From Sun archives: Springsteen works up a sweat, binds fans in his magic

This article was originally published Nov. 24, 1980

LANDOVER -- Months of anticipation ended in goose bumps and cheers when the man his fans call The Boss hit the Capital Centre at 8:35 last night.

With his six-member E Street Band in high gear behind him and an arena full of 19,000 delirious zealots in front, Bruce Springsteen delivered three hours of honest rock and roll.

There is a love affair between Bruce and his audience.

You could detect it in the way all 38,000 tickets for his two shows, last night and tonight, disappeared in only three hours, months ago.

You could tell from the out-of-state license plates -- Pennsylvania, Virginia and New Jersey -- headed for the Capital Centre before show time.

The concert began 35 minutes late, in deference to the people caught in traffic.

But when the road crew began taping the night's song list to the grand piano and drums, the fans stood and cheered.

Then the house lights went down and Bruce came out while "Da Doo Ron Ron" played on the P.A. system.

He saluted the throng by throwing his arms in the air. It had been two years since his last visit.

"This is the one we've been waiting for," said the announcer.

The band took off like they had been waiting, too, with a rousing "Born to Run."

Then, as if in prophecy of the evening ahead, they followed with "Prove It All Night."

Springsteen and the band made a promise they went on to keep: "I'll prove it all night for your love."

The crowd responded. The connection between Springsteen and his audience is one of the strongest in rock.

He has built his career on the intensity and passion of his live shows. He plays each concert as if his life depended on it.

He is a short man, who bears a strong resemblance to Al Pacino. He was dressed last night in a blue work shirt and rumped straight-leg denim jeans.

By the end of "Prove It," sweat was falling from his hands and face. He stripped off the jacket he started out in to reveal dark stains on his shirt.

He lit into "Tenth Avenue Freezeout" and performed his trademark dive into the audience from the lowered front edge of the stage.

His fans passed him back and forth, taking good care of their idol.

Springsteen is one of the heroes left in rock. His songs are simple, sometimes even monotonous in their repetition of highway and working-class themes. Springsteen, however, makes them live. He does not so much sing them as inhabit them.

His essence seems to flow from him and bind his audience to him.

If all this sounds magical, it is. Springsteen has a quality that sets him apart from every other rock act, and this is why his concerts are special.

This quality draws an audience that includes the most senior and the youngest rock fans.

Last night's crowd seemed weighted toward the younger end, but first-generation fans turned out, too.

They saw Springsteen turn in a typically energetic and inspiring performance.

They screamed for "The Big Man," saxophone player Clarence Clemons, who shared the solo spotlight with the star.

And they yelled for The Boss, bellowing his first name in a long series of cries of "Broose!"

As usual, he had himself a hell of a time. And, as usual, so did the rest of us.