A STEVIE FILES EXCLUSIVE: THE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE OF ROCK AND ROLL

To whet your appetite for Stevie Van Zandt’s long-awaited memoir ‘Unrequited Infatuations’, due early next
week, The Stevie Files is delighted and proud to present ‘The Amazing Rock and Roll Odyssey of Steven Van Zandt’
by historian and archivist Mike Saunders. Based on a two-hour interview from 2017, this document is a definitive,
career-spanning retrospective, being serialised this week for the first time after gathering dust in the archives for
over three years.

“I’d been a fan of the artist formerly known as Miami Steve since I saw him playing with Bruce Springsteen and
the E Street Band in 1981’, says Mike. “I’d researched, chronicled and reported on his musical activities for
Badlands and Backstreets as an amateur freelance writer, but had never expected to interview him. However, due
to a lucky combination of circumstances and the timely intervention of a close friend, that’s what happened, on
15 November 2017, in Newcastle, England. This was no superficial chat about his new album with record
company people in the background either. It was just the two of us in a hotel bar, discussing his life and career in
depth for two hours.”

Below, Mike explains how the interview came together.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I started writing about Bruce Springsteen, Southside Johnny and Little Steven in the mid-80s. One of the first
things I wrote about Steven was a review of his two appearances at the Town and Country Club in London in
1987, for my dear departed friend Holly Cara Price’s fanzine Voice of America. He subsequently put his solo career
on hold until late 2016, when he revived his Disciples of Soul concept and started making records again. I
reviewed his London show, the first with the new band, for Backstreets and received a complimentary tweet from
his wife Maureen.

In May 2017, Steven’s publicist Ken Weinstein sent me an advance copy of the Soulfire album, which I compared
to a sumptuous musical banquet, urging readers to consume it immediately for maximum enjoyment and
wellbeing. Ken later told me “Stevie loves the review,” adding “like really loves it”. Holly concurred. Soon
afterwards, I finished an interview with Disciples of Soul Music Director Marc Ribler and sent the final draft to him
for last-minute checks. He ran it past his boss, who replied “It’s good. Nice job.” He was obviously a man of few
words, all complimentary. My work had received the Van Zandt seal of approval three times in eight months. I felt
like a made man.

Feeling understandably confident, I casually asked Ken about my chances of talking to Steven and he said that a
phone interview could probably be arranged. But this might only have entailed a brief discussion about the
album and I had more ambitious ideas. I wanted a wide-ranging conversation that would remind long-term
followers about the range of Steven’s talents and the scale of his achievements, and educate new generations
that may be unfamiliar with his backstory. I was thinking big, aiming high and reaching up to touch the sky. Only a
lengthy face-to-face interview about his entire life and career would suffice. I mentioned it to Ken and he
promised to get back to me.

I heard nothing for several months and thought that my chance had slipped away, but I reckoned without Holly’s
persistence and determination. She’d worked with Steven in different capacities over the years and, knowing the
intended breadth and scope of the interview, she decided to make it happen, whatever it took. That’s just how
she rolled. I now had an important ally. In October, I emailed her a list of subjects that I hoped to discuss. She
showed it to Steven, who replied simply ‘yes.” He was a man of just one word this time, but it was definitely the
right one.
Holly informed me that the interview would take place during Steven’s UK tour in November, and put me in touch
with his personal assistant Paul, who would manage daily operations on the road, while Holly closely monitored
the situation from New York. She first told me the most likely location was Liverpool, where I might join Steven
and the band on a Beatles tour. This was fun in theory, but I had visions of following him around all day, and never
getting to sit quietly in a room with him, so I politely declined, hoping a more suitable scenario would present
itself. Soon after that, the opportunity to talk to Steven was brought forward by two days to Glasgow. His media
schedule was likely to change at a moment’s notice, so I just had to bide my time and await another invitation.
Nothing happened until Paul offered me the chance to meet Steven backstage an hour before showtime. Once
again, I turned it down, anticipating that it would be rushed or interrupted. This was a risky strategy, but I felt fully
justified in standing my ground, hoping that a better time and location would soon be found for the type of
discussion I had in mind.

The location then moved back to Liverpool, where I saw Little Steven and the band at the cavern Club and the O2
Academy as a guest, but heard nothing from Paul. Time was running out. The next day, I woke at my hotel with a
sore throat and a dawning realisation that, with only one more date on the UK tour, I may not meet Steven at all.
Suggesting to Holly that I could maybe talk to him when I was in New York after Christmas, I anticipated a day of
rest, booked an extra night, had a late breakfast and went back to bed. Minutes later, Holly asked if I could be in
Newcastle by 5pm. I could. Just. Apparently Steven had asked what happened to “the guy from Backstreets” last
night and wanted to talk to me at his hotel. Adrenaline began to pump and my sore throat disappeared. I booked
a ticket on my phone and walked up the street to Lime Street Station. Three hours later, I took a cab from
Newcastle Central Station to the Malmaison Hotel on the quayside and met Paul and tour manager Gary in
reception.

Paul took me straight upstairs to the empty bar and left me to set up. It was too late to stop now and there was
no time to panic. Minutes later, I heard footsteps coming towards me and a familiar figure, wearing a bandana,
trailing a long scarf, and dressed in what looked like his pyjamas, came into view. I stuck out my hand to shake his,
but he insisted on a fist bump. It resembled a failed attempt at rock/paper/scissors. Having obtained our drinks of
choice (water for me and an espresso martini for him) and made some small talk, we got down to the matter at
hand. In my imaginary best case scenario, Steven and I would talk, unaccompanied and interrupted, on a day off,
in a quiet room, for at least an hour. I knew it was a lot to ask, an impossible request perhaps, but in the end,
that’s exactly what happened, with a bonus hour thrown in. “He never does two hours!” said Holly when I told
her later.

It was of course a thrill to meet one of my musical heroes, but I had to suspend my excitement and disbelief, put
on my writer’s hat, and get serious. This was Steven Van Zandt after all, a man to be treated with respect and not
to be fucked with, like his Sopranos character Silvio Dante. I began by asking questions from a pre-prepared list,
but he soon picked up the ball and ran with it, while I occasionally steered him in the desired direction. It seemed
rude to interrupt Steven in full flow. He only diverted from his train of thought to ask for the background music to
be turned down and to (unsuccessfully) request some napkins. “I’m a paper products person,” he explained. Paul
came over a couple of times to check on us, but Steven proved happy to continue. He ordered a second drink
(which he didn’t touch) and delayed the next item on his busy agenda so I could obtain photographic evidence of
our meeting.

Later that night, I sank a few gin and tonics before plucking up the courage to check that I’d actually pressed the
record button on the portable voice recorder I’d bought from Amazon only the week before. Luckily, it had all
been captured in pristine quality, including my huge sigh of relief after Steven and I had parted company. I briefly
met him again after his Newcastle concert the following night and thanked him once more for giving his time so
generously. It was a real privilege to have spent so long with the man who’d lived that extraordinary life. It took a
week of late nights to transcribe our 18,000-word interview before the editing process could begin. This involved
taking apart a conversation that regularly flowed back and forth in time and piecing it back together in
chronological order. At one point, needing clarification, I sent some questions to Steven via Holly and he was kind
enough to respond quickly.

Work was interrupted by the need to write a European tour report for Backstreets, and then by my two-week trip
at Christmas and New Year to catch Bruce at the Walter Kerr Theatre on Broadway and Little Steven and
Southside Johnny and their respective bands at the Count Basie Theatre in Red Bank, a week apart. I also got to
spend some quality time with Holly at her upper west side apartment, in a local restaurant and down in
Greenwich Village. Back home, editing was further delayed by a throat infection that laid me low for about a
week, but it all fell together very quickly after that. Instead of presenting the interview as a basic question-and-
answer scenario, I decide to write a historical feature about Steven’s life and career, and weave interview quotes
into the narrative. It worked perfectly. Near the end, I decided to compare Steven’s life and career to a 20-track
double vinyl album of Motown and Chess hits, and correspondingly divided the completed text into four sides,
with five tracks (or chapter headings) per side.

