…2..3..4, an Xperience Column

…2..3..4, an Xperience Column – by Chris Busone.

In our single-digit formative years, most of us look up to our parents or siblings, if you’re lucky enough to have them. That was the case for me.

I think it’s only natural that during our lifetimes, we have heroes, role models – whatever word you want to put on it – but people we look up to or strive to emulate in both our personal and professional pursuits.

As my mind, heart, soul, and complete unadulterated attention turned to a life of music, one musician, one musical force, one unmistakable talent stood head, shoulders, and guitar above all others. One voice spoke to me so clearly, so powerfully, that I could see no other path for my life than to follow his example and perform music of my own making to tell the stories I felt needed telling.

It comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me even casually that I’m speaking of the guy that Rosalita’s mamma don’t like, the Saint in the City, the dude making love to Crazy Janie in the dirt, and that tramp who was just Born to Run, Bruce Springsteen.

It all began for me with his first record, “Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J.” Pre-Mighty Max Weinberg, it featured Vini “Mad Dog” Lopez on drums, the masterful David Sancious on keyboards, and the unmistakable, undeniable, unequivocal force of the E Street Band throughout. But as powerful as the music was – and it was – it was a feast for a lyric junkie like me. And those lyrics had to be extraordinarily compelling to survive the tidal wave of music behind them (I mean, “I had skin like leather and the diamond hard look of a cobra.” Come on!)

The same could be said for the follow-up, “The Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle.” With basically the same lineup, it was, for me, an even stronger musical performance by the band, with somehow even more gripping, engrossing lyrics. From the moment “Sparks fly on E street where the boy prophets walk in handsome and hot,” to Spanish Johnny calling down, “Hey little heroes summer’s long but I guess it isn’t very sweet around here anymore,” and ultimately Bruce challenging us to “Walk tall, or baby don’t walk at all,” I was hooked. Mesmerized. Mystified. Gather ’round ’cause Kitty’s Back in Town!

Then a bomb went off. “Born to Run” was released.

I was 15 in 1975. I do not possess the literary proficiency to convey to you how profoundly that record affected me. It made me realize that there were no limits to what someone could do with music, with lyrics, with fire and brimstone and jet fuel and the power of your own conviction, and your heart and your soul and your lungs and all your other organs. It shook me clear down to the ground.

So, when I heard that Bruce and the E Streeters were slated to perform at the Palace Theater in Albany, New York in February of 1977, nothing short of a nuclear holocaust coupled with an outbreak of the bubonic freakin’ plague could prevent me from being in that building on that night. I tracked down my local ticket scalper (in the more innocent days before Ticketmaster, this was simply a fellow high schooler who had some seed money and was willing to wait in line to purchase a stack of tickets to events for resale). And from this fledgling entrepreneur (and most likely future hedge fund swindler), I purchased a ticket to that concert, and a view of what I hoped my life could be.

From the instant that Bruce hit the stage, I never took my eyes off him. I imagined myself in his place. I think we’ve all done that; watched someone we admire do something we wished we could do, and imagined it was us doing it … or maybe that’s just me. I saw myself bolting across the stage, back-to-back with Clarence as he fumed a sax solo that shot through every single member of the audience like an arrow aflame with the righteous heat of the anointed. I saw myself singing into the same mic with Little Steven (Miami Steve as he was known in those days), an amazing and inspiring musician and political force in his own right. And all the while, Bruce’s voice grabbing me by the lapels of my leather jacket (that I had bought specifically to look like him on the cover of the “Born to Run” album), and shaking me into consciousness as though I had been asleep my entire life until this moment. I was saved, and I didn’t even know I needed saving. And there was no looking back because there was nothing back there that I wanted to be. It was all right here in front of me.

In 1977, tickets were just that: a paper ticket. The tickettaker at the venue did his self-explanatory job and took your ticket, ripped it in half, gave you one half, and deposited the other in a cylinder with a slot on top.

I still have my half of that ticket today. It was a Monday, February 7, 1977 – nearly 50 years ago. That, more than anything, stands as testament as to how important a moment that night was for me.

The next day, Tuesday, I went to school, found my friend Rod Choppy, who had been chomping at the musical bit to start a band, and I said, “Let’s GO!” Then I got together as much money as I could and set about trying to buy a Fender Telecaster, like Bruce’s, which I still play today.

So why did I bring all this up in the first place? Because I think it’s a good thing for us to have heroes. And yes, I know that word hits the ear a little funny coming from a grown adult, but I use it to describe someone whose talents we appreciate, not necessarily revere as a matinee idol, but a touchstone who sets the bar. And as I resist the urge to crack-wise numerous puns about “setting at the bar,” I tell you truthfully today that the inspiration Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band’s music has given me over the years is real, and actual, and continuing.

Recently, the man himself, not his music, has been in the news for speaking his mind. And without getting into what stance he takes, just the fact that in today’s climate of revenge and retaliation, he would be willing to risk it all by doing so, says volumes about the measure of the man, and makes me admire him even more.

So I say: embrace your heroes, reach for and pass the bar they set (yea, yea…I never pass the bar without stopping in … blah-blah-blah. There, ya happy?)

Let them inspire you to do the things you’ve always wanted, the things you’ve dreamed of but needed that one last nudge to dive into. At 15, I not only got a nudge, I felt a gale force wind at my back that sailed me into a life that’s given me more than I could ever have hoped for.

So, whether it be business, relationships, or in my case the hutzpah to jump up on a stage, let’s get out there, tear your ticket, thunder down that road like you were born to it, and in your own way, when the spirit in the night grips you, count it off, 2…3…4.

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