The news of Danny Federici’s passing has me contemplating a number of emotions. It seems that with every passing week, there is news of cancer claiming yet another beautiful spirit and you can’t help but wonder if such a thing is really necessary, or fair, for that matter.

While I readily admit to being a recent convert to the magic and splendor that is Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, the reason Danny’s death hits me especially hard is because I too suffer from cancer. I’ve been through chemotherapy a number of times and am scheduled for surgery in mid-May to remove some tissue my doctors describe only as “suspicious.”

Even before I was diagnosed, I was well aware that cancer was the kind of disease that toys with its victims like a cat pawing at a wounded mouse. Sometimes, it takes you swiftly and other times, it lets you alive in such unbearable pain that you wish for death as a release from the prison that life has become.

What was even more disheartening were the countless stories of those who’d supposedly beaten the disease – gone into remission – only to have the cancer return stronger than ever, stealing them suddenly.

Springsteen and his band are gods. There’s really no other way to put it. I can only imagine what it must be like to have lived in New Jersey during the band’s rise from obscurity to super-stardom. Unlike most bands, Bruce and the E Street Band were a gang of brothers, bound by blood and an unwavering devotion to the cause that was rock & roll. (more…)

The news of Danny Federici’s death has sent my mind reeling back over the dozens of E Street Band shows that I’ve seen over the years. But the one I kept going back to this morning is the very first one that I ever saw, at the legendary Capitol Theater in Passaic, NJ, on October 14, 1974. I was not there to see Bruce Springsteen.

Looking back on it now, it was an impressive triple bill, and I was there to see the opening act. I made the thirty-minute drive with my best friend Larry. Ten years earlier, we had created our first band together in the wake of the Beatles’ arrival in the U.S. It was all about music for us: Larry loved the Kinks, and I was in my Neil Young phase. We had both been very impressed with a recent debut album by one Dan Fogelberg, and we heard that he was opening the show, so off we went. The headliner was the always dependable John Sebastian, and in the middle, Bruce Springsteen. We had heard about Bruce. There was definitely a buzz around N.J. about him, but I can honestly say that at that point I had never heard a note of his music. Also with us that night was my future ex-wife, Sarah. We were only a few months away from a lovely wedding — and a quick divorce.

To tell you the truth, I don’t remember much about Fogelberg’s set. As I recall, it was vaguely disappointing. It proved difficult to reproduce the lush textures of his album in a live setting. Then there was a surprise: John Sebastian, the headliner, had decided to go on in the middle slot. It was unprecedented, and at that point hard to understand. This decision later became something of a legend in Bruce Springsteen lore. One version has it that Sebastian had witnessed the Springsteen soundcheck and wisely decided that, armed with only his acoustic guitar and harmonica, he was not going to try to follow the E Street Band that night. Again, I don’t remember much about Sebastian’s set, but he was always dependably entertaining, and I’m sure he was that night as well.

To tell you the truth, we were ready to leave. The Springsteen buzz was a bit irritating at that point. Almost cult-like already. We weren’t buying into it. Who did this guy think he was? Then Larry reminded me that Max had just joined the band, and maybe we should at least check it out. We had known Max since the seventh grade, and gone all through junior high school and high school with him. He was always a great drummer, and his bands were always the best local bands. (Ours were always second best.) So it wasn’t surprising to us that Max had made it to the next level, but at the time it was just that — the next level. A couple of months earlier, Ernest “Boom” Carter had left the E Street Band, along with keyboard player David Sancious. After responding to a blind ad in the Village Voice, Max had replaced Ernest, and Roy Bittan came onboard in David’s place. What the hell. We figured we’d stick around to see what all the fuss was about. Sarah was trying hard to be patient.

