Bruce Springsteen Saved Me the Night After Lennon Died

Last month, I was lucky enough to score a ticket to Bruce Springsteen in Phoenix this April. I’ve been seeing him for forty-five plus years and, in some respects, have grown up with his music.

It all started in December 1980, the day after John Lennon was murdered. I hated Bruce Springsteen then, thought he was a stoner (listen to “Sandy” live from the Mainpoint…), but I got a ticket to the Spectrum in Philadelphia because my best friend at the time, Sue, was in love with him.

The night before, my father phoned me and said they’d just cut into the football game and that Lennon had been shot and was dead. He hung up.

I remember I was in the middle of writing a philosophy paper, and I sat stunned for hours and stared at the wall. I didn’t sleep a wink that night and decided there was no way I could go to the show the next day.

The next afternoon, the DJ on WMMR came on the radio and said that Bruce and the band were going to cancel that night’s show but they thought about what Lennon would want, and that he would want the music to go on.

When I heard that, and that they seemed as affected as I was, I decided to go. Remember, I hated Springsteen, so I was grumbling and second guessing going, and just in a miserable mood - until probably his second song.

Live, back then, he and the band were phenomenal. Clarence Clemons was a force to be reckoned with, as were all the players in the band. Their chemistry and charisma - most bands can’t come close to what they all had, especially today when bands aren’t out on the road for years perfecting their craft.

And Bruce. Bruce has that rare ability to open his soul and share it through his electric guitar and music. The only other person I’ve experienced who can do that is Pete Townshend.

It was “Jungleland” that changed my life. There’s a musical break during the song that I think the band played for over twenty minutes. Springsteen leapt on the piano and began pumping his fist in the air along with the music.

Some twenty thousand fans in the Spectrum followed along. As I threw my hand up, I looked around me. I saw the tears, I saw the sadness, I saw the pain that we were all feeling being shared through the music.

And I felt the love, the connection, the oneness of us all. I literally merged with everyone in the auditorium and had my first spiritual, otherworldly experience. No joke.

I felt connected to something much bigger than myself, and I knew I’d be okay. That everything was okay.

I don’t think rock and roll is the same anymore - it became big business. But back in the early days, it was its own religion. And that night Springsteen was the preacher and the healer and the friend we all needed.

He’s older now. I’m older now. Seeing him in 2026 is a celebration of all he’s been through, all I’ve been through, and the music we’ve shared over the years. I don’t expect 1980, but I know I’ll have an otherworldly time.

I’ve seen him probably dozens of times at this point. The second best show I went to was his Broadway performance. I wasn’t expecting much, but, let’s just say I was so blown away that when I left the theater, I immediately booked a plane ticket to the southwest and went on a roadtrip for ten days. I needed time alone on the road to process whatever had moved and opened in me.

Thank you, Bruce. I don’t know you and will probably never meet you, but we’re friends. In a rock and roll kind of way.

Rock on.

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