IS THE BOSS MY SELF-INDULGENCE?
CONVICTION goes with the territory in newspaper columns.
It is either absolutely worth paying £400 for two tickets to see Bruce Springsteen in his home state of New Jersey – or it is the height of madness.
It will either be the unforgettable, crowning glory of a trip to New York later this month – or a reckless indulgence that I’ll regret almost immediately.
Either you’re someone who’d pay more than the cost of a rock star’s entire back catalogue to watch him live for a few hours or you’re one of those who shake their head in pity at those who do.
The column is struggling with this one. We are talking about The Boss here, not some preening prancer. Springsteen: champion of blue collar America, poet to the woebegone toilers answering factory whistles at the first morning light, articulator of the dreams of Everyman.
This is a musician with direct lineage to such legendary voices for the voiceless as Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger.
Back in the day, these guys would play in cafes then pass a hat around patrons in the hope of a few coins.
And Bruce wants £200 a skull?
Thanks for talking this through with me. It’s helped. A SHOW called Come Look at the Baby is a surprise hit at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. The idea is that audiences come and look at a baby – stopping first to pay £4 at the door. At seven months, baby doesn’t walk or talk – but does sometimes look at granny, who is also part of the show. She won’t say whether baby is a boy or girl. Notwithstanding the fact that any profits will go to charity, can there be a healthy motive for anyone paying to stare for half an hour at a stranger’s wordless infant?