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I recently attended a remarkable international symposium which addressed the interaction of multiple challenging issues including depression, resilience, community, and creative arts. No, it was not about global mental health. Rather, it was an academic conference focused on “Bruce Springsteen’s Darkness on the Edge of Town” at Monmouth University, home of the Bruce Springsteen Archives and Center for American Music.
The symposium brought together authors, filmmakers, musicians, academics, teachers, community organizers and others to explore and exchange insights about Bruce Springsteen’s extraordinary mark on American culture and beyond.
As I attended different sessions, I was not at all surprised by the passion and commitment to Springsteen, which I have seen at prior meetings and innumerable concerts. I really enjoyed learning the different ways that people from diverse backgrounds, different countries, various occupations and disciplines try to make sense of Springsteen and his impact.
One surprising theme that stood out across the board was how challenging it was to put into words what makes Bruce Springsteen great. Compared to some of the complex issues we face in global mental health, this would seem more readily achievable, but strangely it did not seem that way for the symposium attendees.
I was part of a workshop that focused on Springsteen’s current project, “Springsteen on Broadway” (SOB), which can be understood as Springsteen’s Proof of Life. Bruce often asks his fans: “Is anybody alive out there?” In SOB, it’s as if he was being asked by each of us: “Hey Bruce, can you prove that its really you and that you are really alive?”
In SOB we learn about such private information as the copper beech tree next to his childhood home, the smell of his father’s bar, the sound of his mother’s heels on the floor, and how you make a stadium full of 80,000 fans ecstatic. These may sound familiar to readers of Born to Run, his recent memoir. However, SOB is not a book reading. It far exceeds that, creatively combining reworked songs with new and familiar stories. I discussed how Springsteen approached his Proof of Life as a unique and highly compelling work of art.
What makes SOB so powerful is that underlying every moment is this very powerful plea: “I hope I’ve been a good traveling companion.” This is a hopeful statement which contains a question: Have I been a good traveling companion? Springsteen is asking each and every listener whether he has given you joy and hope, made you get up and dance, and learn to think differently about yourself and the world? I for one can’t think of any other musician or artist who has asked this question of their audience so humbly and genuinely.
Of course, it’s ironic that in asking us what kind of companion he has been all these years, he is at that very moment being a very different kind of companion than he has been before when he was more actively challenging us to see if we were alive. Nowhere did he do this more powerfully than on “Darkness on the Edge of Town”, the 1978 album which brought a whole generation of fans on board—myself included.
On “Darkness”, Springsteen goes to the edge. He delivers hard knocks themes and harder rocking sounds, marking out a stripped down, under siege, faith shaking, covenant making, and uncertain terrain. An edge is a place of crisis that destroys and disrupts, but it provides an opportunity to see familiar spaces anew, to rediscover a new sense of community, or to ignite new passions.
In “Darkness” Bruce entered the place of extremity where nobody desires to go, but where you must get to, if you to be an American prophet. The rock-poet-prophet’s task is to write and perform a way out that dark hole. If he does, we can trust him enough to lead down to the river, out to the Mekong Delta, on the execution line, across the Rio Grande, and many more places of extremity. Nowadays we can see clearly that “Darkness on the Edge of Town” was the first step on a road that Springsteen would travel for the next four decades, via song stories exploring the social hardships of American life.
I saw some traces of “Darkness” in SOB. I saw it in the garage workshop format, in putting us on his father’s suicide watch, in not allowing a communal feeling to develop in the audience (when fans start to sing or clap he interjects “I can handle it myself.”), and in showing how to stay alive amidst hardship. But in SOB, as Bruce looks back on his life, and our long ride together, he is more concerned with how to remember, how to tell the story, how to give back, and how to renew. We look back too.
Above all is his plea: “I hope I’ve been a good traveling companion.” In Springsteen’s world, companionship is a shared obligation to work out being together over time even as many things change within and around us. In SOB, companionship isn’t just described, it is experienced.
He calls his music a “long and noisy prayer”, shining a light on the life-long commitment that he offers and invites to each member of his audience.
Springsteen has long made his listeners feel more alive and like the best version of themselves. He also makes us appreciate the transformative power of companionship. Global mental health professionals and many others could certainly learn some valuable lessons from Springsteen: Invite people to join you; Teach them how to work together; Express high expectations for what we can achieve over time.
Thank you Bruce for being a saint of companionship!