By late February 2018 I had a first final draft, a title (The Amazing Rock and Roll Odyssey of Steven Van Zandt) and
a detailed intro and outro. I emailed it to Holly and she passed it to Steven. I didn’t need his permission to publish
it (and he hadn’t objected to anything on the day – “I don’t have any secrets!”), but as a matter of courtesy, I
wanted him to see what I’d done with our conversation and have the opportunity to correct any factual errors or
misquotes. Ultimately, he was happy with everything, only asking to make three small changes, to clarify certain
points. It may be a coincidence that the subtitle of Steven’s upcoming autobiography includes the word
“Odyssey”, but I like to think that my own title inspired him to use it (I was also the first to use the phrase “Macca
To Mecca” in 2017).

The original plan was for the interview to appear on the Backstreets website, but they deemed it too important to
be bumped down by rolling news within a day or two (and far too long to scroll through onscreen), so they chose
to run it as the centrepiece of a final print issue of the long-dormant Backstreets magazine. I remain confident
that this is still a viable proposition, but three years have passed with no discernible forward movement. The only
advantage of this long delay was that it allowed me to tweak, amend, tinker with and generally improve the text
even more.

I’m proud of my work on this project and if it’s to reach an audience before Steven’s book is published, it’s now or
never baby! I see it as the perfect accompaniment to ‘Unrequited Infatuations’, setting the scene in advance, and
I’ve chosen to exclusively serialise it in The Stevie Files. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did creating it.

