December 2025

A month and a half ago, a memory popped up on FB. It was a screenshot of a message I had received two years ago, and it reminded me of an essay I started and stopped earlier this year but somehow never got around to finishing. I‘ll do that now.

July 2025

I was driving down a country road in Switzerland, on a route I’d taken a dozen times or more.

Never thought I’d say that.

I’d been in the country for three weeks, looking after some pets for a friend. It was amazing, and a special treat to have the time to relax after a very hectic month of travel just before. The car I was in is hers—not too big, but not tiny either, so easy to navigate on the small roads between villages where I am in Emmental. I used the car to travel back and forth to visit her horse on the farm where he is boarded.

I got comfortable driving in the first few days. Comfortable enough to ditch the GPS and work off instinct and my own sense of direction/internal compass or whatever, and to actually find a radio station or two that I really liked.

One of them was called Flashback, and they played hits from the early 80’s (for the most part), mostly North American and pretty much all in English. There were newscasts at the top of the hour, and I recognized some of the words being spoken in Swiss German: “Schweiz”,  “Bern”, something about financial markets and something about a big fire at a concert venue; also ”Deutschland”, and “Donald Trump” (which reminded me of why I was there and not in North America; I needed a break, but it seems you just can’t get away from all the bullshit. At least it was further down in the newscast).

Otherwise, it was a lot of songs where I could remember most of the words and had mostly forgotten the bands. But some….

One day, Missing You by John Waite came on, and I didn’t turn it off, maybe for the first time ever. I used to have to, because it brought back a time that was personally incredibly painful. This time it reminded me that, had things not happened as they did, I wouldn’t be driving down this road in Switzerland.

Sometimes it takes a while to figure that out.

So I let it play.

After a newscast another day, I heard the first familiar bars of another very familiar song. You know the ones, the first few notes give them away, like the opening of Hotel California or Smoke on the Water—songs that take you right back to a different place and time, and sometimes to a specific instance? This one took me back, to be sure, but also brought me firmly into the present. (Don’t click on those links, btw, or you’ll end up down a rabbit hole like I did and emerge several hours later.)

Bruce Springsteen. Born to Run. Loud, bold, unapologetic, American. 1975, and 2025 at once. I had just heard it a few weeks ago, performed live, twice, first in Prague and then Milan. And in Calgary, in November the year before. Three times seeing an artist live is not something I ever thought I’d do, but when opportunity presents itself, how do you say no? (Oh, and the note at the top of my FB feed? From Ticketmaster, cancelling a concert scheduled for earlier in Calgary as Springsteen had gotten ill; I opted to return my tickets because there was no date for rescheduling, but luckily, in a bookended sort of way, I managed to see the replacement show a year or so later).

All three opportunities came by way of a friend from home, Jim. He and his wife Lynette had come up to Calgary for the concert and had a spare ticket, so they stayed with me and we went to the show and toured around town and we had a great time.

Jim’s part of a loose, unofficial network of people who see attending a concert tour as more than a one-time thing. While a lot of us would see the band in our home city or maybe be willing to travel just a bit, they buy tickets to most or all the shows on a tour—as many shows as they can score, and then get to work on the logistics of getting to the venues. It doesn’t matter if it’s San Francisco or San Sebastian, Amsterdam or Asbury Park—they know how to work the online systems and get the tickets. And they do it well. So when Jim reached out and said that Lynette wasn’t going to be able to make the European shows (for which they managed to pick up tickets to 15 of the 16 concert dates), and since I had already planned to be in Europe for the summer, maybe I’d like to go?

Well, yes please, I would. And thank you.  I chose my shows, two of them.

What I began to realize as I wandered around with Jim in the days before each show was that there’s an entire community of people who are willing and eager to travel the globe to follow their artist of choice; in this case, the Boss.

This shouldn’t be a big surprise to me, as way back when in New York City, I hung out with my share of bands, and was in the inner circle of one. And this band had loyal fans, of course, and even the occasional groupie, but when you’re on the inside, it’s a different place. During that time, I saw lots of bands, both local and internationally known, in concert venues and recording studios. . But there wasn’t really another band I followed regularly. It was more of a transient community I was part of—the bands came and went, and we stayed put (unless you count Bayonne, New Jersey as a road trip, and I don’t). And Bruce Springsteen was around and just coming up at that time…the Stone Pony in Asbury Park (too far away from NYC when you don’t have a car, although I do remember discussing heading down to the Shore to see what the fuss was all about, but we never got there) or his climb to the stage at the Palladium just down the street; somehow I never went to see him and his band.

