David Hinckley: Confirming Springsteen, 1975

The Goods
By DAVID HINCKLEY
The Daily News
31 May 2005

When Columbia Records signed Bruce Springsteen and released his first album in 1973, there was more than the occasional stray piece of talk that he was the New Bob Dylan.

But the phrase, while vaguely complimentary, did little to set Springsteen apart. In the early 1970s, New Dylans were as common as sea gulls on the Coney Island Boardwalk.

Steve Goodman was a New Dylan. John Prine was a New Dylan. Loudon Wainwright 3rd was a New Dylan. It was like the title was the door prize at the opening of a new supermarket.

It was also worth noting that virtually none of the artists who got this label asked for it or wanted it. They all loved Dylan's music, sure, but singing and songwriting in Dylan's shadow was a one-way ticket to Desolation Row.

In Springsteen's case, he got the tag for a couple of reasons. He had been signed by Columbia, Dylan's label, and had gone through John Hammond, the guy who signed Dylan.

Springsteen was also a singer-songwriter whose first album, "Greetings from Asbury Park," was stuffed with Dylanesque songs rife with colorful metaphors, verbal minidramas and breathless wordplay.

It produced no hit singles, however, and only modest sales, though it did help expand a loyal fan base.

When Springsteen came back a year later with "The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle," much the same thing happened. Springsteen fans were enchanted, but sales were tepid and murmurs were heard that this latest New Dylan was never going to be in the ballpark with the Old Dylan, who in 1974 had reemerged from a long hibernation for an electrifying reunion tour with his old buddies The Band.

Springsteen, however, had a trump card. Almost everyone who saw him in concert said he gave the greatest show this side of James Brown. Now he just needed to transfer some of that electricity to recordings.

So he got a new keyboard player, a new drummer and a new manager and he headed into the studio to make an album that would eventually be called "Born to Run."

Springsteen would in later years become legendary for the amount of time he spent making records, but as the "Born to Run" sessions stretched on, the murmurs started again about whether this kid really had the goods.

The preparation process got a lot of attention, however — so much that Springsteen was in the curious position of feeling a backlash to the volume of prerelease hype.

So once it finally had a firm release date, Sept. 1, 1975, Springsteen and CBS decided the best answer to the doubters would be to introduce it with live performances.

They booked the Bottom Line, a 400-seat club on Mercer St. in the Village, Aug. 13 to 17.

The Bottom Line had only been open about a year but had a reputation as a keeper. Although owners Allan Pepper and Stanley Snadowsky weren't known for overpaying their acts, they gave top names a good showcase, and getting Springsteen would hardly hurt their reputation.

Springsteen's regular venue was theaters that held five to 10 times as many fans, so from the moment the Bottom Line shows were announced they were an almost impossible ticket. Columbia also saved seats for busloads of press, industry people, VIPs, anyone who could help spread the word.

Columbia also mounted a major media campaign that prominently displayed a quote by Jon Landau, a longtime rock critic who was now a Springsteen confidante. He had seen the future of rock 'n' roll, wrote Landau in Rolling Stone, and it was Springsteen.

The stage, then, was set. The Bottom Line run would confirm either the fan buzz about Springsteen's electric stage presence — or the skeptics' weariness with The Hype.

The schedule called for two shows a night, with the early show Aug. 15 broadcast live over WNEW-FM. That further raised the stakes for shows built on songs almost no one had yet heard.

On the first night, first show, Springsteen walked out alone, sat at the piano and played a new tune called "Thunder Road." It received ripples of applause.

By the third night, for the WNEW show, the full band was with him from the start. That show, which would become one of the most famous in rock history, started with "Tenth Avenue Freezeout" and "Spirit in the Night," then tossed in Springsteen's version of an old Phil Spector favorite, "And Then She Kissed Me."

He played three of his earlier songs, "Growin' Up," "Hard to Be a Saint in the City" and "E Street Shuffle," before "Every Time You Walk Into the Room" and a run of new ones — "She's the One," "Born to Run" and "Thunder Road."

Then he did three more old ones, "Kitty's Back," "Rosalita" and "Sandy," before he closed with Gary U.S. Bonds' "Quarter to Three."

By the end of the run, the shows had their intended effect: They had lived up to and thus overshadowed The Hype. The New York Times started its review on the front page and even found a new way to praise Springsteen, suggesting that rather than the New Dylan, he might be the New Mick Jagger.

The record came out as scheduled Sept. 1 and was a major hit. It became an instant FM radio staple, though top-40 radio still found Springsteen's voice too raw to give him any significant pop exposure.

In October, Time and Newsweek both put him on their covers, in the same week.

But it was those five nights in mid-August that seemed to suggest both the New Bruce and the little club he picked for this coming-out party might be around for a while.