“…I think when you’re a kid, the things you notice about the circus aren’t the things you’re meant to notice. But those are the things that are fascinating to you. You know what you’re watching, that right underneath it… you’d walk down the midway, but I was always interested in what’s going on down that side alley back by that trailer. And then late at night, if you happened to be stranded there at 11:30, midnight, after it had shut down, it was the province of local hoodlums at the time, and it was really scary for a little boy.”–Bruce Springsteen to Elvis Costello, Spectacle, September 25, 2009
“Wild Billy’s Circus Story” is a stand-out track on Bruce’s second album, but not in a good/bad way. It stands out because it sounds like a holdover from Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J., or even earlier, if you’re familiar with his pre-Columbia recordings.
There’s a reason for that: “Wild Billy” is the earliest-written song on The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle, written in mid-1972 and performed under the name “Circus Song” throughout early 1973 until it morphed into its final lyrics and name in May of that year.
Like much of Bruce’s early songwriting, “Wild Billy” is strong on imagery and short on plot. In fact, if we view it as an impressionistic sonic painting, it’s a true work of art: every verse, every turn of phrase adds a new player to the increasingly vivid scene, and the instrumental track is beautifully and meticulously layered–it would be fair to say choreographed, even–to enhance each particular lyric.
Take a listen (ideally through headphones, if you have them), and hear for yourself.
We don’t even need the lyrics to tell us where we are. Anyone who’s ever been to a circus can feel it from the opening bars. Danny Federici’s accordion provides the signature circus sound, and Garry Tallent’s tuba(!) conjures a stately elephant plodding its way across the scene. All the while, Bruce’s guitar serves as the point-of-view character, our anchor as the activity swirls around us.
As Bruce begins to tell his tale, it’s early, and the circus is quiet. Bruce’s guitar is the only instrumentation we hear as we experience the stillness of a circus with no audience.
The machinist climbs his Ferris wheel like a brave
And the fire eater’s lyin’ in a pool of sweat, victim of the heat wave
Behind the tent, the hired hand tightens his legs on the sword swallower’s blade
And circus town’s on the shortwave
Well, the runway lies ahead like a great false dawn
Whoa, Fat Lady, Big Mama, Missy Bimbo sits in her chair and yawns
At this point, the details start to shift from the mundane to the interesting, and as the scene becomes more vivid, Bruce adds a mandolin (yes, that’s him on the mandolin) to signal us that it’s time to pay attention.
And the man-beast lies in his cage sniffing popcorn
Yeah, the midget licks his fingers and suffers Missy Bimbo’s scorn
The circus town’s been born
The circus town’s been born. That’s Bruce telling us that there are people here now, an audience, and the circus has come to life before its audience. The action picks up now, and Garry’s elephant and Danny’s calliope return to the fore:
Whoa, and a press roll, drummer go, ballerina to-and-fro
Cartwheelin’ up on that tightrope with a cannon blast, lightnin’ flash
Movin’ fast, through the tent, Mars bent, he’s gonna miss his fall
Oh, God save the human cannonball
And the flying Zambinis watch Margarita do her neck twist
And the ringmaster gets the crowd to count along: “Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven”
Shout out to Vini Lopez here: his drumroll (his sole contribution to the song) is perfectly placed, and we are now there under the big top watching Margarita whirl.
And next–so subtle you might completely miss it–the story (such as it is) actually begins, as the circus loses its clown:
A ragged suitcase in his hand, he steals silently away from the circus grounds
And the highway’s haunted by the carnival sounds
They dance like a great greasepaint ghost on the wind
A man in baggy pants, a lonely face, a crazy grin
Runnin’ home to some small Ohio town
Jesus, send some good women to save all your clowns
Bruce’s guitar work is particularly lovely here, almost Latin-tinged and increasingly far-removed from both the circus and observer’s theme as our runaway clown hits the road, abandons the circus life and heads for wherever he remembers as home, hoping to find ties that bind–the one thing circus life can never provide.
We return to the circus now, and as the familiar circus theme resumes, a new player enters the scene–a young man, perhaps even a boy, whose wide-eyed part is played by Bruce’s harmonica.
And circus boy dances like a monkey on barbed wire
And the barker romances with a junkie, she’s got a flat tire
And now the elephants dance real funky, and the band play like a jungle fire
Circus town’s on the live wire
Circus Boy is enamored by the scene. New to it, every detail stands out, nothing is missed. The elephants that seemed plodding to us before are now funky, and even the seedy side of the circus offers romance. And Circus Boy himself seems to have talent.
