How to Survive a 16 Hour Bruce Springsteen Show

They never stop.

The roadie’s lament.

Arenas are big places.

You get there first thing in the morning and start to walk. Back and forth. Pushing anvil cases. Hauling cable. Working for rock and roll.

I get this gig working for Bruce Springsteen. I’m talking years ago, college days, and I don’t have a clue who Bruce Springsteen is. He’s another guy with a 48’ truck full of amps and guitars and drums and light and stuff.

I go to the back of the truck with every other grunt and start hauling gear.

Off the truck, down the ramp, up the ramp, along the hallway, up the ramp, into the arena, along the side, to the back.

Go back to the truck and do it again.

There’s a backbeat to it. I enjoy it. We all do.

You work like a demon with 20,000 souls hanging over your head. This entire thing has to be ready when they open the doors and let the crowd in.

I still don’t know who Springsteen is, but he’s got some nice guitars. You can judge a guy that way. Guitars reflect a player’s soul.

We keep hauling and unpacking and unraveling and untangling.