Musical Wednesday: Craig Finn Preaches to the Converted

Last Friday, I went to a Hold Steady show in Jermyn, PA. They’re touring all summer to promote their new album, Heaven is Whenever, which comes out in a few weeks, but for this show, they mostly stuck to older songs because you can’t have a big sing-along when no one knows the new album’s songs yet. They did probably five or six songs off of the new record in their hour-and-a-half set, including the first single, “Hurricane J” and “We Can Get Together,” which I posted the live video of a few weeks ago; they also premiered a new one, “The Sweet Part of the City,” which was in the vein of “Certain Songs” and “Lord, I’m Discouraged.”

I was really surprised by the crowd at this show. I only know three or four Hold Steady fans, and they’re all, well, geeks. English majors who go crazy over the literary allusions and overarching themes of redemption and temptation and all of the biblical insanity in Craig Finn’s lyrics. But the fans at this show were…different. They seemed to be a bunch of bro-dudes who severely missed the point of the songs. All they hear are the whoa’s and the guitar solos, and while those are things I also love about the Hold Steady, the real heart of the band for me are the lyrics and the stories. I actually overheard two of them talking about drinking a lot of whiskey and getting all fucked up, “just like Craig Finn would,” and I had to fight the urge to turn around and berate them for completely missing the point. These songs aren’t glorifying what the characters are doing—they’re about these characters hitting bottom and slowly crawling their way back.

Craig Finn performs like a Pentecostal preacher; he moves around the stage, eyes wide like he’s delivering the gospel or predictions of damnation. He gets the audience clapping, raising their hands like they’re testifying, chanting back at him. I love it; what other working band (other than the E Street Band) gets onstage and delivers anything close to a tent revival?

The only problem with this, though, is that it felt a lot like preaching to the converted. If the goal of constant tours is partially to drum up new listeners, then how does a band that puts on a show that is really for the die-hard fans draw in new people? Maybe a newcomer to the band sees the fervor and the familiarity and can’t help but dive in; but maybe some other newcomers feel that the fan base is a closed system because the conversation between the performers and the audience is so intimate. Just something to wonder about; I mean, I am already firmly in the camp of Hold Steady fans.

There were some songs they didn’t do that I really would have liked to hear, and a few they played that aren’t among my favorites. Even though Separation Sunday is one of my favorite albums, the song “Hornets! Hornets!” just doesn’t do it for me, and that was the second-to-last song. I still haven’t heard “How a Resurrection Really Feels” live, but I bet if I keep going to their shows, they’ll eventually play it. And where’s the fun in a resurrection if you don’t have to wait for it?

And as promised, I want to let everyone know that Record Store Day is this Saturday! Go support your local record store! The Hold Steady (see, this is related) will have an extremely limited edition of the new record available at some stores. Hope I get one.

Tramps Like Us (And We Like Tramps)

Oh, is it Shark Week already? I hadn't noticed, since I've been, as you might know, living every week like it's Shark Week.

So: I went to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band at Giants Stadium on Sunday night. And what a show it was. I've never been to a concert of that magnitude, with a crowd so large. It was pretty wild. As far as the music, I have to say I was just blown away. You hear about a lot of older acts going on tour, playing hour-long sets and charging exorbitant ticket prices for a sub-par experience, but with these guys, it was not the case. In a three-hour set, there was only about ten minutes of dead time, mostly before the encore. It wasn't even really dead time, since Max Weinberg played for that space. Three hours! Without pause! It's incredible to see a group of people who play so well together performing just for the love of performing.

I've heard a lot about how Springsteen live is one of the greatest shows in rock and roll, a trek that every fan must make, lest they get to the end of their life and realize, "I never saw Springsteen in concert." I understand now the pilgrimage-to-Mecca kind of fervor some of the truest fans have: the show was like a religious experience. For a sixty-year-old man, Springsteen on stage is like a tent-revivalist. He walks all around, he lies down on the ground when the music or the emotion leads him to. The crowd plays their part, singing every word and ooh-ing along with him or without him. He even repeats phrases throughout the show, like "Can you feel the spirit in here tonight?" He repeats them over and over, and you hardly notice when he starts singing them, and before long, he's in the middle of the song and you're wondering where you were when it started. It was amazing to behold. When he played "Jungleland" (the necessity of the saxophone I only understand after seeing it performed live) followed immediately by "Born to Run," it was the closest thing I've ever seen to mass religious ecstacy. For the older crowd that grew up with this, and the younger crowd who is just now experiencing the frustration of being young and trapped, it was a moment of cross-generational connection.

When he spun his guitar around his body three (or was it four?) times, the entire feeling of concert-as-religious-gathering was confirmed. Like the sign of the cross at the end of a Catholic Mass, it was a kind of benediction, a sending-forth into the wider world to go with peace.