You can tell a lot about musicians by how they arrive at an interview. Some come with a manager, a publicist, bodyguards, or a retinue of hangers-on. Bruce Springsteen came to this interview alone. He drove himself from his home in Rumson, New Jersey, to the Sony Music Studios in Manhattan in his black Explorer—and arrived early.

      Sitting in solitude with his back to the door in a darkened conference room, a mass of flannel and denim with a glinting silver cross earring, he didn’t need much prodding to be talked into heading to a nearby bar, where he ordered a shot of tequila and a beer, and gave the waitress a two hundred percent tip.

       I hadn’t planned to ask this, but have you ever been in therapy?

      BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN: Oh yeah, absolutely. And I found it to be one of the most healthy experiences of my life. I grew up in a working-class family where that was very frowned upon. So it was very, very difficult for me to ever get to a place where I said I needed some help. You know, I stumbled into some different very dark times where I simply had no other idea of what to do. It’s not necessarily for everybody maybe, but all I can say is, I’ve lived a much fuller life. I’ve accomplished things personally that felt simply impossible previously. It’s a sign of strength, you know, to put your hand out and ask for help, whether it’s a friend or a professional or whatever.

       So do you still go regularly?

      SPRINGSTEEN: Long periods of time will go by when I’m not [in therapy], but it’s a resource to call on if I need to. You know, it helps you center yourself emotionally and be the man you want to be. I mean, it’s funny because I simply never knew anyone who’d had that experience, so initially you go through a lot of different feelings about it. But all I can say is the leap of consciousness that it takes to go from playing in your garage to playing in front of five thousand, six thousand, seven thousand people—or when you experience any kind of success at all—can be very, very demanding.

       Unlike most musicians I’ve interviewed, you’ve managed to avoid letting success cause you to lose your perspective and grounding.

      SPRINGSTEEN: It’s interesting, because when I started out making music, I wasn’t fundamentally interested in having a big hit right away. I was into writing music that was going to thread its way into people’s lives. I was interested in becoming a part of people’s lives, and having some usefulness—that would be the best word. I would imagine that a lot of people that end up going into the arts or film or music were at some point told by somebody that they were useless. Everyone has felt that. So I know that one of the main motivations for me was to try to be useful, and then of course there were all those other pop dreams of the Cadillac or the girls. All the stuff that comes with it was there, but sort of on the periphery.

      In some way, I was trying to find a fundamental purpose for my own existence. And basically trying to enter people’s lives in that fashion and hopefully maintain that relationship over a lifetime, or at least as long as I felt I had something useful to say. That was why we took so long in between records. We made a lot of music. There are albums and albums worth of stuff sitting in the can. But I just didn’t feel they were that useful. [. . .]

       What kind of advice would you give the young Bruce Springsteen now?

      SPRINGSTEEN: Two things. One, I would tell him to approach his job like, on one hand, it’s the most serious thing in the world and, on the other hand, as if it’s only rock and roll. You have to keep both of those things in your head at the same time. I think I took it very seriously. And while I don’t regret doing so, I think that I would have been a bit easier and less self-punishing on myself at different times if I’d remembered that it was only rock and roll.

       What do you mean by self-punishing?

      SPRINGSTEEN: Beating up on myself physically (laughs). For me it was mostly mental and, you know, you drift down your different self-destructive roads at different times and hopefully you have the type of bonds that pull you back out of that abyss and say, “Hey, wait a minute.” When I was twenty-five, I was in London and there were posters of me everywhere in this theater that were making me want to throw up and puke. I was disgusted at what I’d become, and then someone in the band would say, “Hey, do you believe we’re in London, England, and we’re going to play tonight and somebody’s going to pay us for it?”

      So I was lucky. I had good friends and a good support network that assisted me along the way. In retrospect, I look back on those times now and they just seem funny, you know.

       And what advice would the young Bruce Springsteen give you?

      SPRINGSTEEN: Louder guitars.

       Should we head out of here?

      SPRINGSTEEN: Well, damn, we’ve had a good time. I’m stoned.¹⁰ Let’s not stop now.

       Springsteen emerges from the dark cavern of Hannah’s Cocktail Lounge into the warm April sun of the city.

      SPRINGSTEEN: Oh, man, it’s the summertime. What a day.

       A police car screeches to a stop in the middle of the street, and two officers step out. It is not the first time Springsteen has been approached by fans in law enforcement that day.

      POLICE OFFICER: Hey, big guy.

      SPRINGSTEEN: Hey, guy.

      POLICE OFFICER: How you doing, buddy?

      SPRINGSTEEN: Very good. Just having a good time. Enjoying the day.

      POLICE OFFICER: A beautiful day out for walking around, huh?

      SPRINGSTEEN: Fabulous.

      POLICE OFFICER: How’d that concert go the other day?

      SPRINGSTEEN: Good. Good time. I really enjoyed it.

      POLICE OFFICER: Do you mind signing this for me?

       Holds out his ticket pad. Springsteen autographs the ticket.

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