Stevie and Mike, Newcastle 2017 - photos by Paul Osmolskis

THE AMAZING ROCK ‘N’ ROLL ODYSSEY OF
STEVEN VAN ZANDT
From The Source to Soulfire via Springsteen and Sam & Dave
BY MIKE SAUNDERS
Three years ago, Little Steven unexpectedly reactivated his long-dormant solo career. Surprising everyone
including himself, he served up a mighty musical banquet called Soulfire and hit the road with a bigger,
badder, brassier version of his 1980s touring outfit the Disciples of Soul. It was the latest development in a
career that began on the New Jersey teenage nightclub circuit in the mid-60s. Since then, apart from his
solo work, he’s played over 1000 shows with the E Street Band and co-produced The River and Born In The
USA. He’s also written, arranged and produced material for Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, Gary
US Bonds, Ronnie Spector and Darlene Love, played significant roles in The Sopranos and Lilyhammer
and revived rock ‘n’ roll radio with Little Steven’s Underground Garage. And on the seventh day, he rested.
Soulfire effectively re-introduced Little Steven’s songwriting skills to the world at large. In advance of our
meeting, part of his ongoing media blitz, I decide that my interview should perform a similar function for
his entire life and career. I aim to produce a wide-ranging retrospective feature that will remind long-term
followers of the range of his talents and the scale of his achievements and educate new generations that
may be unfamiliar with his celebrated backstory. The focus will be on Steven Van Zandt, the man behind
his various nicknames, aliases and character parts. It’s an ambitious concept. I’m thinking big, aiming high
and reaching up to touch the sky and Steven subsequently rewards me with one of his longest and most
comprehensive contemporary interviews, a compelling journey through five decades of artistic endeavour.
SLEEVE NOTES (15 NOVEMBER 2017)
Dusk is falling in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, England, a city that has a proud industrial and musical history. Steven is in
town to conclude his first UK tour in 30 years with the Disciples of Soul. Outside his quayside hotel, multiple road
and rail bridges soar high above the river. Ghosts of Victorian shipbuilders, miners, railwaymen and engineers mix
with their modern-day counterparts in the leisure and entertainment industries, and bars and nightclubs prepare for
an invasion of youthful revellers, ready to squander their disposable income. Five decades ago, their predecessors
would have been grooving to local heroes The Animals, whose seminal 1965 hit “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place”
will be played during the encores the following night, paying tribute to one of the northeast’s finest musical exports.
I’ve just arrived, hotfoot from Liverpool, where Steven played two gigs in one day, preceding an evening concert at
the O2 Academy with a 30-minute lunchtime set of Beatles-related material at the world-famous Cavern Club. This
Disciples double-shot in the spiritual home of the Fab Four was arguably the most exciting event of the seven-date
tour, with the possible exception of Sir Paul McCartney’s guest appearance in London. It’s wonderful to be here, it’s
certainly a thrill. I’ve been on the road for over a week, following the Disciples of Soul from London to Glasgow and
beyond, enjoying some exhilarating live music while awaiting the green light for my Backstreets interview.
I set up in the empty bar and chill out after my journey. Steven arrives in typically unconventional garb and offers a
fist bump. We order drinks and make small talk before the big talk begins. He’s still energised by the Cavern gig.
The band rehearsed on the road and it was announced only three days before it took place. “That was something
else, it was thrilling to play it,” he enthuses. “To learn eight songs, with the horns and girls, we did it pretty quick.”
He praises the enthusiasm of the Liverpool audience. “That was the best reaction yet. Liverpool to us of course is
literally Mecca. My religion is rock ‘n’ roll and that is the holiest town, the Cavern being the holiest site.” Steven
went to Liverpool as soon as he could, but disappointment lay ahead. “I guess it was The River tour. The first tour
[in 1975] was too quick.” He turned up “expecting to see 50-foot statues of the Beatles, shrines and every street to
be named after their songs. ‘Excuse me, where’s the Cavern?’ It’s a parking lot. Thank God somebody regained
their senses and they rebuilt it. It’s not the original, but it’s pretty damn close and very close to the same area.”
Steven last played Newcastle with a rock ‘n’ roll horn section in 1983, when the original Disciples of Soul appeared
at Dingwalls nightclub in the final weeks of the Men Without Women tour, a series of concerts that are remembered
with misty-eyed reverence by those who witnessed them. He parted company with La Bamba’s Mambomen soon
afterwards and by the end of the decade he’d also apparently abandoned his solo career. Tales of those early gigs
passed into folklore. As time passed, it became increasingly unlikely that he would ever play his own songs on the
road again, with or without horns. But what goes around comes around. It’s been a long time, Steven. “It’s hard to
believe. It’s my own fault, obviously,” he admits. “We’re talking 20 years for the album but closer to 30 for touring.”
I’m aware that I have a formidable task ahead that needs a generous amount of time to complete. The worst-case
scenario is that we only cover Steven’s first two decades before he has to leave, but I’m ready for the challenge. It’s
too late to stop now, it’s a day off between gigs, I have an open-ended time slot and I’m feeling lucky. Knowing that
he’s already completed months of Soulfire interviews, I propose my alternative entire-career scenario. “I don’t care,
I’ll do whatever you want,” he replies, helpfully. If Steven’s timeline was a vinyl record, it would be a 20-track double
album of Motown and Chess hits in a well-worn fold-out sleeve with an illustrated booklet, a colour poster and a
bonus EP. With that comparison in mind, I symbolically place side one on the turntable, drop the needle in the
groove, turn up the volume and listen carefully as his fascinating rock ‘n’ roll adventure story begins to unfold.
SIDE ONE (1950-1974)
1: Boston, The Beatles And The Rolling Stones
The names Bruce Springsteen, Southside Johnny Lyon and Steven Van Zandt are inextricably linked with the state
of New Jersey, but Steven spent the early part of his childhood in the Boston area. Born on 22 November 1950, he
was a descendant of immigrants from the Italian region of Calabria. His parents later divorced and Steven and his
mother moved in with her relatives. “I was very young, three, four years old,” he remembers. “I don’t remember my
real father at all. Don’t know what age I was when she left him. Then we were a year or two in my grandmother and
grandfather’s house, with aunts and uncles. Big family. I don’t remember too much about Boston, other than my
grandfather taking me to the Italian section, where they still had pushcarts, like that scene in The Godfather 2.”
Two further significant events took place in Steven’s life when he was seven years old – his mother’s marriage to
new partner Bill Van Zandt and their relocation to Middletown, New Jersey. “My new father adopted me and got me
a Dutch name to forever confuse everybody! It was a move to a suburb of developments, which was a new idea
back then. We were the third house in the development. The head of construction was a black guy and had a son
my age. We would play in those big dirt piles. That was interesting, when examining one’s life. The first real friend I
remember was black. Who knows what effect that has?” Were these experiences emotionally challenging? “I didn’t
find it traumatic,” he replies. “It was all just whatever was happening. I was very matter-of-fact about most things,
not aware of much, just living in the moment.” Stepsiblings Billy and Kathi would follow. “Seven years younger for
my brother and 10 for my sister, which is a shame, that’s too much distance to share a life, you’re into other things.”
As he grew up, Steven compiled a treasured collection of 45rpm singles. “Literally I could name the singles, there
wasn’t that many. Little Anthony and the Imperials was the first record I ever bought, ‘Tears On My Pillow.’ Went to
see them at a roller-skating rink. My aunt bought me ‘Poison Ivy’ (The Coasters) at some point. I remember going
to summer camp and hearing ‘Yakety Yak’ on the jukebox. The Coasters, Leiber and Stoller and King Curtis, the
only thing I remember from camp! ‘Bristol Stomp’ and ‘You Can’t Sit Down’ by the Dovells. The Four Seasons
singles, all of ‘em. ‘Pretty Little Angel Eyes,’ Curtis Lee. ‘Palisades Park,’ Freddy Cannon. ‘Duke Of Earl’ (Gene
Chandler). My uncle bought me ‘Going To A Go-Go’ (The Miracles). Things like that I was very into, but I didn’t care
that much about the artists making the records at that point. I didn’t connect the two things, I don’t know why.”
Then came the British Invasion. “I had a transistor radio and it seems like my entire generation would go to bed, put
it on and listen to it under the covers. It’s amazing how many people did that!” Steven and his brother shared a
room with “beds side by side” and one particular night, the airwaves filled with a sound that had a memorable effect
on both of them. “The only thing I remember from his entire youth, me and him together, was hearing ‘I Want To
Hold Your Hand’ for the first time. It started getting played around December of ’63, I think. They hit the high note
and [we] burst into uncontrollable laughter, responding to this thing that the entire world was about to respond to.”
The moment that Steven describes as “the big bang for everybody” came on 9 February 1964, when The Beatles
played the Ed Sullivan Show. “We caught The Beatles more than halfway through their career,” he says, noting that
John and Paul first sang together in the Quarrymen in 1957. “They were so amazing that they just created an entire
new world, which of course I wanted to be in.” But it was hard to relate to them. “They were too good, perfect
harmonies, perfect clothes. They were completely alien. You couldn’t imagine how to get from here to there.”
“Luckily, four months later, the Rolling Stones would come [Hollywood Palace, 6 June] and made it look accessible.
They made it look easier than it was. They wore different clothes. Their hair was messed up. No harmony to speak
of. One of the most important moments of my life was seeing Mick Jagger, the first person in show business I’d
ever seen who didn’t smile. This had a profound effect on me, because I never was into show business. I kinda like
it now, I love producing live events. But then I wasn’t, and by Mick Jagger not smiling, what that communicated to