So the concept of a network of followers of a known performer wasn’t something I knew intimately, although I’m sure this happens with every big name artist. In fact, I’m sure all the headlining acts have avid followers like this; Taylor Swift, anyone? This past summer when I was heading to Glasgow from Edinburgh on the train after an evening out, the suprisingly empty train (given it was the height of summer) became jammed at a stop on the outskirts of the city, filled with fans coming from an AC/DC stadium show; I spent the ride chatting with a man, his son, and his granddaughter, who all loved the show.

I asked Jim about this after we went to a “sing along” on the main square in Prague the night before the show. Hundreds of people turned out, and it didn’t take him long to find friends and say hello and give hugs, again and again.

I met his friend Conny from Vienna, who is now my FB friend too; I met a girl who got the Boss’ harmonica in Berlin (he gives two away at each show), which she kept cafrefully protected in plastic wrap (she took it out, for just a moment, to show us); I met a lady from New Jersey, maybe in her 50’s, who travels around and follows the band.

Jim greeted a heavy drinking pack of burly guys in T-shirts (a sure fire way to strike up a conversation—the T-shirts, not the beer, although I’m sure the beer helps), and people of all ages and from all over. Jim says, “I’m FB friends now with many of the fans I met this year and am in occasional contact with Conny. I exchange messages with a woman named Mae from Manchester once a week or so, too, and a woman named Emma from Sweden.”  But, he says, that’s about it.

There are many more who are nameless (well, they have names, but Jim doesn’t know them), people he sees on planes and trains or in the roll call lines, waiting to get Sharpie-marked numbers on their hands to determine placement in the pits by the stage. People in cafes or museums, taking in the city before taking in the shows, wearing concert tees will give and get knowing nods or a few words as they pass.

“I’ve always felt like an outsider, rather than part of the ‘network’”, says the guy who’s been to 66 shows (plus two times on Broadway) all over the world, and who, while we were on a walking tour before the show, spotted Nils Lofgren on the street and got him to stop and chat and sign his Springsteen-branded hat. “I will say that this year I felt more a part of it than on previous tours. I even met a couple of his fans that I consider royalty.” I think I know what he means.

Jim started following the E Street Band in 1984 with a show at the Tacoma Dome, and he was hooked and hasn’t really stopped (unless Springsteen’s not on the road, I guess), so he started to build his network of fan friends back then. Many are still connected, so I’m not sure how he doesn’t feel he’s a deep part of what makes the followers who they are.

And you can bet he knows all the songs. And the words. Through the concerts—the performances, really, I learned that I am only a surface Springsteen fan—I know the hits on the radio; I don’t know his discography, or his story (unless it was in People Mag), or his arc—the history of how his music has progressed through his 75 years.

And man, he does not look 75. We should all look so good when we get there. He’s super fit, he’s punctual, and plays a solid set—usually at least three hours of songs, conversations, comments in the host country’s languages, and yes, political speeches, which were fine by me.

Tell you something, though—this doesn’t come cheap. Ticket prices are at a premium, as the shows sell out, and then there’s the cost of getting from A to B and the hotels and hostels and food, and souvenir T-shirts (60 bucks Canadian; yep, I got one, but still haven’t worn it). Jim mentioned to me that “tickets are indeed expensive, but the European shows are a bargain compared to the US.” Still, I’m not sure how so many fund this type of travel, except to say that the audience is as…mature (chronologically) as you might expect to turn out for someone who’s been at it 50+ (!) years, so perhaps they have a little more disposable income…whatever the case, they all do it. Over, and over again.

The atmosphere at the shows is electric; tens of thousands of enthusiastic people, fans, followers, and the lucky ones who got a pair of tickets to shows in other parts of the world (ahem). All pulled together for a few hours, sharing a common energy and a bond, for just a little while.

I loved the spectacle. I loved the music. I’m not sure when I last went to an outdoor stadium concert, and the reaction of the crowds—mostly Europeans, I think, of all ages, made for a couple of excellent evenings.

I’m glad I got to experience it.

SO: What about you? Do you have a band you either have or would follow if you could? Are you a regular outdoor festival type–Coachella, Glastonbury, Vienna’s Donauinselfest (holy cow,check this out); do you gravitate to indoor venues; are you a front-of-the-stage type or happier in a comfy seat? How do you get your tickets? Have you met your idols?? Do you have a little story to tell, and some photos to share? Have you been dying to show your best pix? C’mon then, send them here.

I’m trying something new as I’m about to re-work the N50 page and transition to something new in January. While this current platform will allow for you to submit comments, it doesn’t allow you to upload photos (I’m working on it, but it’s tech, so….). So here’s a link to an email I’ve set up; I’ll copy and paste your comments and add your pix here. And please bear with me–this is new!