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Something Happens To Our Brain When Music Matters.

I just watched Bruce Springsteen onstage with Bono and U2 in New York. If feels like such a happy moment between those guys standing in middle of the greatest city in the world and singing.

Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work when we hear our favorites? Nothing else matters during that song.

Say you drove in from Jersey, took the subway from Queens, or cruised over on the Staten Island Ferry and jumped off at Battery Park. From the hassle of getting to the concert, then hearing it, you know why music matters.

The song isn’t about you, but it’s your life. Stand By Me? Won’t you stand by me? Please stand by me?

Who can’t embrace Stand By Me? We all want a little cuddle, an encouraging word. Tell me everything’s gonna be alright.

Bruce shows up correct. He’s not some washed up drunk getting trotted out like a museum piece. He makes music matter by pumping every syllable out of his mouth with as much power as it can take.

Just looking at Bruce is a joy.

The Jersey guy is such a giver. And it’s not cheesy giving. He really seems to enjoy singing with other bands. Maybe he’s got those folk singer roots that include everyone.

Without turning to weepy boomer who tears up thinking how much time guys like Bruce will be around, it looks like a long time. Rockers don’t seem to fade away too fast when they live right, eat well, and get their rest.

It’s the ones who hit the emergency room for ‘exhaustion’ that wear their life on their face.

Aerosmith shows a little wear and tear. Like the Stones and The Who, the years pile up on some more than others. Van Halen?

Bruce worries about his kids, saying his wife is home protecting the house from them. Who can’t relate to that? Johnny Cougar?

The everyman feel Bruce delivers to a crowd isn’t an act.

He’s been doing it too long to pretend. He knows how to reach you the way he nailed it in New Jersey bars, small clubs, and stadiums. You look at him and he’s recognizable. Same cheap haircut as you, same black t-shirt, same jeans.

He could live anywhere but sticks to the Garden State. He could borrow an Elvis cape for his show and get away with it. Instead he looks like the guy filling up your car.

Then he breaks away. He starts singing and music matters more than ever. It is all about you. Your brain shifts around and you remember the places and people from the first time you heard his songs.

Born To Run turns you into a twenty year old again. The life you’ve crafted is floating out there in uncertainty but you believe.

Music matters when it fills you with the same truth today you heard in the seventies. Hopes and dreams change and make you stand back with, “That’s not the way it’s supposed to be, but not bad,” and you learn to make a difference.

But for a moment you are Bruce, Bono; you are Mick and Roger. You want to ask which one is Pink just for fun.

Music matters for that transcendent moment when everything’s alright. It matters more when you’re headed back home and you sing to yourself until the next moment.

Share that secret smile, boomer. Work your dreams and visions.


About David Gillaspie
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