Where the Band Was: St. Louis, August 23, 2008

Let’s address the controversy right off the bat:

It’s almost impossible to anoint a “best show ever.” Besides the inherent subjectivity of the reviewer, unless you were actually at “every show ever,” you can’t expect to speak with authority when you declare the king of the heap.

That said: I have yet to meet someone who was at the Scottrade Center in St. Louis on August 23, 2008 and doesn’t consider it the absolute apex of Bruce’s 21st century shows.

But also: I’ve met people who’ve looked at the setlist and listened to the official archive series recording and thought, “meh.”

So what can I tell you, except: I was there, I was in awe from the get-go, and I knew with absolute conviction that this was a show for the ages by the time we were nine songs in–and the show wasn’t anywhere close to cresting.

I’ll admit to something else as well: I was in a foul mood before showtime. My decision to attend the last two shows of the Magic Tour was almost a lark. I thought I was done after the Pacific Northwest swing earlier that year, but by this point, I’d been setlist watching for six years, and I knew Bruce’s penchant for busting open the setlist during the last few weeks of a tour. None of my friends wanted to go with me, so for the very first time, I took the leap and traveled by myself across the country from Seattle on pure faith that I’d have a great show and wouldn’t regret it.

The travel itself was smooth, but on the day of the show, luck threw me a curveball: I lost the GA lottery and missed the pit–by a LOT. I’d been playing the pit lottery for a few years, and I’d had an incredible streak of luck–I hadn’t lost even once. But there were more people on-hand for this lottery than I’d ever seen–clearly word was getting out more effectively–and I was faced with being pretty far back on the floor. So I did something I’d never done before: I bought a seated ticket from a scalper and caught the show from a pretty decent lower level seat. (From that point forward, I’d always protect myself with a seat as “insurance” insurance when trying for the pit–I’ve always been able to resell it if I needed to.)

So yeah, I wasn’t in a great mood before the show: I’d spent more money than I’d planned to, and I’d been spoiled for so long that I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I’d be shut out on the floor. But then, while I was stewing about my rotten luck, I noticed we could hear the sound check… and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing:

“When You Walk in the Room” hadn’t been played in 32 years, and it was one of my favorite covers from the Born to Run Tour bootlegs. My grumpiness vanished instantly–if that was a hint of what was to come, I didn’t care where the heck I was sitting as long as I was in the house.

(That wasn’t the only old-school cover Bruce rehearsed that afternoon–there were two others that I didn’t get to hear, but I wouldn’t learn that until long after the show.)

As the minutes ticked by and it got closer to showtime, I was genuinely excited–and the crowd was on, loud, raucous, in their seats well before showtime and ready to go.

And then the lights went down–and within seconds, we had surprise number one: I was so prepared for and expecting “When You Walk in the Room” that it took me a few seconds to realize that he was playing a different old-school out-take, and this one hadn’t been played for even a longer time. In fact, the very last time it was played was this very same date 33 years prior.

Bruce was opening the show with a cover of The Crystals’ “Then (S)he Kissed Me.”

Holy. Freaking. Moley.

Bruce rocketed from there into “Radio Nowhere,” the usual opener, and then into “Out in the Street,” “Adam Raised a Cain,” and “Spirit in the Night.”

Then it was sign collection time–and there were some great ones down on the floor. I sent silent thanks to my would-be pit comrades and hoped and wished for Bruce to pick the gems. But from my vantage points, the only signs Bruce was grabbing that I could read were for old faithfuls like “Two Hearts,” “Candy’s Room,” and “Backstreets.” Any of them would be wonderful additions to the setlist, but all of them were semi-regulars already. Maybe this wild card block would prove to be a dud?

Then Bruce chose his first sign, and boom: “Rendezvous” — my first time hearing it, and one of my absolute favorites from Tracks.

Next up: “For You,” but before he played it, Bruce put on a mischievous smile and promised that after that song, we’d play “Challenge the Band!” I spent much of the song wondering what was going to happen next.

Here’s what happened next: Bruce kept the next sign close to his vest while he explained that since he’d started taking requests earlier in the tour, fans had gotten pretty “sassy,” trying their best to stump him and the band with obscurity after obscurity. Bruce clearly relished the game, declaring “the elephant never forgets!” And then he revealed not one but two (!) signs for “Mountain of Love.”

Mountain of freaking Love.

My very first bootleg–the one that got me started on this whole obsessions–was the Main Point show from February 5, 1975, and one of my favorite performances from that show was a song I’d never heard before called “Mountain of Love.” I knew it by heart, but I doubted many others did–and Bruce clearly shared my skepticism, muttering “I think we’re going to challenge most of the audience, too…”

Bruce spent so much time figuring out the song with the band that I started to worry he was going to abandon it–but after a long minute or two, they’d worked it out and launched into a perfect performance, as if they’d never stopped playing it after the Born to Run Tour.

