springsteen lead 65,000 people into rock ‘n’ roll Valhalla, I had a moment where I tried to pinpoint where this all started.
When The Boss pulls off magic trick after magic trick, pouring down from the heavens of rock ‘n’ roll bounty, you just fall to your knees and give in.
I was momentarily a child again hearing Working on the Highway>res 1< through="" our="" old="" red="" ford="" escort="" on="" an="" already="" well-worn="" tape="">
Feeling the magic and surrender calcifying in my bones at such a young age was always strange. I thought I was alone.
My siblings and parents liked rock ‘n’ roll but they weren’t affected by it like I was. I would spend hours nodding my head on the car seat, sucking my two middle fingers and humming along.
I wanted to unfasten my seat belt and move into the cassette player and touch whatever it was that was moving this thing within me. To me, it was a golden light pulsing out a relentless energy and The Boss always made it sound like a party that you had to be at.
Many years later, when I’d flown to see Tom Petty in New York and had been let down by a lacklustre performance and setlist, I wondered what other Gods there were left that I needed to see.
The Boss was never a cornerstone in my life; Born in The USA had been that album in the Ford Escort, it was part of my soul but that was it.
I saw he was playing at The Emirates and so I booked two tickets. My mum and I had been to see Petty, so why not The Boss?
Fifteen years had gone by since that first show. I knew perhaps four tracks. I know them all now but something happened at that show.
I felt like I’d seen what people saw when Elvis moved for the first time or when Paul Simonon smashed his guitar at The Pallidium, New York.
There was theater and orchestration; a promise you were going to feel something but I didn’t know that. All I knew was something was happening.
When Bruce, mid-set at Hyde Park, began speaking slowly, with a sorrowful smile on his face about lost band mates, the entire crowd drew to a total silence.
He’s the master and prophet of rock ‘n’ roll. He harnesses a tempersome animal in rock ‘n’ roll and guides you to the better parts of your soul.
When the crowd dropped in silence, he invited us to think about lost friends but to reflect on what you are actually doing with your life. Unknowingly, he had you in the palm of his hand.
He’s changed over the years; 15 years ago, he was a more religious based performer and would bring his soul-infused preacher style attributes to the fore.
On his latest tour, he seems more focused on his legacy; the thought that mortality is ever more present.
I personally feel the toxic drift of Covid means we’re still just so grateful to be ‘out’ and that is the silver lining, I suppose. Those of us that are able to get out do so with something driving us; it can all end so unexpectedly.
Last year, I went to see Pearl Jam, again in Hyde Park, with my family. This year, it was more friends, save for my older sister.
Having only ever really seen Bruce alone or with one other, this was special.
Sharing lyrics, jumping like a lunatic and being present enough to allow the emotions to come out during Tenth Avenue Freeze Out was made all the more poignant by having friends and family to share the true experience.
A Springsteen show never leaves you. It’s a genuine subconscious experience that takes you to wherever it is you need to go at that time and place.
I cried as my sister and I hugged and thought about the red Ford Escort and how the summer wind would enhance Born in the USA or Dancing in Dark.
That wind seemed to blow away an awful lot in our lives but perhaps it’s the movement of life; the bittersweet journey we’re all on that tells us to remember where we’ve come from, what warms us and makes us who we are.
Death seemed to feature in Bruce’s set. It seemed to drift around the place but I think that’s what he wanted. Life, death ... it’s an energy and we can’t have one without the other. We have to appreciate one to appreciate the other.
It’s a painful balancing act that can pick you apart and yet, if you can’t see what you’ve got, could disappear in an instant or be reshaped by misfortune.
Rock ‘n’ roll: it’s not to be taken lightly or with a pinch of salt; it’s a gift and no gift should be ignored.