me was, this is not show business, this is a lifestyle, and that was my entrance, right there. That was my way in.”
2: The Source, The Castiles And Bruce Springsteen
Steven’s first notable performing experience was as a singer with The Shadows. “One of the first things I sang was
‘Like A Rolling Stone,’ the summer of ’65, so that means I was still 14 I guess.” By the time he turned 16, he “was
playing guitar well enough” to front his own band, The Source. He started writing songs around this time, but didn’t
come up with anything he liked for several years. The Source recorded one of his early efforts, called “Travelling,” a
metaphor for enlightenment. “We actually did a record, God help us. Maybe luckily for me, no one can find it. I
called the original band members and nobody has it. It was never pressed. It was just a test pressing of a single.”
There was no shortage of venues for young musicians to learn their craft. “We had so many places to play, it was
fantastic. Beach clubs, teenage nightclubs, VFW halls and high school dances. We were the luckiest generation in
the world, we really were.” Among other groups playing the circuit were The Castiles from Freehold, which featured
a promising young guitarist, singer and fellow teenager called Bruce Springsteen. “Nobody had a band February 9,
1964. Everybody had a band February 10, in the garage. Only a dozen or so got out and we were two of them.”
“We had eight or 10 rock ‘n’ roll TV shows that were on every week, one of which was Hullabaloo. People wonder
why you get nostalgic! If you asked me how long this thing was on, I would have told you 10 years. It was so full of
life and full of acts. It was actually on a year and a half, as was Shindig. Both had enormous impact.” Hullabaloo
became so popular that it spawned a national club chain. “It just so happened the three clubs they had [in the area]
formed a circuit. Freehold, Middletown, Asbury Park. Funny how destiny works, isn’t it? There’s me in Middletown,
Bruce in Freehold, we end up in Asbury Park. It’s a triangle. If you made a fourth angle, it would go to the beach.”
Steven’s friendship with Bruce, who is a year older, is the longest of any E Street Band member. It’s impossible to
pin down the exact day they met, but he recalls that Bruce “came into the Hullabaloo Club” in Middletown one day
and they gradually formed a connection. “You became friends, just from being on the circuit. You had long hair, you
were friends. You had long hair and were in a band, you were best friends. Then we started running into each other
in Greenwich Village, which made us closer. Only me and him thought of taking the bus to the Village, seeing what
was going to be happening in New Jersey a year later. We would steal things and bring them back to our bands.
We weren’t the biggest bands in the area. That was The Mods, The Clique and The Motifs. We were second level,
new generation. I knew I had made it when the Mods and the Clique asked me to join their bands the same month.”
3: The Upstage, Asbury Park, Riots And Rock ‘N’ Roll
Bruce and Steven eventually became two of the star performers at the alcohol-free Upstage Club in Asbury Park,
which existed from 1968 to 1971, featured a more adventurous music policy than other area clubs and stayed open
until 5am. “[Bruce] told me to come down there one night at Le Teendezvous, a teenage nightclub in Shrewsbury,
New Jersey. I don’t remember whether he was playing or I was playing. I’m not sure how he heard about it.” At the
Upstage, they met Southside Johnny, David Sancious and others who would form part of the original E Street Band
line-up several years later. “We met Garry (Tallent), Mad Dog (Vini Lopez) and Danny (Federici) and everybody.”
In the summer of 1970, at the height of the Upstage era, Asbury Park experienced a week of disastrous race riots,
which burned down a section of the town and hastened its ongoing economic decline. Businesses closed, families
moved out and tourists stayed away. However, the civil unrest had one benefit for cash-starved young musicians
sharing run-down apartments. “The riots were great for us,” says Steven, “because [they] helped the rent stay low.”
Like many others involved in the Upstage scene, Steven gained invaluable experience, fine-tuned his talents and
built lasting friendships during the club’s comparatively short lifespan. It was an unsegregated creative oasis and it
played a major role in the musical and social history of Asbury Park. “You got there at eight and if you jammed all
night, you made five dollars. If you ran the jam, you made 15. A few of us achieved that status. Me, Bruce and one
or two others. And you literally jammed all fucking night long, which is why I don’t like to jam to this day! But that’s
where we started to really learn the live music business, which is such an important part of one’s development.”
The Upstage stayed dormant, dusty and deserted for almost 50 years, but is now being converted into apartments.
Southside, Garry, Bruce and Steven visited the club before work commenced to film interviews for the documentary
Asbury Park: Riot, Redemption, Rock ‘N’ Roll. How did he feel, going back there after so long? “I felt really stupid,”
Steven admits. “It should have been preserved. One wall was down and it seemed halfway to being destroyed.” He
suggests that the building could have become a museum and been a major tourist attraction. “I’ve known tourists
coming to Asbury Park since Bruce broke through. That’s not gonna stop. We fought half our lives trying to get the
fuck outta there, but in historical fact, it’s important. We could have bought the whole town for fucking 50 dollars. It
was a wasteland for 25 years, right? Now it’s starting to get built back up. These sacred sites of rock ‘n’ roll should
be preserved. When they took the Bottom Line in New York it was a terrible day. Everybody broke there.” He also
namechecks Max’s Kansas City and CBGB’s. “Which I tried to save at the last minute. They came to me a little too
late. Nobody gives a shit. We’re stupid and we gotta be smarter than this because these things are important.”
4: Richmond, The Greetings Sessions And Working Construction
During the Upstage era, Steven played with Bruce in Steel Mill (temporarily switching to bass guitar), the short-lived
stop-gap outfit Dr Zoom and the Sonic Boom (whose handful of shows included an opening set for his heroes The
Allman Brothers) and his friend’s next serious project, an ambitious, eponymous group that featured horn players
and female backing singers for the first time. The Bruce Springsteen Band made its debut in summer 1971. “I spent
weeks talking him into using his name,” reveals Steven, who would achieve success with his own horn section five
years later. Downsized to a five-piece, they survived increasingly hard times by playing an extended residency at
the Student Prince in Asbury Park in the fall. Bruce’s bands are inevitably the most well known from this period, but
there were numerous others. “We had different configurations of bands,” explains Steven. “Sometimes I’d be with
him, [or] he’d be with me. He played guitar in my Sundance Blues Band. I started Southside Johnny and The Kid.”
In early 1972, Steven, Southside and others relocated to Richmond, Virginia, where “we happened to be popular.”
It was an opportunity to try “something new, something different, anything to get outta town.” Bruce subsequently
renewed his acquaintance with Mike Appel, auditioned for John Hammond and signed a recording contract with
Columbia Records. That summer, he invited the displaced members of the Bruce Springsteen Band to rehearse
and record songs for what became his debut album Greetings From Asbury Park, NJ. “We were in Richmond when
he got the deal,” Steven remembers. “I had Garry with me then. Garry had always been my bass player, in almost
every one of my groups. I remember [Bruce] calling and saying, ‘I got a record deal.’ I was like, ‘That’s wonderful,
who are you gonna record with?’ He mentioned a couple of band members and a different bass player, because
Garry was my bass player. I said, ‘No, this is a big deal, you should use Garry, he’s the best.’ So I gave him Garry.”
Bruce’s management and record company had categorised him as an acoustic solo artist (“they thought he was a
folk singer, he fooled his way in”) and weren’t in favour of him having a band at all, especially one with a second
guitar player. When he showed up and plugged in, Steven soon realised that he was surplus to requirements. “I
came in for one session, then they got rid of me, that was it.” His only contribution to the album was the feedback at
the beginning of “Lost In The Flood.” They’d been friends for several years and had played in each other’s bands,
so was it tough for Bruce to cut him loose? “You’d have to ask him,” replies Steven tactfully. Bruce tells the story of
Steven’s “cameo appearance” at the Greetings sessions in his autobiography, but his other recollections of their
shared history don’t necessarily match Steven’s own version of events. “I remember things slightly differently than
Bruce, according to his book, but that’s alright. We’ll eventually get around to my book. I wrote half a book seven
years ago and gave the money back. It was way too soon. I could not find a happy ending. We’ll see about that.”
While Bruce began touring with the future E Street Band, Steven hit the road in a much more literal sense. “Me and
my father were the generation gap, we defined it. He was an ex-marine, Goldwater Republican. I’d been thrown out
of my house when I got thrown out of school, for having long hair. We were at odds with each other in those days,
they weren’t going to pamper me at all. He was upset I didn’t go into the military. He wanted me to do some kind of
boot camp to regain my senses and stop this rock ‘n’ roll nonsense, which was one level above being a criminal in
their minds. My father was in construction, my uncles were in construction, so they got me a job, the lowest level
labourer. I worked construction for two seasons on the roads with a jackhammer. I couldn’t pick one up now! It was
hard work. I came running back to show business after that. I was playing football on the weekends and broke my
finger and joined a bar band to exercise my finger. I wasn’t intending to come back, [it was] some bizarre destiny.”
5: The Dovells, Las Vegas And I Don’t Want To Go Home
A member of that bar band was indirectly related to one of The Dovells, whose hits “Bristol Stomp” and “You Can’t
Sit Down” were part of Steven’s pre-Beatle record collection. They were a vocal group that used backing musicians
on the road. Steven heard they were hiring and jumped at the chance. “They needed a band. They were gonna be
part of this thing called the oldies circuit [that] I hadn’t heard of and haven’t heard of since. In that world, you play
