I Come From Down in the Valley...

My favorite thing about music is when you see things go full circle in the time it's taken you to "grow up." My father is a huge influence in my life and always has been. I remember being a kid and being audibly fed Neil Young records, Bruce Hornsby, Van Morrison, Cat Stevens; you name it. Scott and I were always surrounded by such amazing music, and I know it's played a HUGE role in our lives, mine especially. Perhaps the most influential artist that my dad ever played around the house was The Boss, Mr. Bruce Springsteen himself. Bruce had a way of connecting with you the second he spoke a word. From the screen door slamming to Roy Orbison singing for the lonely, Bruce is an icon; a man that is able to speak to any situation and somehow portray exactly what it feels like to be in it. My dad is my Bruce Springsteen, and he's showed me so much about life simply through his actions and especially through his passion for listening to The Boss. Life is a hard thing to teach, but with the help of a little music, the teaching handles itself.

In my house you were never told what you had to be when you were older. My parents were the most laid back, cool folks I've ever known. We laughed, we made jokes, we bbq'd, we watched ice pops fly out of the sky as if planes were dropping them for us, and most importantly we listened to really good music. Bruce Springsteen lived at my house. He lived in every speaker, vinyl record sleeve, compact disc, and cassette. His lyrics bounced off the mahogany walls of our living room, lived inside the rock speakers on the patio, and the voices of all those that sang his tunes at 114 Grandview on a daily basis. My dad was my Bruce Springsteen. My mom was my Max Weinberg (although a lot more attractive). My mom was the pulse behind the beat while my dad was the singer. She kept our feet moving and toes tapping at all times. Dad told us what it was like "Growing Up," at "The River," across the street from "Tenth Avenue Freezout." On any given summer day our back patio was the Stone Pony in Asbury Park, and we were all connected by the timeless storytelling of Bruce's lyrics and the unparalleled musicianship of the entire band.

I remember one day in the mid 90's, sitting in the living room with Scott and my dad. There's a live version of "The River" that chokes me up everytime I hear it, and it's because of this one day. I'll never forget Bruce's opening line, "how you doing out there tonight?" The crowd screams, and all he says is "that's good...that's good," as he knew that they were all ears and appreciative. My dad loved telling stories about his father and the various things he's learned from him, and we were always all ears. My grandfather was an amazing man, and he no doubt influenced my dad to be who he is today. In this 12 minute version of "The River," Bruce talks about how he and his father used to go at it all the time, fighting over almost anything. From his long hair to his loud Fender guitar, Bruce was never accepted by his dad. There's a line in the intro that we all relate to in our lives. "He would ask me what I thought I was doing with myself...and the worst thing about it is that I never could explain it to him."

My dad, Scott, and I sat in the living room in silence and listened. My dad probably had heard it 100+ times at this point, but his smile showed us that it felt like the first time. He was really connected to what Bruce was saying and I was too, Scott included. Bruce's dad goes on to say that he wants the Army to get a hold of him, to possibly create some guidance and direction in his life. Bruce then fails his physical after receiving his draft notice. Instead of his father being upset and lecturing him some more, his father simply says "that's good." In other words, he didn't truly want to put Bruce in danger by getting him "straightened out" in the Army. Maybe it was a scare tactic, but at the end of the day, he was his father. The crowd then screams after "that's good" and you get the feeling like Bruce was finally accepted by his father at that exact moment in time, EVERY time he sings the song.

I don't know why Scott and I connected so much with my dad that day. We were never told what to do, who to be, or where we should end up. We were always taught to be ourselves, enjoy being ourselves, and to lend a hand when needed and we will ALWAYS be his son. It's funny how Bruce stopped the spoken intro right after his father simply said "that's good." It's like he finally knew that his dad was on his side, even though he might not have shown it before. Scott, me, and my dad were all in this together, and I think this was the definitive moment in my life that I realized I wanted to be exactly like my father. We both got "it," even though we didn't even know what "it" is. I don't believe we ever know what "it" is, as we all have our own ideas and beliefs. I learned so much about my dad in that living room, and we didn't even say a word to eachother; Bruce said it all.

Music. No matter how you were born, raised, or taught, it will always bring people together. When it all comes back around is when you realize how truly special life is. Foy Vance covered "The River" on the BBC earlier this year, and it left my jaw on the floor. I felt like my father, when my father first heard Bruce Springsteen. I can listen to the words of Bruce through an artist of my generation, and still remember everything as though it's that one day in my living room. Below is the live Bruce recording, and the cover of "The River" by Foy Vance. Listen carefully to Bruce's opening and you'll know why I wrote this. Cheers.