After a brief intermission, the lights dimmed. A lone spotlight picked out a ragged figure, center stage. (more…)

Indianapolis, Indiana-Conseco Fieldhouse
March 20, 2008

When I see a concert, I hope that the artist resonates in a way that moves you beyond the two or three hour performance. There are nights where you want to be entertained and other nights where you NEED to be taken to a higher plane. As the E Street Band descended on stage at the Conseco Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, I knew on this particular night I needed to touch that higher plane and reach an emotional apex that may be tough for the band to reach. Despite my reservations, I found myself absorbed towards the end of the main set where Steve Van Zandt took over vocals for “Long Walk Home,” the defining moment on Magic – and even though the performances of this number last year were nothing to sneer at, the song has evolved into an epic along the lines of the performances of “Backstreets” from 1978. The performance revealed untold affecting emotions through the sheer power of guitar rock, without relying on sentimentality. Even the uninitiated around me found this to be a seismic watershed moment of the E Street Band at their finest, reminding us that it ain’t so sin to be glad you’re alive; let me tell you, this was just one of many goosebump moments of the night.

Opening the show with a spot-on penetrating performance was the triple guitar attack of “Night.” For the next 150 minutes, the band proved to be fixating and focused, even if they never quite reached the emotional and pulverizing highs of the show in Milwaukee three nights earlier. Springsteen’s connection to the crowd and recognition of signs from the pit made the intimacy of the show much more palpable even from back in the arena. This is sadly something that will be lost when he moves to stadiums in the summer. Right before the fourth song, Bruce asked for a sign to be sent to him, which showed the band and revealed to the crowd; “Please play ‘Prove It.’” I won’t mince words; I personally felt that anyone who had taken the time to make a sign like that should been banned from the pit for life. However, as I began to watch the always fervent and impassioned performance, it struck me that since I had been catching Springsteen shows in Indianapolis, I never recalled seeing “Prove It All Night” live. When I got home, I did a little research and found out that the last time “Prove It All Night” had been performed in Indianapolis was January 8, 1985. So if it was a longtime resident of Indy who requested that song, I forgive them.

The next audible (replacing “Growing Up” on the handwritten set list) was “Rendezvous” — a welcome switch, as the band immediately found its groove on this underappreciated and underperformed gem. The thunder clapping hysterics of “Reason To Believe” and “She’s The One” left the Hoosier crowd’s mouths agape once again. The whole evening flew into overdrive. (more…)

The first thing thing that came to mind when I heard that Danny Federici had passed was the chorus of “4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy).” This song, more than any other song in Springsteen’s catalog, was Federici’s as much as it was Springsteen’s. In fact, I can not imagine how that song will ever be performed without Phantom Dan by the Boss’ side, playing the accordion. I have always felt that Springsteen is a better performer when he has his E Street compatriots backing him up, especially Garry and Danny. Especially in the ’90s — listen to the songs on Human Touch and Lucky Town and it’s clear there’s something missing. Heart? A little soul? Then listen to the tracks from Greatest Hits and The Ghost of Tom Joad that include Garry and Dan supporting Springsteen — you can hear that extra warmth.

Federici sat silently in the background for 40 years while his close friend became an international superstar. The entire legion of E Street fans feels sorrow in its heart today, because even though Federici was rarely in the spotlight, we all know how much Springsteen loved his friend. His organ hummed through the songs, providing a sort of spiritual lift (as in “Streets of Fire” or “My City of Ruins”) or an exuberance (like in “Hungry Heart” or “Livin’ in the Future”) that might otherwise be missing in Springsteen’s music. And of course, his accordion playing kept Bruce and the fans connected to the band’s Jersey shore roots. Federici often came off as a loner, which may have been why he and Bruce connected so early in life. Before the E Street Band became a gang in the late ’70s, they were a collection of misfits and loners. But quiet as he may have been, his presence was felt in every concert.

My favorite statement by Federici came when he admitted that he probably couldn’t play any Springsteen songs alone. It was only with the band that he could play a song and that the melodies and intricacies came back to him. The music was in his soul. And now, a little bit of the soul in the E Street Band is missing forever.

Bishop Danced
Hungry Heart
Living in the Future
Blood Brothers
Kitty’s Back (live 1975)
4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy) (live 1978)