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After the Pope visited Moncton in 1984 (a spectacle of such enormity I had to take it in, from the front row no less) the city promised to turn the rural chunk of land that had hosted His Holiness into a concert site. I rubbed my hands raw with eager anticipation, but aside from a 1994 John Mellencamp show that was aborted after the artist had a heart attack (yes, I had a ticket) the site lay dormant until a classic rock festival was held there in ’98. I was in Ottawa that summer and missed it.
And then the concert site exploded with A Bigger Bang, the massive Rolling Stones tour of 2005 (which I also missed, having seen the tour in Ottawa) which started a string of big-name shows at what has since been dubbed the Magnetic Hill Concert Site, named for one of Moncton’s quirky claims to fame that sits just a stone’s throw away (the tidal bore being the other). Bands like The Eagles, AC/DC, and U2 played the site after The Stones opened the floodgates, and I missed every single one of them.
And so I was extra excited to see Bruce Springsteen on August 26th, 2012 at what I still think of as ‘the Pope site’. I walked to the show from my brother’s house, passing by lemonade stands, neighbours selling hot dogs, and the mysterious Magnetic Hill along the way. Thousands of others joined me for the pleasant stroll, and when we arrived we were through the gates in no time.
The Trews opened the concert and obviously had a great time up there playing a huge show opening for a legend. Up next was Tom Cochrane, who sucked. Don’t get me wrong, I was actually somewhat excited to see him added to the bill, but he sucked. Like an out-of-work has-been, Cochrane led his band through a thrown-together set that was clearly under-rehearsed. At least I hope they were under-rehearsed, otherwise he sucked even worse. I’m sure Tom Cochrane jumped at the chance to get off of his couch and fly to Moncton to revel in Springsteen’s shadow, and I don’t blame him. Life Is A Highway, indeed.
After his set I spent some time wandering the site and was really impressed. Every year the site adds something else like a permanent stage or permanent flush toilets. Everywhere I looked these guys seemed to be doing it right; I couldn’t find a single thing to complain about, something I normally excel at.
It was still daylight when The Boss hit the stage and he and the band came out of the gates like a racehorse. I can’t remember the last time the first song of a show got me so excited. It’s not that No Surrender is my favourite Springsteen song or anything, but that undeniable Bruce Force coming from the stage grabbed me right away and kept me rocking for the whole show.
Bruce took us on a tour through his repertoire and played a bunch of song requests based on signs that people were holding up. Someone had an elaborate, lit-up sign that The Boss pointed out, and after a lengthy huddle with the band they played a song they hadn’t done in years (I forget what tune it was). I do recall that the tune train-wrecked when Springsteen started singing the bridge and the band wasn’t there with him. Stevie Van Zandt asked why for once he hadn’t called out 1…2…3…4?
The guy has just the greatest band, and the most amazing thing about them all is how astoundingly good they are, and yet everyone is willing to just chug through the chords all night. It’s just so hard to find a great guitar player that can play for hours without throwing in a single widdly-widdly riff, or a drummer that can play a whole set without throwing in a single drumroll. Just try and find a bass player that will come in from a break without sliding down his E string. And these are exactly the people The Boss surrounds himself with. It’s no wonder his band members stick around for years; when Bruce finds a great player that can keep his hands to himself Bruce keeps him.
When Nils Lofgren was finally given a solo (his only of the night!) he completely stole the show, spinning around with his guitar extended by centrifugal force and not missing a beat. Nils throws a surprising athletic ability into his jaw-dropping guitar chops and it’s an amazing thing to behold, but don’t blink or you’ll miss it: once his ninety seconds are up it’s back to thousands of D chords and miles of discipline.
During a break in the show Springsteen mentioned how great it was to be at “Magnet Hill”, which is surprisingly odd to hear when you’ve spent your whole life hearing it called “Magnetic Hill”. It’s so close, and yet so far away. Every time he said “Magnet Hill” the crowd would roar to correct him but of course Bruce was oblivious, thinking this was just the usual cheering he heard whenever he mentioned a place by name. The cheers only encouraged him: he kept saying Magnet Hill-this and Magnet Hill-that and we kept yelling back trying to correct him.
Back to the music, Springsteen’s set followed his usual template that brought a string of heavy-hitters near the end, which just gets the crowd worked up to a frenzy, until he finally closed with a rousing Twist & Shout featuring Tom Cochrane and all of The Trews crowding around a couple of mics and about 45,000 amateurs with acoustic voices raised to the starry sky. (Back in my band management days I occasionally partied with ‘ersh, who had recently joined The Trews as their keyboardist. I gotta say, regardless of how casual our relationship was I still went a bit giddy watching ‘ersh up there standing at a mic just four feet from the power of Springsteen. Too cool.)
When the show finally ended Tom Cochrane walked over to Bruce and held his arm up like a referee in a boxing ring. It made me want to punch him in the face really hard. I hope I never meet the man.
After the show the getting home was just as tickety-boo as the getting there; I mean this Magnetic Hill Concert Site really has got it goin’ on.
It was such a great show in a really great venue. I’ll be back to both, I’m sure.
Todd Man Out 