Bruce Springsteen fans take their devotion to extreme levels

I had a fascinating face-to-face brush with the fervour of fans this week.  And it got me wondering whether faithfully following a cause is admirable, obsessive to the extreme or just plain crazy. The twin occasions were the two Bruce Springsteen concerts that ‘The Boss’ played at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre.  Due to the meltdown of the Australian print industry, I have found myself jettisoned from the mainstream of Australian media. In order to supplement my tumbling income I have enlisted for duties at the Entertainment Centre. For the two nights when Bruce was in town, this entailed car park detail. The job starts around 4pm and with temperatures on both days above 40degC, it proved to be quite a slog.  The gate that I was allocated to was the one where the band’s equipment is shipped in. All the road crew and various band members also arrive in dribs and drabs in various vehicles as the build-up to the gig gathers momentum.  That seemed par for the course.  What I had not bargained for was the steady increase in fans who were quite happy to hang around in the searing temperatures in the hope of getting a glimpse of the man himself. Or even better, gaining an audience with Springsteen before he went on stage for his evening show.  These people were no teenyboppers, nor pigeon-holed by gender or nationality. My eavesdropping abilities sussed out Spanish females chatting with American pals who were following Springsteen across the continent.  Then there was the Aussie bloke with a Sunderland FC cap on, fresh back from a European trek. He shared the same yearning as the lasses – a simple need for a meeting with his hero. So this was no groupie hang-out. It was fandom taken to the max. The heat was stifling.  Just standing still was enough to make the sweat pour off you. One of the American lasses seemed to be turning beetroot red, but as the minutes turned into hours, the crowds simply grew.  And as the Springsteen American minders took position to monitor the gate, complete with walkie-talkies, it became obvious that they and the fans knew each other. Sure enough as various limos drove by bringing in the musicians, tiny knots of the diehards were ushered though the doors for a pre-concert chat with the man himself.  Springsteen is noted for his left-wing leanings and his rapport with his fans, but I was still unprepared for just how much a man of the people he must be. As the throng of concert-goers grew, it seemed like there was a competition to see who could wear the most “hip” Springsteen tee-shirt. There were shirts from past tours of Europe, the US and Australasia from every era. And again with me being a nosey-parker, the fans’ conversations gave away the fact that many of them were in for the long haul – following their idol right across Australia and taking in all his concerts. The time and planning must be incredible and I daren’t even think about the cost. As we attendants began patrolling the car park during the actual concert on the first night, another breed of follower emerged. These were fans who were going to the second gig but had turned up a night early to wait by the stage door to hail Springsteen’s exit after his three-hour epic show.  They too wanted to meet the main man. And by all accounts he always obliges. One fan on holiday from Somerset in England had an ulterior motive. He said he made a tidy living from following stars and profiting from memorabilia that he could get them to sign. “Forget gold or shares, this is the way to make money,’ he told me. The dapper dude said that back in London he used to snare film stars’ autographs on various items of paraphernalia. “Van Damme and Schwarzenegger are two of the big names I had,” he said. But since turning to music stars he had the silky signatures of Paul McCartney and  Mick Jagger on his list. “The McCartney one I sold for a couple of grand,’’ he said.  In his case, I suppose it was fandom mixed in with a heavy dose of being an entrepreneur.  He was angling for Springsteen to sign a vinyl copy of the new album, “High Hopes.” Sure enough, as the crowds grew for the post-gig appearance, the security people organised them into an orderly queue.  And the sharp-dressed, savvy visitor from Somerset was at the head of the line. “ Good luck,” I said. Although I don’t reckon that he needed it.  This was the exact story both nights in the sapping heat and in some instances with the same people involved. The Spanish and American lasses all made repeat visits.  I wondered whether they were sad obsessives, barking mad or needed to step back and look at themselves. In the end, I admired them. I am a music fan too but mostly expect such fanaticism from fans in the sporting world. I count myself lucky to have savoured Springsteen in concert twice – at Newcastle City Hall in 1981 and in the same city at St James’s Park football ground in 1985. His performances were something to behold even then. And it seems he hasn’t let up. I’ve seen my own favourites on various legs of UK tours lost in the mists of time – most notably the Sensational Alex Harvey Band, who were at their sublime peak in the mid-Seventies.  But I would never have imagined such devotion as the Springsteenies showed this week. All ages, all creeds united by a love of an enduring icon. I say well done to both.  The artist and his audience deserve each other. They have something special going on.  They were Born to Run…