The Night I Opened for the Boss: a vivid dream
(Spoken rhythmically, rapidly and excitedly, over music. Parentheticals, except italicized ones, are read aloud.)
Last night I dreamed I was opening for Bruce Springsteen (Music starts). It wasn't the E street Band, not some huge stadium or "shed" as they say; it was a modest –sized ampitheater in Cleveland Ohio, 1995. And I wasn't the opener, exactly – there were like 17 acts on the bill – an autoworkers' benefit, with John Cougar, Billy Joel, and a new lesbian version of the Blues Brothers.
Actually, I wasn't on the bill at all. But I knew this guy Garcia who was roadie-ing for Mellencamp. He once bought some weed from a guy that I loaned my car to, and I remembered that they had sort of blown my speakers, so man, I was SO in there, backstage passes and all.
After the 16th act, they said the boss was gonna take the stage. I am one gigantic Bruce fan so I was right there in the wings, as close as I could get, waiting for the man to come on.
The MC of the show got up there and was killing some time – the sun was going down behind the city, over the Cayahuga, and the clouds were on FIRE, bright orange on blue, you know, all silvery and stuff, you could almost hear them shimmering in ecstatic anticipation. I overheard someone yell from the direction of Mr Springsteen's dressing room "keep it going for another 10 minutes, he's watching the sunset with Patti!"
The MC looked up at the sky, then over to the side stage, and he was in some kind of a panic, let me tell ya. His eyes caught Garcia, who kinda shrugged back at him.
This is when Time stops (music suspends), and Garcia does something that makes me forget those car speakers forever. Garcia, a GENIUS, grabs me by the arm and walks me out on to that stage, right up to the Boss' microphone. He turns around to the MC for a few seconds as I stare at the crowd. Before I know it, the MC steps up, all nervous, and says (big announcer voice) "ladies & gentlemen, isn't it a beautiful sunset? Please welcome a personal friend of Mr. Springsteen's to sing a song written especially for this occasion!" The crowd roars.
I stand there for a second, thinking "what am I going to do about a guitar?" and outa nowhere GE smith walks over to save me (you remember GE Smith, don't you? He was in the Saturday Night Live Band and he played with Hall & Oates, and I think he might have toured with Tina Turner or somebody). Anyway, GE Smith frickin' hands me a beautiful guitar to play – and it's plugged in and everything!
I have no idea what song to do, so I figure I'll just start PLAYING, and the guitar will tell me which song to play for 5,000 anxious, drunk Springsteen fans. But this is GE Smith's guitar, and apparently he doesn't talk to it the way I do mine. AND, it's in open tuning, so what comes out sounds like a six year old picking up his first set of bagpipes.
The sunset's like half over, and while I'm standing there sweating, tuning the guitar, I try to get the crowd on my side: "You know, I wrote this song for Bruce Springsteen – it's a tribute," --polite clapping-- " … But tonight I'd like to dedicate it to the auto workers." Big cheers, and slow chant of ambiguous rocking approval from two guys in the far back: "free Bird"
I hit the opening chord.
And I start an old song I wrote called "You can't be Lonely when you're livin in New York City" –
I'm playing the intro, which is kinda plaintive & trancelike, (bliiin, bliiin, bliiin) and I'm about to start on the verse, when lo an behold Billy Joel jumps up and starts playin piano. I'm like "bleeen, bleeen, bleeen" and Mr. Piano man himself is playing with me. Only he's going like BLANG BLANG BLANG and totally overpowing the opening of my song.
Matter of fact, he throws in some chord changes that aren't even supposed to be there, I mean, this is MY song, and frankly, the stuff he's putting across isn't workin at all. So I give him the eye, like "don't do that again," and Mr. Tell Her About It looks back at me, misunderstanding my nonverbal reprimand as meaning something like "man, that so totally rocked!"- so as I'm stepping up to sing again, he's like "BLANGETY BING BLANG, BLANGETYYY BLING BANG" all over the ivories, and takes this huge solo in the wrong place.
So I stop and I say across the stage, "Man, you're making it hard for me to start my song, can you please stop doing that? I mean stay out until the chorus or something, and you know, get a feel for the piece …ok?"
This definitely quiets down the crowd.
Mr. "Innocent Man" looks down and kind of becomes invisible and cool, while I stand there realizing that I look like one giant glowing asshole, silhouetted by the last rays of the sunset.
I finally get the song out, and it goes pretty good – there may have been a few converts, even. And the Boss himself might've caught a little of it from the side of the stage. I give GE his guitar back, and I mouth "thank you" to Garcia as I leave the stage. The announcer comes on and says "let's give a big hand to him for playing his heart out under this beautiful sky, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. JOHN BRUNDERSON!"
I don't correct him. Instead, I look over at Bruce, hoping he'll give me the "way to go, kid" eye, but he's fussing with Patty's in-ear monitor, and they're like staring at each other, in love, and I think, you know, that really didn't go so bad.
(Sung) You can't be lonely when you're livin in new york city
You can't sing the blues to me over the phone
Cuz I'm lonely, living in California
And I'll lie to you to bring you home