arenas, the Richard Nader oldies extravaganzas. It was the first time I played Madison Square Garden. Also you
played Vegas, you played casinos, which to me was OK. I was a big gambler in those days, that’s how we paid for
Southside Johnny’s first album. I got to Vegas as the mob was about to leave. I’m glad I got a chance to see how it
used to be. It was vastly superior. You go now and it’s unrecognisable. I did that for almost exactly a year. Ended
up in Miami, playing with The Dovells and Dion, at the famous Deauville Hotel, where The Dovells got their name.”
Steven encountered many of his early musical heroes while playing on the oldies circuit. “I met Ben E King and The
Drifters, Little Richard, Gary Bonds, Lloyd Price. I met Abdul Samad, the famous Drifters guitar player. He was a
trip. He [showed] me how Persian astronomy works.” He also met Ronnie Spector. Recently split from producer
husband Phil, she would feature prominently in his career two years later. It was an exciting experience for Steven,
but he was the only one having a good time on what was effectively a graveyard circuit. “They all hated it, because
the British Invasion came and put all the heroes out of work. Unintentional consequence, the only generation for
that to happen to, which is so depressing. Such a shame it happened to the guys who invented it, because it would
never happen again. With the British Invasion, the audience would grow with them. [By] some bizarre twist of fate,
the pioneers all got fucked. If they had two hits when The Beatles came, that was their two hits for life. They would
play those two hits for the next 50 fucking years. That’s why I felt strongly that I wanted to bring a lot of them back.”
After years of unsatisfactory results, Steven’s writing took a giant leap forward at this point, resulting in the creation
of arguably his best and most famous song. “I started in ‘67ish and I didn’t like anything. I couldn’t get a grip on this
thing, there was nobody to tell me how to analyse it,” he explains. “So I decided I’m gonna go to school in my head.
There is no school for this, so where’s it start? I decided it started with Leiber and Stoller. You could say doo-wop
before that, but for me, the place where R&B meets soul meets rock is somewhere in Leiber and Stoller. They were
the first songwriter/producers I would model myself after. I’m gonna write a Leiber and Stoller song for The Drifters,
specifically with Ben E King singing.” He found an original chord change and penned “I Don’t Want To Go Home,”
“the first song I ever liked.” But Ben E King never heard it. “I didn’t have the courage to give it to him of course.”
SIDE TWO (1975-1983)
6: Miami Steve, The Asbury Jukes, Tenth Avenue And Hammersmith
In early 1975, Steven returned to New Jersey from Florida, inappropriately dressed for the winter weather. “I came
back with the flowered shirts and the Sam Snead hat and continued wearing them in the snow.” For the next seven
years, he was known as Miami Steve. He joined Southside in the Blackberry Booze Band and within weeks they’d
altered and expanded its line-up (adding keyboard player Kevin Kavanaugh from Middletown and bass player Alan
Berger from The Dovells’ backing band), transformed its musical direction, changed its name to Southside Johnny
and the Asbury Jukes (referencing their mutual hero Little Walter’s band and first single release) and established a
successful three-nights-a-week, five-sets-a-night residency at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park. “Just before that, me,
Southside, Bruce and Garry went to see Sam & Dave. A life-changing moment. So me and Southside basically
decided we were gonna be the white Sam & Dave, with rock guitar. So the horns came in and although we didn’t
know it, we would change the entire concept of what a bar band sounded like and the respect a bar band would get
by making it creative, soul meets rock. ‘Bar band’ was an insult. ‘You’re a bar band,’ which means you can’t make it
in the real music world. After the Jukes, they started using ‘bar band’ in reviews and they meant it as a compliment,
with Graham Parker and Elvis Costello and Mink DeVille. We changed the way people thought about these things.”
The Miami Horns were a vital component of the new band. Steven composed the horn arrangements, but although
he’s always possessed a natural ability to imagine horn parts, he doesn’t read or write music (“never have”) and
has always required a little help from his friends to transcribe them. “I have people write ‘em down, to this day. I like
that actually. You have to do a lotta things yourself so any excuse I find to collaborate I do it. I find other people will
bring something to the party usually. That’s why [I’ve] used Eddie Manion for I don’t know how many years. He
knows how I like to voice things. Once I think of something and create the parts, I get bored if I have to voice every
part, exactly right. If I hear a voicing I don’t like, I will change it, but I get bored by the mechanics of everything.”
While the Jukes were building their reputation and growing their audience, Bruce invited Steven to hang out at the
Born To Run sessions in New York, where he was working on “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out.” David Sanborn and The
Brecker Brothers had been hired to play the horn parts, but Steven created a spontaneous new arrangement. He’s
told this anecdote countless times, but I ask him to repeat it because it provides perfect examples of his innate
musical talents in action (“I can hear the parts, who knows why?”), the nature of his friendship with Bruce (“I still am
the only human being not afraid of him”), and his no-bullshit attitude (“I didn’t know anything about diplomacy”).
“So he says, ‘Whaddya think?’ I said, ‘It sucks, that’s what I think!’ I didn’t know how uptight everybody was. I didn’t
give a fuck either. The managers and producers were all afraid of him already. He asked me a question, I’m gonna
be honest. I’m trying to help my friend here, not make points with some fucking record company guy. Moment of
silence. ‘He just said it sucks, which means we all suck.’ Bruce [says] ‘Alright then, go in and fucking fix it.’ So I did.
I went in and sang the [new] parts. I didn’t know they were the most famous [session] guys in New York. It wasn’t
insulting them, the chart was ridiculous. That was my thing, just from the Jukes being around maybe six months.”
“I wasn’t really feeling the pressure that Bruce was at the time. I didn’t realise his life depended on this album. His
first two records hadn’t done very well. They wanted to drop him. I don’t know how aware I was of any of that. He
invited me into the session and I’m laying on the floor. All I can think is, we’ve been hoping to get into recording our
whole lives, I’m listening to this and it sounds fucking terrible. Not just the horn charts, everything. It was the worst
period of recording in history. Virtually every record from the 50s and 60s sounded great, virtually every record from
the early 70s sounded terrible. Because engineers took over, started close miking, padding the walls. Separation,
separation, separation, all the things that make rock ‘n’ roll suck. The idea was, you isolate everything and make it
sound exciting in the mix. Which they managed to do, miraculously, with the Born To Run album. Because it was
pieced together in a bizarre way. Bruce made that record 100% out of willpower, he willed that into existence!”
Soon after making his instinctive artistic contribution (and singing backing vocals on “Thunder Road”), Steven was
invited to join the E Street Band. It was a chance to complete the circle, play with his old friend again and settle any
unfinished business from three summers earlier, when he’d been sent packing at the Greetings sessions. He made
his live debut on the opening night of the Born To Run tour, which ran until New Year’s Eve. His input and influence
over the next decade, onstage and off, would prove invaluable. (Bruce even began playing The Dovells’ “You Can’t
Sit Down” as an occasional encore). In the fall, the tour took everyone to Europe for the first time, where the culture
shock was off the charts. “There was no hamburgers, no peanut butter. The only place you could get a hamburger
in the whole of Europe was the newly-opened first Hard Rock Café. There was a line around the block even then.”
Culinary deficiencies aside, Bruce also had to endure the overblown hype surrounding his first UK gigs at London’s
Hammersmith Odeon, where Columbia had displayed the legend “Finally London Is Ready For Bruce Springsteen”
on every available surface prior to his arrival. “[It was] completely obnoxious,” says Steven. “[Bruce] spent half the
time ripping down posters. It was an embarrassing time for him, between that and Time and Newsweek. He didn’t
like that stuff. You wanna be in charge of your life, that’s why we get into rock ‘n’ roll. Suddenly it was slipping out of
his control. We made the mistake of playing a place with seats. It just made the show that much harder. But by the
end, we got ‘em outta the seats. We went to Amsterdam, Stockholm, and back to London. The second one was a
bit easier.” The experience had a prolonged effect on Bruce. “He was uptight in those days and would remain so
through Darkness into The River, until he asked me to produce the record and we found a way to have some fun.”
7: Epic Records, Steve Popovich And The Stone Pony
Back on the shore, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes continued the Stone Pony residency throughout 1975,
gradually consolidating their line-up. For the next three years, between Springsteen commitments, Steven worked
as their producer, arranger, manager, part-time guitarist and principal songwriter. In early 1976, after circulating a
demo tape, they signed a recording deal with Epic, with assistance from Steve Popovich, the label’s Vice-President
of A&R. “I Don’t Want To Go Home,” the song that Steven had kept in his back pocket since his days on the oldies
circuit, became the title track of their debut album and their first single. Ben E King’s loss was Southside’s gain.
“I produced [the song] in a way which was appropriate for the Jukes. They didn’t have a big background vocal thing
going on,” explains Steven. “I was very conscious of being able to try and do most of it live, although I put strings
on it, on my very first production! There was no synthesiser in those days that could play strings. That’s why I re-cut
it [on Soulfire] the original way I pictured it, with the singer and background vocals answering. That idea of writing
for someone else is extremely important, critical and essential. It changes the way you write completely, from when
you think of writing for yourself, which is extraordinarily complicated and confusing. It’s not easy, but easier, to write
for someone else. There’s their identity in your mind at least. I’m writing them a song. That’s a wonderful exercise