We were now eight songs in, and if you counted the soundcheck, I’d already heard three songs that Bruce hadn’t performed in over three decades, and four songs I’d never heard live.

But like I said: Bruce was just getting started. “Backstreets” was next, by request–the first time I’d heard it played so early in the show. Gem after gem after gem.

The show returned to earth after that, but in a show like this, that just meant the surprises were smaller ones: “Gypsy Biker” returned after being absent for almost two months, and while “Because the Night” led to its customary “She’s the One” follow-up, Bruce stunned us with yet another  old-school mini-throwback, teasing us with a little “Not Fade Away” during the “She’s the One” intro like he used to back in the seventies. Bruce was feeling seriously nostalgic, it seemed.

After “Livin’ in the Future,” the band played “Cover Me,” another personal premiere for me (and honestly, one that I could have done without–if I ranked every song Bruce ever released, “Cover Me” would be at the very bottom. But I appreciated the rarity factor, and the crowd ate it up.)

And then after “Mary’s Place,” when I’d long since decided the show couldn’t possibly top the wild card sign requests, Bruce took one more and played my very first “Drive All Night.” I recognized those piano notes instantly, and I was so stunned I couldn’t even react. “Drive All Night” at the time was my most-wished-for song, and even though I knew he recently played it in Europe, I didn’t expect to hear it here. It was absolutely glorious, one of those time-stands-still moments that I remember vividly to this day.

Finally, the show came in for its final approach, finishing the main set with the traditional block of “The Rising,” “Last to Die,” “Long Walk Home,” and “Badlands” (with not one but two false endings). But I had faith that Bruce was going to make sure that the encores measured up to the amazing main set.

First up was “Girls in Their Summer Clothes,” always a highlight for me. But immediately after, Bruce once gain ventured into audible territory, taking a sign request for “Jungleland.”

Let me just pause for a minute and point out: we had by this point had “Backstreets, “Drive All Night,” and “Jungleland” all in one show. Most fans are grateful if they get even one “epic” song per show–we had all three. But that also worried me a bit: usually when “Jungleland” appears in the encores, it essentially takes the place of two songs because of its length. Would this turn out to be an abbreviated encore set? Far from it: Bruce immediately launched into rocking “Detroit Medley,” and since we knew the “Born to Run,” “Dancing in the Dark” and “American Land” standards were sure to follow (they did), it was clear we were getting a full-length encore–maybe even a final song after “American Land,” as Bruce had started to do on this leg.

Well, we didn’t get a final song after “American Land.”

We got three. Bruce just would not stop playing, and we didn’t want him to.

First up: a “Thunder Road” request and dedication, going out to Olympian Michael Phelps.

Then–just when it seemed the band had taken their final bows, Bruce caught a sign for “Little Queenie” in the stands and launched into a loose-as-a-goose rendition that didn’t seem like it would ever end.

Surely that was the end–but no, Bruce had one last dedication to make, this time for Sophie Satanovsky, who was in the stands and caught Bruce’s eye throughout the show. (See the video below for Sophie’s story–one of the classic “Legends of Springsteen” installments.) 

The band exchanged bemused glances–how long exactly was Bruce intending to keep them on-stage? A final “Twist and Shout” later, the show was finally over, but not the night–I wandered into a local bar and relived the show with fellow fans, all of us amazed at what we’d just witnessed.

What made the show so incredible? Hard to say. Certainly the setlist full of rarities, but also the cohesion of it all–remarkable for a show that was half ad libbed. The band was in peak form, playing with ferocity the entire night, and the crowd was on fire from the outset as well. There was also the unexpected factor–I was expecting the closer to be the free-for-all party. The only reason I was even at the St. Louis show was that it was driving distance from Kansas City and on a weekend, so it was easy to do both.

(In later years, I’d notice that the penultimate show is usually stronger than the actual closer, for reasons I’ve never been able to figure out.)

A decade down the road, this show still stands head and shoulders above the many dozens I’ve seen. I’ve seen shows to rival it, but none that surpass it. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years: never bet against Bruce’s ability to top himself.

Oh, and I never did get to hear “When You Walk in the Room” that night. Bruce apparently decided to keep that one in hibernation a bit longer. But coincidentally I’d be there when it did finally make its return on the following tour.

Bonus: Here’s another soundcheck highlight–I’m glad I didn’t hear this one at the time, or it would have spoiled the first surprise.