Bruce Springsteen

The demons and the dust wait, patiently, for their bard to take the stage. Between an old John Lee Hooker blues number and one of Bob Dylan's lesser-known poems, we all wait for our bard to take the stage. The air conditioning inside the Palalottomatica couldn't feel heavier, charged with a tension just waiting to break loose the moment the lights go down and the first chords from the minstrel of New Jersey ring out.

A good half hour late, Bruce Springsteen treads slowly onto the ground of his arena. His steps seem those of an old, weary cowboy, dusty boots and all, with the melody of "Once Upon a Time in the West" accompanying him all the way to his faithful audience, unusually comfortable seating for a rock show.

But tonight Bruce won't be talking about rock, and in fact he immediately calls for silence from everyone. He'd announced it and we were expecting it. “Let me sing this song in silence, it's a tribute to maestro Morricone.” In polished Italian, Springsteen sets the tone for his performance right away: no photos, no flashes, but above all no shouting and no prolonged applause. When he starts playing the “Morricone-esque” version of “I'm On Fire” on the banjo, the whole arena falls silent in an instant: someone is already crying.

For one night, “The Boss” is completely stripped bare, in what is perhaps the toughest, trickiest show of his career. Gone is the carefree energy of “Born To Run” blasted out in a stadium alongside his trusty bandmates. Now Bruce Springsteen is alone, with his acoustic guitar and the illusion of the American dream in his hands.

“Reason To Believe” becomes, as a result, harrowing, his voice crackling through an old microphone, as if we'd stepped into one of Tom Waits's nightmares... Perhaps there's no reason left to believe, to have faith in the ideals of a country that no longer represents him. Poor old Bruce: you've already become the poet of a generation left behind.

So, room for the new album, to try to give voice to those who no longer have one. The homeless of “Matamoros Banks”. The missing mothers of “Silver Palomino”. The boxer of “The Hitter”.

Intimate, aching songs dominate, moving the big, burly “Boss” to tears.

From eternal rebel to cautious family man, Springsteen moves to the piano to dedicate a gorgeous “Incident On 57th Street” to all the parents out there. Tonight's show is a special one, and Bruce breaks the rule he'd announced at the start of the tour. True, we didn't get an acoustic version of “Thunder Road”, but “The River” and “Racing In The Street” shone in all their nostalgic splendor.

And what about his beloved, loyal fans? “The Boss” never forgets how badly they want to get up from these damned uncomfortable seats, and every now and then he sounds the charge. Despite a string problem that forces him to switch guitars, the new “All The Way Home” manages to win over the crowd in a way that's as sudden as it is striking. Bruce Springsteen remains, through and through, a true rock and roll heart, and among the encores he offers a hugely fun, rootsy version of “Ramrod”. At this point even he can't do anything against a crowd that's grown louder and more excited by the minute. The uncomfortable seats are a distant memory: Bruce Springsteen has to be seen with his chest nearly pressed against the stage, hands outstretched trying to touch his star-spangled hero.

He laughs it off, amused, but jumping around and singing at the top of your lungs is out of the question. “Here are my kids.” Deep down, Bruce is like a second father. But the kids have to rein in their enthusiasm, because it's time for the skeletal, emotional version of “The Promised Land”.

“Once More,” Springsteen shouts. Another song, another uncontrollable rush of emotion. The organ kicks in, reverent, liturgical. “Dream Baby Dream” belongs entirely to his powerful voice, which wraps around Rome like an inner warmth that suddenly bursts open inside you.

The show is over, maybe too soon, maybe too late: any sense of time has stopped making sense by now, because the timing of these emotions is too hard to measure.

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