for songwriters.” I Don’t Want To Go Home was released in the summer of 1976 (“I’ve never received one penny of
royalties, but whatever!”). The Jukes later began their first national tour and made their European debut in 1977.
Recommended by Bruce, Steve Popovich was one of a kind. “The last of the real music guys in the business. The
only other person I can compare him to would be Lance Freed on the publishing side, who’s unique. He’s actually
into music and songwriting and the things you’re supposed to be into when you have a job description like that. And
Frank Barsalona, the only agent who really did his job and would set the standard for everybody to follow. Those
three guys, really quite historic. [It was] Popovich’s idea to launch the record with a broadcast from the Stone Pony.
Never been done before. Popovich loved the local scene idea and he largely made it happen. It never would have
been recognised nationally, I don’t think, if it hadn’t been for Popovich, who had the vision to say it’s cool if you’re
not from New York. Rather than being embarrassed if you’re not from New York, LA or Nashville, it’s actually cool.”
8: Production Credits And Political Awakening
Steven developed his talents as a producer and songwriter with the Jukes in the late 70s, following I Don’t Want To
Go Home with This Time It’s For Real and Hearts Of Stone. Successive releases featured greater quantities of his
original material, which included “I Played The Fool,” “This Time Baby’s Gone For Good,” “Take It Inside” and
“Some Things Just Don’t Change,” apparently written for another of his heroes, David Ruffin of The Temptations.
During this period, he also produced the “Say Goodbye To Hollywood” single for Ronnie Spector and the E Street
Band and provided production assistance on Darkness On The Edge Of Town. His relationship with the Jukes
ended when they left Epic for Mercury in 1979 and he went on to co-produce The River and two comeback albums
for Gary US Bonds, Dedication and On The Line. It was an impressive fast-track apprenticeship. Steven had no
production experience when he began. He acquired the skills and learned from his mistakes in the studio. “That’s
why all three Jukes albums are different,” he says. “By the time we did The River, I knew what I wanted to do. I got
it all down by then. That’s how I tend to do things. I can picture what I want. Jump in, do it, let’s see what happens.”
Steven also kept his promise to himself to bring his musical heroes out of obscurity, initially as guests on the first
two Jukes albums. “I did what I could, but I wanted to do so much more,” he admits. “First time I get in a studio, got
Lee Dorsey out from under a car, where he’s a mechanic. Got Ronnie Spector out of retirement. Second album, we
reunited The Coasters, Drifters and Five Satins. Me and Bruce worked with Gary Bonds. We got Ben E King and
Chuck Jackson on that record. Those artists had a talent level noticeably above everybody that followed. I wish I’d
been insistent on doing more of them. In those [early] days, you actually had to have talent to make records. You
had to be able to sing a song, beginning to end, perfectly in tune, perfectly the right melody, and if you fuck up one
word, you gotta do the whole thing again. Couldn’t do enough for those people, they were so much fun to produce.”
In addition to his studio accomplishments, Steven played more than 300 shows with Bruce and the E Street Band
between 1976 and 1981, primarily on the Darkness On The Edge Of Town and River tours. The majority took place
in North America, but the River tour included a European leg that took the band away from home and out of their
comfort zone for nine weeks. Much longer than their previous visit in 1975, it was their first significant experience of
foreign countries, languages, cultures and political perspectives. They received rave reviews wherever they played,
but Steven gradually became aware that not all Europeans viewed the United States in a favourable light.
One particular encounter was pivotal in dramatically reshaping Steven’s worldview. “A kid asked me, ‘Why are you
putting missiles in my country?’ I said, ‘I’m not, I’m a guitar player.’ I realised, for the first time in my life, at the age
of 30 I’m embarrassed to say, that I’m an American. What the fuck does that mean? I managed to grow up i n the
middle of civil rights, the Vietnam War, demonstrations about every fucking thing and had no interest in any of it.
Amazing when you think about it. Redefining tunnel vision. Suddenly, the tunnel is gone. We’re now successful.
Who would have ever figured that would happen, right? Now it’s like, uh-oh, what did I miss, the last 20 years?”
9: Men Without Women, Motown And Mixing In Mono
This revelation accelerated Steven’s growing political awareness, one of two important developments in 1981 that
would change the course of his life forever. The second came when he returned from Europe and was approached
by EMI America about making a solo album. Having spent six years producing and writing for others, he welcomed
the opportunity to have his own creative outlet, which soon expanded into a separate career. In the fall, he enlisted
musicians from the E Street Band and the Asbury Jukes to record most of the material for his debut album, Men
Without Women, using his established rock-meets-soul sonic blueprint. Including “Lyin’ In A Bed Of Fire,” “Princess
Of Little Italy,” “Angel Eyes” and “Until The Good Is Gone,” it remains an undisputed career highlight for Van Zandt
devotees, but Steven feels that an outside producer might have helped him make a more commercial record.
“Conventional wisdom is you never should produce yourself and I have to say that’s correct. The only exception I
can think of in the history of the business was Prince, who was an extraordinary genius, but other than him, I don’t
know anybody who successfully produces themselves.” Describing himself as “extremely schizophrenic, I’m twelve
different people, never mind two,” Steven explains how his inner producer failed to control the whims of his inner
artist. “Without knowing it, the artist takes over. I was into this extreme naturalism, no logical reason why. I did the
whole album live in one day. Came back the second day, did it again, beginning to end. Couple overdubs, that was
it. There’s one guitar. The horns aren’t doubled. Nothing’s doubled. Bruce did all the harmony on that record but we
couldn’t use his name. We [did] a similar thing with Born In The USA, where we just recorded live in the studio.”
“I made Bob Clearmountain mix ‘Forever’ in mono, to try and achieve the perfect Motown record. It’s never gonna
be exact and it shouldn’t be exact, why should it be, but I wanted to capture a Smokey Robinson Motown record.
The only way I could do that in my mind was to make it completely mono. He was so good in those days. I mean
Bob’s still the best, but in those days he was beyond the best. He was something else when it came down to that
Neve board that wasn’t automated, and he’s feelin’ those faders. I made him do something he’d never done before,
which requires a whole different way of thinking. You’re now thinking depth-wise and vertically, not horizontally.”
“That’s where my head was at. Can I achieve the emotional communication that my heroes had provided me? My
heroes being Motown in general, 10 acts there. Or my heroes at Chess, another 10 acts. Sam Phillips did ‘Rocket
88’ for Ike Turner (Jackie Brenston) and ‘How Many More Years’ for Howlin’ Wolf, three years before Elvis Presley.
Unbelievable genius. [I’m] trying to achieve that level of quality in my own world, in my own little bubble, which has
these ridiculously high standards. I’m absorbing the 50s and 60s and then trying to integrate them in my head and
reproduce them in my own way, not the least bit interested in what’s going on in the 70s or 80s certainly, because it
was shit to me, comparatively. An interesting moment here and there. Punk was certainly interesting. But mostly it’s
all coming from what I call the renaissance period, ‘51 to ‘71, where it all was created. And that’s true to this day.
That’s all I was interested in and that was enough for 10 lifetimes. I didn’t need another bit of input after 1972.”
10: Little Steven, Little Richard And Bob Dylan
In 1982, after recording with Bruce and Gary US Bonds, Steven completed his album, formed the Disciples of Soul
(which included Dino Danelli from The Rascals on drums, Jean Beauvoir on bass and Eddie Manion, Mark Pender,
Stan Harrison and La Bamba on horns) and played a debut concert at New York’s Peppermint Lounge. Released
in October, a month after Nebraska, Men Without Women preceded his first national tour and was credited to his
new professional name of Little Steven, which would be used for all future solo activities. “I just wanted separation
[from] being the sideman,” he explains. “Each of my personalities required a different name, in order to keep it
straight in people’s heads and my own head.” The name referenced his early heroes Little Walter, Little Anthony
and Little Richard. In his role as an ordained minister, the latter officiated at Steven’s wedding to Maureen Santoro
in New York on New Year’s Eve. Percy Sledge sang “When A Man Loves A Woman” as they walked down the aisle
and the reception included performances from Gary US Bonds, Little Milton, The Chambers Brothers and the
wedding band from The Godfather. “Little Anthony was doing a cruise at the time or he would have been there.”
Steven toured internationally in 1983, then dropped the horns, adopted a more contemporary rock sound and made
his second album, Voice Of America. It was an explicitly political record that featured “Solidarity,” “I Am A Patriot,”
“Out Of The Darkness,” “Los Desaparecidos” and “Undefeated.” Triggered by his River tour experiences in Europe,
this radical transformation was completed with a long period of self-education. “I read every book about post World
War Two [US] foreign policy. [It was] shocking how often we were on the wrong side. All of these bad things were
happening behind the scenes and nobody was talking about them. No political consciousness whatsoever in the
country. I decided I have an obligation to say something about this stuff that we’re all paying for with our taxes.”
“Being conscious of the fact that everybody needs their own identity, I figured who the hell needs another love song
from a fucking sideman? I’ll be the political guy. Nobody else is doing it. There were people demonstrating of
course. Jackson Browne, John Hall, Bonnie Raitt, Graham Nash, those guys. The Grateful Dead were doing a
benefit every week, but rarely did it end up in the work. In general, people weren’t putting much politics into the
lyrics of their songs.” For artists with commercial aspirations, he concedes, that’s a smart move. “Jefferson Airplane
