I sat last Saturday at the Stadio Olimpico, Bruce Springsteen’s second night in Barcelona, and was greeted by a colleague with an expression of disgust. He wants to explain to me that “those big things” are not for him, and that what he likes are clubs. “So, today you had to come again?” Let’s see, “have” is not the most accurate verb. I wanted to come back. I love Springsteen concerts, I know that no two nights are the same with him and I don’t mind rock music in the stadium, which beyond some inconveniences (not exclusive to this format: in some very authentic clubs I found a masseuse and I try to make it look great (the singer’s head in the distance) constitutes a kind Theatrically in its own right, where, as always, things can get better or worse.
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