Land of hope and dreams

Since the very first time my friend Jeff Haas played it for me, Bruce Springsteen’s Thunder Road has been my favorite song. And being the fan we all know I am, it won't surprise anyone when I say that if I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it at least ten thousand times.

Except here’s the funny part: last Saturday night, I felt like I heard it for the first time.

I flew to New York last Friday for the weekend to see Springsteen On Broadway, Bruce’s new and first Broadway show, where he tells stories about his life, sings a set playlist of songs and reads from his autobiography, Born To Run.

I'm just thankful we didn’t get the understudy.

What I wasn’t prepared for was how intimate, raw, emotional, joyful, tearful and brutally honest the evening was. I can’t imagine any other artist being that open with their audience (not that I spend a lot of time thinking about other artists). But then again, that’s always been part of the attraction to Bruce. He's not hiding behind his songs, he's revealing our shared experiences and feelings through them.

In the show, Bruce tells the stories of his life—his family, his rockstar journey, pays tribute to his late friend, sax player and sidekick Big Man Clarence Clemons, unflinchingly declares his love for his wife Patti— punctuating and adding perspective to them with carefully chosen songs from his library of forty years. I’ve heard every one of these songs dozens of times in concert. Yet, set in the context of the show, as I said, it felt like the first time.

It’s a scripted show—a considerable change from the mix it up, multi-night gigs and audibles he calls during his arena shows.

And speaking of arena shows, the 950-seat Walter Kerr Theater is about as far as you can get from an arena.

Easily the smallest venue he’s played in thirty years, it’s difficult to imagine a more perfect place both acoustically, artistically, historically and spiritually for Bruce to tell his stories. Yes it's a Broadway theater, but it is every bit as much an essential character in this transcendent experience as the music is.

I don’t want to give away a lot about the show, because I have friends who will be seeing it soon. I will say this: be ready to laugh, cry, reflect, rejoice, pray (you heard me), be grateful and celebrate with 950 of your newest, closest friends.

There is a point in the show when Bruce talks about his music and the journey we’re all on, hoping he’s been a good traveling companion along the way.

Frankly, I never would have made the trip without him.

The someday lunch

I understand some things are extremely difficult in life. There are challenges we all have to overcome, sometimes against seemingly impossible odds.

From health issues, to business dealings, family discord, freeway traffic, account planners and bad customer service, there's no shortage of situations lying in wait to test our energy, resourcefulness, commitment and patience.

But I'm thinking lunch shouldn't be one of them.

If you were to ask most people I know about me - and I hope to God you're not doing that - I think the majority opinion would be I'm a bit of a social butterfly. Not exactly a people person, but I do like to chat it up. And I love an audience. If they're laughing at my jokes I love them even more. Which is the reason I didn't love the audience the one time I tried standup at the Comedy Store.

I may be getting off point here.

Anyway, be that as it may, I'm not an easy lunch. I'm selective about the company I keep during lunch hour, especially on days off. On days I'm working, I don't care nearly as much as long as I can get the hell out of the office.

Here's the thing: I have a great friend I love having lunch with. We schedule it as often as we can. Notice I said schedule, and not have. This most recent round has gone five or six times, and we have yet to hit a day that winds up working. For one legitimate reason or another, one of us always has to jump the lunch ship.

It's not like we've never had lunch. We have. Which is why I look forward to it so much, and am disappointed when we can't manage to pull it off.

But I'm convinced persistence will rule the day - I know eventually we'll get together. And when we do, I'll have more stories to tell, and more stories to listen to. Plus by then I'll probably be a little thinner.

So maybe this postponing business isn't so bad after all.

Bringing it

There's something to be said for asking for the order. For example, when Michael Pollock, an accomplished pianist went to a Billy Joel Q&A on his college campus, he had a question for the piano man.

He wanted to know if he could accompany him on New York State Of Mind. And Billy said yes. Then, as you can see in the video, he went on to win over not just Joel, but the audience as well. The reason? Because he brought it. He saw his moment, and he carpéd it.