being an exception with ‘Volunteers.’ Big exception, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, with Neil Young’s ‘Ohio.’”
Steven contends that Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” introduced the idea of political consciousness in
rock ‘n’ roll. “His first electric song. It’s not given enough credit. The first sentence from Bob Dylan’s electric period,
‘Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine, I’m on the pavement thinking about the government.’ What?
You’re doing what? You’re thinking about the government? Excuse me? Who does that? Whoever did that before,
in a song, no less? There in that one sentence, Bob Dylan communicated what his entire career was gonna be
about, which was having fun with language, with inference, symbolism, metaphor and nonsense lyrics that rhymed.
‘Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine,’ what does that mean? It means whatever you want it to mean,
right? Then ‘I’m on the pavement thinking about the government.’ Holy shit! You mean we’re supposed to figure out
the government? That, to me, is the most important sentence in all the history of rock ‘n’ roll, right there.”
SIDE THREE (1984-1999)
11: Born In The USA, Bitter Fruit And Revolution
Steven initially hoped to alternate his twin careers, but this proved unworkable for various reasons. His departure
from the E Street Band was formally announced in 1984, but he’d not worked with Bruce in any significant capacity
since the 1982 recording sessions that created most of the material for Born In The USA, which he co-produced.
That summer, they released new albums one month apart and began touring simultaneously, following dramatically
different career trajectories. It was the end of the Miami Steve era. In New Jersey in August, Steven made the first
(and most fondly remembered) of several subsequent guest appearances with Bruce and the band (now including
his replacement Nils Lofgren), sharing lead vocals on Dobie Gray’s “Drift Away,” accompanied by the Miami Horns.
Going it alone was a brave – arguably foolish – decision that inevitably had consequences in terms of his 20-year
relationship with Bruce. “Me leaving upset him for a long, long time. Maybe always will,” admits Steven. “But it felt
necessary at the time to preserve our friendship, which worked. I think we’ve repaired most of it, maybe all of it.”
Steven’s politically-motivated activities continued until the end of the 80s. He went on fact-finding missions to South
Africa and Nicaragua, wrote about injustice and oppression, toured with different versions of the Disciples of Soul,
and made two more studio albums, Freedom No Compromise (featuring “Bitter Fruit,“ “Native American” and “Trail
Of Broken Treaties”) and Revolution (“Education,” “Leonard Peltier”). “I enjoyed being an artist/journalist, looking at
situations, researching and writing about them, turning information into emotional communication. It had to become
a story. Our art form is stories, as dictated by the genius of Chuck Berry, who invented it. We’re still following those
rules, you have to. I would put a book list on the record. Read these books and you’ll get the actual story, but I’m
not spouting a bunch of statistics in a song, I’m there to engage you emotionally.” “Bitter Fruit,” he explains, was
written about US military collusion with fascist dictatorships in Latin America. “Enforcing multi-national slave labour.
And who’s paying for it? Us! Well, I thought we should know that we’re not on the side of democracy everywhere.”
While the focus of his songwriting remained consistent, Steven used different musical styles on each album. “I did a
similar thing as I did with the Jukes. I just kept experimenting. I would never allow somebody else to do that.” He
emphasises how Voice Of America was “completely different” to Men Without Women and admits that Revolution
was “completely crazy,” but it wasn’t about the music. “It was all about the lyrics, it was all about politics to me, the
issues and the themes. I’m not saying I’m not proud of that music, but it was always second, complementing what I
wanted to say in a given moment. I was not thinking about a career. I was pursuing work as an artist. My standards
were high in terms of the quality of what I was doing. It was successful artistically, but commercially impossible.”
12: Ethiopia, Sun City, South Africa And The FBI
In the mid-80s, the famine in Ethiopia inspired the release of two all-star charity fundraising singles, “Do They Know
It’s Christmas?” by Band Aid in the UK, and “We Are The World,” by USA For Africa. They were both motivated by
humanitarian concern and raised funds to feed the starving, but the story had a darker subtext. “I’m in South Africa,
studying Ethiopia, when Bob Geldof comes out with the whole hunger thing,” says Steven. “I’m looking at Ethiopia
from an entirely different point of view. There was an occasional natural disaster, but it’s exacerbated by scumbag
governments stealing the fucking money as it comes in to help people.” Feeding people is one thing, he continues,
but identifying particular individuals as being responsible for the suffering is something else altogether. “There’s a
difference between social concern and political [concern]. I wanted to make that line very clear. I had a song about
it in fact, and when Bob’s came out, I took it off the album. I figured that subject’s covered, thank you very much.”
Steven’s South African experiences inspired him to write the anti-Apartheid anthem, “Sun City.” It was intended for
inclusion on his next album, but took on a life of its own when he circulated a demo and invited several musician
friends to play on it. “Sun City” eventually became the title track of a 1985 protest album by an international cast of
50 rock, soul, funk, rap and jazz artists (including Bruce, Bono, Bob Dylan, Pete Townshend, Miles Davis, George
Clinton, Jimmy Cliff and Gil Scott-Heron) under the name Artists United Against Apartheid. Co-produced by Steven
and Arthur Baker, its aims were to benefit the Africa Fund, discourage artists from playing the infamous whites-only
Vegas-style resort and to draw wider attention to Apartheid, which Steven says was “not even an issue in America.”
Sun City received the greatest critical acclaim and publicity of all the political records that Steven made in the 80s
and he remains proud of its impact. “Sun City was successful to the point where it scared people. There had never
been anything like it.” His ambition was to bring down the South African government. “And I did, with a lot of help. I
wasn’t a threat to anybody. I wasn’t a celebrity, I wasn’t even a star. I was just this weird guy, with a lot of willpower
and ambition, who had a lot of heavy friends. My friends got it done. They never quite saw us coming until it was
too late. Once we were able to override Reagan’s veto of anti-Apartheid legislation that was it. It fell like dominoes,
like we predicted it would. They had to let Mandela out. The banks cut ‘em off, goodbye government. Would it have
happened anyway? Probably, but it would have been years. We took years off of the Apartheid system without a
doubt. There were people dying every day, so we saved lives. I lean on that when I think back on the foolishness of
leaving the E Street Band, which appears to be more insane every single year. Would I have done that project if I’d
stayed in the band? Probably not. It took place because I was on my own, following where a political guy goes.”
Given his raised profile as a political artist and activist back in the day, I ask if Steven ever felt that his life was in
danger. “It was threatened quite often,” he confirms, alarmingly. “You start bringing down governments, people look
at you like, ‘are we next?’ You start taking on the oil companies, people are gonna consider how dangerous you are
to their well-being. And the record companies, lotta pressure from the South African EMI. At some point the FBI
were involved. It was a lotta conversations with law enforcement. I was worried about my wife and my dog. I wasn’t
worried about me. I was at that point almost completely suicidal. I was so obsessed that I feared nothing. The cops
or the FBI told me you’re gonna get a lot of crazy people that say this shit, usually nothing happens. They get more
interested after you’re dead. Before then, don’t worry about it. If I had kept going, I think I would have been in
trouble. Big corporations started to really exert pressure and I basically got blackballed for a number of years.”
13: Better Days And Blood Brothers
Steven placed politics on the back burner in the 90s and transferred his energies to writing and producing for other
artists again. In 1991, he teamed up with Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes for the first time in 13 years for
the Better Days album, writing several songs for the project, including “Coming Back” and “It’s Been A Long Time,”
an affectionate homage to the early days in Asbury Park on which he shared lead vocals with Bruce and Southside.
His other work included “All Alone On Christmas” by Darlene Love (with the E Street Band and the Miami Horns)
for the Home Alone 2 soundtrack and “The Time Of Your Life,” recorded with Bon Jovi for the movie Nine Months.
In early 1995, Bruce reunited the E Street Band to record additional material for his Greatest Hits album. They’d not
played together since the Amnesty International Human Rights Now! world tour in 1988, after which he’d cut them
loose to work with other musicians for an indefinite period. It was a contentious issue for some of them, but if there
was any residual tension in the studio, the subsequent Blood Brothers documentary hid it well. The break had been
considerably longer for Steven. He reveals that this “first attempt at a reunion” was “extremely awkward and weird”
and hints at pressure from behind the scenes. “I think Bruce either felt he was being forced into putting the band
back together or just wasn’t quite ready for it. I don’t know what was going on. I wasn’t around him that often.”
Having also made several live appearances with the band, Bruce released The Ghost Of Tom Joad and began his
first solo acoustic tour, proving Steven’s theory that he wasn’t in an E Street state of mind at the time. Aficionados
grew concerned, but hindsight reveals that he was simply building an alternative career, not a replacement one.
“Bruce has two minds, he has the solo mind and he has the band mind,” says Steven. “Me and him, we’re where
the band mind gets reinforced. You get yourself into a solo frame of mind and can resent the fact that you have one
career with the band and one without it. If you’re not careful, it can become resentment or some kind of conflict in
your mind, which is an inaccurate way of measuring it. They’re both very much him, his creation, and his genius.”
In 1998, Bruce started work on the Tracks retrospective set and his band mind showed signs of renewed activity in