He watches the scene play out as the evening ages. It’s late now. The crowds are gone, but Circus Boy remains. And the ring master takes note of his fascination.
And the strong man, Sampson, lifts the midget, little Tiny Tim, way up on his shoulders, way up
And carries him on down the midway
Past the kids, past the sailors, to his dimly lit trailer
And the Ferris wheel turns and turns like it ain’t ever gonna stop
And the circus boss leans over, whispers in the little boy’s ear, “Hey son, you wanna try the big top?”
All aboard, Nebraska’s our next stop
Caught up in the mystique, the transient yet endless now of the circus, the Circus Boy is hooked. He joins the circus and our tale ends where it really begins.
Like I mentioned at the top, “Wild Billy’s Circus Story” is more of a painting than a story. In fact, almost right up until the song was recorded (in June 1973), the song didn’t have a story at all.
In its early incarnation, it was called, simply, “Circus Song.” Take a listen to this performance from April 24, 1973 at The Main Point in Bryn Mawr and notice how the lyrics diverge in the second half of the song. Our runaway clown, our circus boy–they never show up. No one leaves, no one joins; and the narrator (not the circus boss) asks if anybody wants to try the big top.
Most interestingly, Bruce extends the final verse in order to riff on the “liars” — the rubes who come to the circus to observe the strange and feel normal by comparison. It’s a pretty deep philosophical metaphor, but it never really comes together, and perhaps that’s why Bruce ultimately abandoned it.
Exactly one week later, on May 1st, Bruce performed the song at the Ahmanson Theater in Los Angeles, and now the song is close to its final form. Circus Boy has made the scene, but our clown hasn’t–there’s no vacancy yet, so the circus boss awkwardly has to whisper into “some little boy’s ear.” Watch the performance below, anyway–it’s remarkable in its recording quality given its age. (I love the popcorn sniff–nice touch.)
By the end of the month, though, Bruce had finished the song–at his radio appearance on WGOE-AM in Richmond (only his second-ever radio appearance) on May 31, 1973, Bruce performed the song in its finished form for the first known time.
Just a few weeks following this performance, Bruce recorded “Wild Billy’s Circus Story” for inclusion on his next album.
If you’ve stuck with me this far, you might be wondering: so who the heck is Wild Billy, anyway?
Good question. I have no idea. Maybe the Circus Boy. Maybe the clown. Maybe the narrator.
I don’t know, and I’m not sure it really matters anyway. I’ve heard some argue that Wild Billy is the circus boy, and that the dancing-on-a-wire metaphor lines up with another Billy-centric circus song from decades later. But to me, “The Last Carnival” is more of a thematic sequel to “Wild Billy’s Circus Story” than a narrative one. (The true link between the songs is Danny Federici, of course, but that’s an essay for another day.)
In any event, like the circus itself, it’s best not to overthink it.
There’s a next stop ahead of us.
“Wild Billy’s Circus Story” is so carefully arranged and orchestrated on vinyl that it’s difficult to match it when performing it live. Accordingly, Bruce rarely tries.
The song all but disappeared for a quarter-century after the Wild & Innocent Tour, surfacing briefly for a one-off appearance at a 1990 acoustic show and a few outings on the Ghost of Tom Joad Tour. The 1996 performances are notable for the accompaniment: Danny on accordion, and Soozie Tyrell on violin, making for a unique arrangement. Here’s one of those performances from Asbury Park on November 24, 1996.
In the post-Reunion era, “Wild Billy” has made a dozen or so appearances–just often enough to reassure us that Bruce hasn’t forgotten about him.
I’ll share one more unusual performance, this one from 2009. Bruce joined Elvis Costello at the Apollo Theater in New York City for a two-part episode of Spectacle, and during the interview, Elvis asked Bruce what inspired him to write the song. Bruce answered with the quote at the top of this essay and followed up by performing the song with Nils and Roy by his side. It’s a lovely reading of a song that’s held up remarkably well for more than four decades.
Wild Billy’s Circus Story
Recorded: June 25-28, 1973
Released: The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle (1973)
First performed: September 4, 1972 (New York City, NY)
Last performed: February 26, 2014 (Brisbane, Australia)
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