I'll Take Your Sorrow
So for the second time in three years I attended a Springsteen concert alone in Albany. For those of you who read Oh Brother! The Life & Times of Jeff Fazzolari you know how important that first concert was for me.
It actually may have really saved me.
So when the tickets when on sale I bought one. I scheduled work in the area as it is a part of the state that I have to see anyway. In fact, I went to Massachusetts early on Tuesday morning after getting in late on Monday from the show.
Anyway...I had different expectations this time. I'd just been to the show, on Friday in Buffalo, so I knew what to expect. (Of course Bruce played a dozen different songs).
I just wanted it to wash over me. I wanted to see what Bruce could say about the grief, then and now. I felt different this time.
"We're here to talk to you tonight about the things we lose, and to celebrate the things no one can ever take away from us!" Bruce yelled.
I was seated beside a 15-year-old girl who did not clap, smile, or make a sound all night, but she studied Bruce and the band as if she were writing a research paper on rock stars.
On my other side was a middle-aged man who was seated beside -get this -his younger brother. His brother could hear (he was writing down the name of each song) but he couldn't talk. He passed notes to his older brother about the show. In fact, he passed one to me:
"Will he play Seeds?" he asked.
"He didn't play it in Buffalo," I said.
I never got an explanation about the two brothers, but they had a wonderful time.
I spent some time watching the frenzied crowd.
And then it happened.
Bruce went into the crowd and he came out with a sign.
"I'll try it," he said, and then we watched for a moment as he tuned an acoustic guitar.
"I think I got it. Gotta' do it by myself. This is for Molly in memory of her Mom."
Before he even strummed the first note, I knew what the song was. It's a song that is very rarely ever played in concert and was not even released on a record.
"Janey don't you lose heart," I said to those around me.
You got your book baby with all your fears
Let me honey and I'll catch your tears
I'll take your sorrow if you want me to
Come tomorrow that's what I'll do
Listen to me
Janey don't you lose heart
Janey don't you lose heart
Janey don't you lose heart.
I came in looking for something and there it was. A rare song. One that the two brothers at the show loved. One that a family from North Collins also loves.
Moments later Bruce told us:
"If you're here and we're here than they're here!"
"How did you know what song it was going to be?" the speaking brother asked me. "Did he play it in Buffalo?"
"No," I said. "He hasn't played it in years."
I left the guy hanging.
How could I explain it?
I can't.
It actually may have really saved me.
So when the tickets when on sale I bought one. I scheduled work in the area as it is a part of the state that I have to see anyway. In fact, I went to Massachusetts early on Tuesday morning after getting in late on Monday from the show.
Anyway...I had different expectations this time. I'd just been to the show, on Friday in Buffalo, so I knew what to expect. (Of course Bruce played a dozen different songs).
I just wanted it to wash over me. I wanted to see what Bruce could say about the grief, then and now. I felt different this time.
"We're here to talk to you tonight about the things we lose, and to celebrate the things no one can ever take away from us!" Bruce yelled.
I was seated beside a 15-year-old girl who did not clap, smile, or make a sound all night, but she studied Bruce and the band as if she were writing a research paper on rock stars.
On my other side was a middle-aged man who was seated beside -get this -his younger brother. His brother could hear (he was writing down the name of each song) but he couldn't talk. He passed notes to his older brother about the show. In fact, he passed one to me:
"Will he play Seeds?" he asked.
"He didn't play it in Buffalo," I said.
I never got an explanation about the two brothers, but they had a wonderful time.
I spent some time watching the frenzied crowd.
And then it happened.
Bruce went into the crowd and he came out with a sign.
"I'll try it," he said, and then we watched for a moment as he tuned an acoustic guitar.
"I think I got it. Gotta' do it by myself. This is for Molly in memory of her Mom."
Before he even strummed the first note, I knew what the song was. It's a song that is very rarely ever played in concert and was not even released on a record.
"Janey don't you lose heart," I said to those around me.
You got your book baby with all your fears
Let me honey and I'll catch your tears
I'll take your sorrow if you want me to
Come tomorrow that's what I'll do
Listen to me
Janey don't you lose heart
Janey don't you lose heart
Janey don't you lose heart.
I came in looking for something and there it was. A rare song. One that the two brothers at the show loved. One that a family from North Collins also loves.
Moments later Bruce told us:
"If you're here and we're here than they're here!"
"How did you know what song it was going to be?" the speaking brother asked me. "Did he play it in Buffalo?"
"No," I said. "He hasn't played it in years."
I left the guy hanging.
How could I explain it?
I can't.
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