Asbury Park 'Magic'

Wherever I go, my old hometown of Asbury Park comes with me. Its sounds, smells, sights ... and its crazy, f'ed up people. Reading this amazing profile of Bruce Springsteen by A.O. Scott in today's NY Times is like a postcard from home. The picture above, which accompanies the article along with a number of mp3 samples from the forthcoming Magic album, was taken at the battered but beautiful Convention Hall, only blocks from the place Janine and I shared on Deal Lake Drive. I was blessed to see several Springsteen rehearsal and Christmas shows under its ancient copper roof, often via the goodwill of fellow Springsteen 'tramps'. Even in Rakiraki, the most beautiful & isolated slice of paradise I've ever experienced, Springsteen's Live in Dublin DVD made me feel at home in a perfect, but lonely, lagoon-side bure.

Here's a post from my old Asbury Park Libbruhl blog, written 14 Sept '04, the day I bumped into Mr and Mrs Springsteen just outside the Convention Hall's doors:

Enjoyed a serendipitous moment Sunday afternoon on a perfect beach day in Asbury Park. I was camped at my usual spot beside the jetty just north of Convention Hall. After riding a few large waves I walked to the rest room of the 7th Avenue beach and afterwards decided on a quick walk through the Convention Hall concourse to survey the 5th Avenue beach scene. Two SUVs and a Jeep parked on the outer lip of the Convention Hall suggested activity inside, but my mind was occupied only with sand, surf and sun. So, barefoot and shirtless, I walked the boardwalk from bright sunshine into the cool shade of the high-ceilinged walkway.

Almost immediately I spotted Patti Scialfa in conversation with a disheveled man strumming an acoustic guitar on a stool halfway along the walkway. A tall, red-headed woman in a tight grey t-shirt, she was obviously sharing a kind word with the man, maybe thinking back to her days of sidewalk sitting in the Village performing for pocket change. She's headlining a show of her own at the Paramount Theater Wednesday night so it was no real surprise to see her there, though it was odd to see her laughing with this gentleman. Maybe she was comping him a ticket. Or quizzing him on her identity. Who knows.

A few feet from Patti stood a dark-haired man in a white t-shirt and jeans whose back was to me. Could it be Patti's better-known husband? He seemed too tall. Getting closer, maybe 5 feet away, I caught the jagged outline of the man's face.

Ladies and gentlemen, Bruce Springsteen.

In the great space of the corridor between Convention Hall and the Paramount Theater, there was me, a guitar-strumming madman, and NJ's most famous rock and roll couple.

What would you have done?

I kept walking.

Into sunshine onto the 5th Avenue boardwalk, where several dozen men and women were loitering outside Howard Johnson's. Music blared from mounted speakers, hipsters in jeans and black blazers sipping Heinekens and sweating, a radio station doing a remote broadcast. Why? Did these moist posers realize the Springsteens were steps away? Would they have cared? Having no desire to venture through this pack of seaside interlopers I re-entered the cool corridor and began the walk back to my chair at 7th Avenue beach. At literally the same moment, Bruce and Patti began to walk in the same direction. By now a security guy had joined the couple and Patti walked with him near the corridor's left side. Bruce and I were nearly shoulder-to-shoulder and closer to the corridor's center, maybe 10 feet behind his wife and the security guy (How did I know he was a security guy? The word "SECURITY" on the back of his shirt.)

To describe my mindset as calm at this moment would be dishonest. The man's music has documented chunks of my life since junior high school and I've always wondered what I'd say if I were in his company. Luckily, the loudest voice in my head was beseeching me to NOT BE AN ASS. The best way to show respect for the man, his work, his concern for the town where I live, and his recent political gestures would be to leave him alone to enjoy Asbury Park with the same freedom as everyone else.

But I had to say something. So I did. "Looking forward to the show in Cleveland, Bruce."

He looked at me, cracked his face into something more positive than a smirk but less emotive than a smile, and said, "Me too."

That was it. I paused to let him go through the corridor doorway before me and he joined up with Patti, Suzie Tyrell, and a man MBW would later tell me was most likely Steve Jordan, drummer and producer of Patti's new CD. They meandered as a group toward the boardwalk railing facing the ocean, Bruce saying to Jordan, "I want to see you in the SURF!" with the same playful bark he'd use to summon Clarence Clemons to the front of a stage. I continued down the boardwalk, looking back only after jumping down to the sand. The foursome were leaning over the rail, enjoying the sun, breeze, and view, unbothered by a crowd of autograph hounds or gawkers. They would soon head into the Paramount to rehearse for Wednesday night's show. I returned to the sea and rode more waves.

Of course I played this scene 1,000 times in my head afterwards. Should I have said more? Less? Was that the 'right' way to act when walking beside a guy whose life I know frontwards and back, yet to whom I'm a complete stranger? (And a shirtless one, at that.)

Several hours later I returned to the boardwalk and went to the Mayfair at the 2nd Avenue beach for an iced tea and on my way back stopped and listened to the rehearsal going on inside the Paramount. Sounded good. Listened for distinctive Springsteen guitar but can't say I picked anything out. Walking out I saw a handful of fans waiting by Bruce's Corvette convertible, which sat parked beside the north stage exit. I'd enjoyed my moment. I was free to go. So I did.

UPDATE: For those who consider Springsteen a musical dinosaur, David Hinckley of the NY Daily News provides a lengthy testimonial to his relevance and creative independence.