Word: concertizer
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...himself in on Boss territory ("America's future rests ... in the message of hope in songs of ... New Jersey's own Bruce Springsteen"), he was met with an oblique but sharp rebuff. "I kinda got to wondering what his favorite album must've been," Springsteen speculated at a Pittsburgh concert. "I don't think he's been listening to this one," he added, tearing into a ripsaw version of Johnny 99, about an unemployed factory worker who shoots a hotel night clerk: "Now judge I got debts no honest man could pay/ The bank was holdin' my mortgage and they...
...year ago. "He worries about the underfed and the underprivileged." Says Robert Muller, president of the Vietnam Veterans of America: "We would not exist if it were not for Bruce Springsteen." Back in 1981, when, as Muller says, "nobody wanted to hear about the Viet Nam War," a Springsteen concert raised about $100,000 for the V.V.A. "That was the beginning of Bruce's political involvement," Muller thinks. "My hope is ten years down the road, he'll run for President...
...responsibility seldom found bobbing in the musical mainstream. "He's closer to his public image than any of the other rock stars I've known," says his friend and biographer Dave Marsh. "It's hard to accept, but the guy is all there in his music." Backstage at a concert, the atmosphere is a little more restrictive, less familial than in times past, but Springsteen, off the road, is still the superstar who will tag along home on the spur of the moment with a casual friend and plunk out a few notes for the family on a toy piano...
...high points of the current concert tour is Springsteen's heartbroken guitar-and-harmonica version of what he calls "the best song ever written about the promise of America, This Land Is Your Land. It's a promise," he adds, "that's eroding every day for a lot of people. Countries are like people. It's easy to let the best of yourself slip away...
...usual mixture of hoboes and bohoes, kids out for a good time and jolly parasites out to feast on them. Around midnight, 400 or so young people have lined up on either side of the Eighth Street Playhouse box office. Their behavior is genial and gentle, with no rock-concert jostling; there might be an invisible Sister Mary Ignatius patrolling the sidewalk. One couple chats in Portuguese; a trio converses in Czech. It's a U.N. in miniature--so much so that when a derelict wanders by, desperate to strike up a monologue, he asks a gaggle of teens, "Excuse...