Something blue....

Blue being the colour, certainly not the mood!

I dashed up to the pin machine before I left to go to *the* concert. This barber-shop quartet were doing doing their very best to entertain and set the musical tone of the day.

Later, together with Regine, her Brother-in-law, and his family we hit the road, that road being towards the Springsteen concert in Nijmegen.

We got there on time to see the support act, Black Crowes, and then we waited. All those months, down to days and suddenly, before we knew it, down to hours.

And then, out of the blue, there he was, harmonica and guitar, solo, opening with the Ghost of Tom Joad. Unexpected. At least for me it was.

A quiet, unassuming beginning, not like most rock concerts I've been to. Sublime.

And then suddenly it all burst into colour (the lights!), the sound (wonderful), and on it went, through showers (the lights, seemingly sparkling against the misty rain), we danced, we sang, we drank beer, got soaked to the skin, but Bruce did too, so that was OK.

A sudden, quick flash on the screen of a vision of Clarence Clemens bought a lump to my throat, as did a trio I spotted during Bruce's rendition of the River; a man, clutching two younger girls as if he'd never let go of them, all with tears in their eyes. Their facial features telling me he more than likely was the father. There was no mother to be seen.

I felt the goose pimples on my back, the first of many tonight.

More than three hours watching a man with exceptional presence, a strong voice, and such wonderful songs.

On the way home, stuck in the obligatory traffic jam, Regine's BiL played this, not once, not just twice, and really, really LOUD.
We sang, and danced, in the car.

Ours was the loudest, the most (to paraphrase Bruce a little)
heart-stoppin,
legendary,
pants crappin',
love makin',
viagra takin'
car in that whole jam.
And you'd better believe it.

If I'm ever, ever low again, I'm going to play that song. LOUD!

Bugger the blues. As Bruce Springsteen would say 'BRING 'EM ON'.