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"You've got to always remember," he says, "rock 'n' roll's never about giving up. For me—for a lot of kids—it was a totally positive force . . . not optimistic all the time, but positive. It was never—never —about surrender." Like the people in his songs, Springsteen reaches high, always making the big grab but never loosing aim. When a visiting English journalist suggested to him a couple of weeks ago that he was trying to write "the great American novel on albums," Springsteen just grinned and replied, "The great American drive-in movie's more like it."
In fact, all those night riders across the neon terrain not only summon familiar memories, but have misled some reviewers into thinking that Springsteen has driven himself right off Thunder Road and into a rut. "But," he says, "everything has its limitations and its ultimate possibilities, and you got to test them to find out what they are. It's like those Italian westerns at the drive-in. I always loved it that they showed 'em all at once. That's the way I make these albums—so they get played all at once."
The albums are getting played plenty. FM radio seems inundated, Darkness has just gone platinum, and Springsteen, en route to three sold-out concerts at Madison Square Garden later this month, is currently storming the heartland, dishing out 2½ hours of red-hot rock. His E Street Band helps keep things always at the boiling point. They are powerhouse musicians who have raised roadhouse rock to Olympian heights. The driving delicacy of Roy Bittan's piano, Danny Federici's flights of rough-and-tumble fantasy on the organ, and the hang-tough beat of Max Weinberg's drums, Garry Tallent's sinuous, serpentine bass lines and the roistering guitar of Miami Steve Van Zandt form the firm foundation. The wailing, extravagant sax solos by Clarence Clemens cut jolting, joking arabesques around the Boss's lead guitar and vocals, which are the main attraction, and the most seismic in the business.
No artificial stimulation of any kind required, either. Using drugs to get up for a concert is for Springsteen "like coming onstage on crutches." He will, however, listen to some good music before a show (Buddy Holly is a current favorite). "It's like an actor watching Brando in Waterfront before he does a scene," Springsteen says. "It just gives you a sense of what the possibilities are, where you can take them, and a sense there's a lot to live up to."
As Springsteen leaps into an audience, playing with them, strutting and joking, he cuts up like a star. Yet he also cracks self-deprecating jokes during performances and just recently defaced his own billboard above Sunset Strip with a can of spray paint. His myths are in his music, not in his life. The Jersey shore he sings about is becoming universal territory, and his mentions of Asbury Park are greeted with home-town cheers everywhere. But he remains wary of celebrity, recalling, "When I was a kid, what mattered to me more than the performers was the power of the music. People emphasize the personal too much. Being a rock star, that's like the booby prize. Me, I set out to be a rock 'n' roller."