It's always bonus points if you can bring it when these once-in-a-lifetime situations present themselves. But, even if you can't, more often than not the audience is with you just for having the moxie to take the shot.

Sarah Horn is another person who brought it. When the person in front of her didn't know the words to the hit Broadway show tune For Good from Wicked, Sarah screamed out that she did and she was chosen. The fact she's a vocal coach probably has something to do with how much she loves musical theater. And how great she is.

Part of the fun of this video is watching how she knocks it out of the park, and the other part is seeing how blown away Kristin Chenoweth is by her talent.

Sometimes bringing it doesn't mean the voice. Sometimes it means the cute.

At shows where Bruce sings Waitin' On A Sunny Day, he almost always pulls a kid out of the audience to sing with him. And it almost always goes like this.

She gets to sing with a rock star. Twenty-thousand people cheer her on. She has a memory to last a lifetime. And she can watch it on YouTube whenever she wants.

My moment of greatness was within my grasp in Springsteen's Tougher Than The Rest video (don't blink or you'll miss it). You'll notice at the 3:29 mark, in the very lower right corner, second row, there's a guy with glasses wearing a black t-shirt with white lettering, fist-pumping to the music.

It's easy to recognize it's me, because I look pretty much the same as I do now - young, full beard, black hair and thin. What can I say? I have good genes.

Yes, it's me. Yes I was there. Yes I knew every song on the set list that night. Yes I was definitely ready to bring it.

Problem was nobody wanted it.

It's showtime. Almost.

This is going to seem hard to believe, but unlike fairy tales and stories about unicorns, leprechauns, insightful account planners and consumer engagement, this one is absolutely true.

Once upon a time, people used to go to movie theaters and, not including movie trailers, there were no commercials or advertising before the movie. None. Zilch.

Then, someone at the L.A. Times had an idea about how the paper could get into the movie business. They decided they’d give a discount on media placement for theater listings to the theater chains if they’d run an L.A. Times commercial before the movies started.

It was a great deal for the Times. Captive audience, big screen and a theater extortion plan they knew the chains would go for.

When these commercials started appearing years ago, it didn’t matter if you were seeing a movie at the Village in Westwood or the Gardena Cinema. They were unanimously and loudly booed. People threw popcorn at the screen. The audience could get commercials at home on their televisions. It wasn’t what they were coming to the movies for. They hated it and they weren't going to sit for it.

Except that they have.

Fast forward to today. Since no one looks in the newspaper for show times anymore, the L.A. Times commercials are a quaint memory (and the paper might soon be as well). But what’s taken its place are theater owners who’ve co-opted the idea to generate revenue for themselves.

You know those pre-show, pre-packaged group of ads, shorts, trailers and interviews you see before movies? The ones that are usually bundled as First Look or The Twenty (short for the 20 minutes prior to showtime)? Yes it's paid advertising. But it's the theaters themselves who are bringing it to you.

The three major chains - Regal, AMC and Cinemark - have together formed National CineMedia(NCM) to show preshow ads in their theaters. Here's an idea how much they're making off it:

And you thought all their profit was coming from $4.75 cups of Coke.

It's actually amazing they manage to have the ad sales they do. Here's the pitch from their website:

If by fully engaged audience they mean a theater full of people talking, checking their phones, texting, playing games, looking for seats, at the concession stand buying $5.75 buckets of popcorn, then yes, they're fully engaged.

Fully engaged isn't the only promise they make that they aren't keeping.

Did you see it? It's the part at the end about loving the brand? I'm pretty sure being shown commercials in a theater has just the opposite effect. It's one thing when you see a bad commercial on television. But when you see one (or the same one) on a 60-ft. screen in 70mm with Dolby sound, the badness just scales up. So does the resentment. Even if it's a good spot, it's holding you captive before your movie.

There are two problems here. First, as always, is the money. Like the fees the airlines charge for what once was free, the theaters are making way too much from these commercials to get rid of them. And second is a passive audience who has just come to accept the first fact.

I usually like a theater as quiet as possible.

But I do miss the booing I used to hear the minute the commercial started playing.