Saturday, Sep 6, 2008
Bruce Springsteen rehearses -- and a global group of lucky fans gets a free concert.
May 22, 1999 | Normally, the relaxed fingering of an electric guitar wouldn't have seemed strange music for Barcelona. During my week-long stay, I had already heard a severely pierced rapper rhyme to the beat of a plastic kazoo and a shoeless saxophonist in a powder-blue suit playing a half-speed rendition of "Blowin' in the Wind." But that was on La Rambla, the busker-friendly pedestrian throughway in the heart of the old city. I was spending the afternoon on Montjuic, Barcelona's hilly and quiet patch of green which, during the 1992 Summer Olympics, had hosted several events. Up there, far away from the bustle, the faint, amplified waves startled me.
While they appeared to come from all directions at first, the licks grew louder as I walked along. Then, suddenly, a powerful rhythm section kicked in. Each beat of the snare drum snapped through my body; these were no stray buskers. I checked my map and pinpointed the origin of the sound: Palau Sant Jordi, where the U.S. basketball Dream Team had captured its gold medal. Before I could get nostalgic over the memory of Charles Barkley violating his over-matched Angolan opponent with his elbow, a sax player joined the mix and a familiar tune rattled the air. I recognized the song, yet I couldn't quite place the artist or the title. Before my excited brain could process what was happening, it was scooped by an unmistakably hearty American growl: Bruce Springsteen.
I broke off my intended route and, moving double-time, followed his voice to the side of the arena. Men in orange safety vests were moving heavy objects in and out of the arena with forklifts through a giant service entrance. The Springsteen classic "Prove It All Night" soared through the opening unimpeded. Either it was Springsteen or one hell of a cover band. I fell into place with a half-dozen other people atop a small, grassy hill. We stood 50 yards from the door, restricted from further access by a chain-link fence. I closed my eyes and listened. It sounded as good as any outdoor concert I've ever attended, maybe better.
"This is nice," I mumbled out loud and to nobody in particular.
A man with his face pressed against the fence turned around.
"This is very nice," he said. His smile was huge.
His name was Doug and he wore a T-shirt with the words "Battlefield Orchards, Freehold, NJ," printed across the front. Doug knew precisely why Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band were performing in an empty arena in Barcelona at 2 p.m. on a Thursday. He had come to Barcelona specifically for the first concert of the group's reunion tour, which was scheduled for the following night. Today, he said, was the final rehearsal. We had just gotten lucky by stumbling onto a big open door. My timing, he added, was impeccable. Clarence, Roy, Max, Nils, Garry and the rest of the band had pulled in much earlier -- but Bruce had just arrived 15 minutes ago. Doug turned away for a moment, moving his arms and one foot frantically in coordination with the drumbeat.
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