(This piece was originally published on The Footy Almanac’s music site, 24/01/2015.)
This summer, for the first time in three years I am not eagerly awaiting a Bruce Springsteen tour to Australia. Thank goodness.
Not that I wouldn’t want Bruce to return, bringing with him his million-dollar entourage, his massive back catalogue and three-hour musical extravaganzas. It’s just that I couldn’t bear the stress of anticipation.
Stress? I’ve been addicted to Springsteen since the late 1970s when a fellow uni student, Ian Wright, introduced me to the man from Freehold, New Jersey.