advance of his Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame induction the following year. “Things started to relax a bit,” says Steven.
“We started having longer conversations. One thing I did notice, at the end of the year they have these surveys of
‘Greatest Band Of All Time.’ So we’re like number one for a while, then two, then three. 10 years go by, you’re 96.
It started to occur to me and I said to him, things we thought would last forever are not. It might be a good idea to
remind people what we’re all about here. So we started talking about it in that way, which led to the reunion in ‘99.”
14: Reunion, Rebirth And Reconciliation
No mere nostalgia exercise designed to generate retirement funds, the so-called Reunion Tour (the first to include
Steven and Nils in the line-up) began a new era of live performance for Bruce and the E Street Band, who later hit
the road in support of The Rising, Vote For Change, Magic, Working On A Dream, Wrecking Ball, High Hopes and
(for a second time) The River. They played hundreds of shows in North America and Europe, travelled to Australia
and New Zealand, South Africa and South America and performed for a TV audience of millions at the Superbowl.
Bruce also found a way to balance his solo and band minds by scheduling the Devils And Dust and Sessions Band
roadtrips between E Street tours. “He does the solo thing over here, he does the band thing over there. It’s not a
conflict. It’s not either/or, it’s both. You learn as you mature. Do I look back and say maybe I could have had a solo
career and stayed in the band? I think I could have. I’m not sure it would have been as comprehensive politically.”
Steven has now been part of the reunited E Street Band for 20 years, twice as long as his original tenure from 1975
to 1984. He’s also played more gigs and been credited on more Springsteen records (although not as co-producer)
than he did in those glory days. He and Bruce both took lengthy breaks for different reasons, but were eventually
drawn back to what Steven calls their “power base.” “God, I spend half my time telling people, if you have a band
that has that magical, mystical, chemical thing, don’t ever give it up. Do whatever the fuck, do it every other year,
do what solo thing you need to do and go back to the band. Rock is about bands. I don’t care what anybody says.”
“The Beatles were the first band I ever saw. Wow, this is different, this is about friendship, family and community.
That’s something I can relate to and I am sure that’s what we communicated. We were a rock band, not faceless
sidemen, we had personalities. A band is personalities interacting with each other, creating something bigger than
they can do individually, by definition.” I observe that there are many younger faces in their audiences nowadays,
particularly in Europe, where most of their concerts take place in stadiums. “We’re getting bigger every time we go
out now. That’s really wonderfully rewarding,” Steven enthuses. “I’m so glad we did come back together and have
re-established ourselves in a far more permanent way. We would have been a forgotten thing by now if we hadn’t.”
15: Silvio, Sopranos And Salvation
Steven’s return to E Street in 1999 coincided with his unlikely acting debut and the release of his first solo album in
a decade. In The Sopranos, he played Silvio Dante, manager of the Bada Bing strip club and consigliere to James
Gandolfini’s mob boss Tony Soprano. Director David Chase enabled Steven to alternate his dual careers by filming
his scenes between Springsteen gigs. “Huge favour. Big fan. I had to fly home every single day off, whether it was
from Cleveland or LA or Paris. Got off the plane, said ‘fuck you’ (in character), got back on the plane!” Several
years after the series ended, he joined the cast of Lilyhammer, taking the lead role of Frank “The Fixer” Tagliano, a
New York gangster in the witness protection programme who’d been relocated to Norway. He also composed the
score, was credited as a co-writer and executive producer and directed the final episode. Although he was touring
with Bruce a lot of the time, schedule clashes were rare. “I missed one month of one tour and one month of another
and was filming the entire time. Sopranos was seven seasons in 10 years, Lilyhammer was three seasons in four
years. To miss two months, that’s really fucking good, isn’t it? The more in control I am, the easier it is to schedule.”
Born Again Savage (“my 60s hard rock record”) was written soon after Revolution and recorded in the mid-90s, but
it wasn’t released until a decade after its predecessor. With Jason Bonham on drums and U2’s Adam Clayton on
bass, it continued Steven’s practice of changing musical genres on successive releases. It paid tribute to the British
hard rock bands that sustained him in his early years (The Kinks, The Who, The Yardbirds, Cream, The Jeff Beck
Group and Led Zeppelin) and acknowledged his debt to The Beatles and Jefferson Airplane for introducing him to
Eastern melody and philosophy. Including “Salvation,” “Saint Francis,” “Camouflage Of Righteousness” and “Guns,
Drugs And Gasoline,” it was the last in a planned series of albums, which were each the subject of an essay on his
original website. “Before I wrote one single word of one album, I knew what the five records were gonna be.”
 SIDE FOUR (2000-2017)
16: Underground Garage, Red Bank And The Rascals
Having previously revived the careers of Ronnie Spector, Gary US Bonds and others, Steven focused his attention
in the new millennium on rescuing an entire genre of music. “It occurred to me at some point that rock ‘n’ roll is an
endangered species, without a doubt. I put the radio on one day and I thought, ‘this poor generation of kids, look
what we’ve left them.’ It was irresponsible, I felt. Suddenly the oldies format now starts in the 80s! What kind of a
generation are we to make the renaissance inaccessible? So I took all my political energy and moved it into doing
everything I could to preserve rock ‘n’ roll, simple as that.” His aim was to raise the profile of this sidelined art form,
educate new generations about its history and promote new artists. This involved the creation of a dedicated media
empire, which includes his globally-syndicated weekly radio show Little Steven’s Underground Garage, the 24-hour
satellite radio stations Underground Garage and Outlaw Country, the Wicked Cool record label and the Renegade
Nation production company. “I’m pretty consistent now in everything I do,” he continues. “It’s all about preserving
rock ‘n’ roll in all of its forms, which includes soul and whatever else. Everything I’m doing has been to that end.”
Another important element of Steven’s recovery plan is the Rock And Roll Forever Foundation and its TeachRock
curriculum. “That’s the goal right now, to expand the education. We just hit our 100th lesson with TeachRock. We
got 100 more outlined and we continue to partner it with various cultural events. We’re doing documentaries now
on a regular basis, where we absorb the documentary into the lesson plan and use some of the scenes from it.
We’re doing that with Rumble, the Native American rock thing (Rumble: The Indians Who Rocked The World).
[We’ll] probably do it with Bert Berns (Bang! The Bert Berns Story, narrated by Steven), Jimmy Iovine and Dr Dre’s
The Defiant Ones. Whatever it may be, we tend to grab it and partner with them, which not only keeps us very, very
contemporary, but helps the documentary makers, going into a school system forever, so it’s mutually beneficial.”
Steven and Maureen are also on the board of trustees of the Count Basie Center For The Arts in Red Bank and
recently participated in the groundbreaking ceremony for a major new extension at the Monmouth Street site. “The
main thing is expanding it into an arts centre where you can have everything under one roof,” says Steven. “Music
lessons, acting lessons, all kinds of artistic education, community outreach and a couple of different stages. We’re
gonna have a showcase type club along with the theatre.” The aim is to establish “an artistic hub in central Jersey.
It’s a bit ambitious, but we’re halfway to the goal already, thanks to people like Citi Bank, who’ve been very helpful.”
Now that Bruce has made his Broadway debut, I ask – tongue in cheek – if Steven has ambitions in that direction.
“No, I did that!” he replies, referring to the fact that he beat Bruce to the Great White Way four years ago with his
production of The Rascals: Once Upon A Dream, a hybrid show that blended a live set by the original line-up with
archive footage and narration. “I’m proud of that. Felix Cavaliere ended up being a complete asshole unfortunately.
Eddie Brigati [is] the only Rascal I still really talk to, the one righteous dude out of that whole scene. I just produced
a new show for him (Eddie Brigati: After The Rascals) that’s transformed him into a whole different area. I’m hoping
to get him into the supper club scene and the cabaret scene. It’s a great show and he’s really made the transition.”
17: Darlene Love, Phil Spector And The Wall Of Clarity
In 2014, Steven and past and present members of the E Street Band were inducted into the Rock And Roll Hall Of
Fame, at the end of the two-year Wrecking Ball/High Hopes tour. During the subsequent layoff, he masterminded
Introducing Darlene Love, an album which he thinks is “the best thing I’ve ever done with the best arrangements I
could think of and the best production I could do.” The project was, no pun intended, a labour of love. “I’m working
with the greatest singer in the world in my mind, so you rise to that occasion. I called the best writers in the country
to write her a song, because she’s that good. You want to rise to her level, and it makes you better.” In addition to
recordings of his own “Among The Believers” (from Voice Of America) and “Last Time” (from Gary US Bonds’ On
The Line), the album featured new material by Bruce, Elvis Costello and Jimmy Webb and a guest appearance by
Righteous Brother Bill Medley. The experience of working on the album had a lasting effect on Steven. “I fell in love
with it all over again, that wonderful jigsaw puzzle of horn parts and string parts and background vocals. What they
do, what function they have. Make sure they don’t step on each other and complement each other. It’s so much fun
for me to do that, it’s like a vacation. Whenever I produce a record now, it’s like a wonderful day on the beach.”
Also included was a cover of “River Deep, Mountain High,” that bears comparison to Ike and Tina Turner’s original.
“Believe me, I thought long and hard about that, when she requested [if we could] put that on there. ‘Phil Spector’s
most famous record? You want me to take that on?’ Of course I used that as a model, and Jack Nitzsche’s great
arrangements, [but] my production style is different. I certainly absorbed what Phil and Jack did, [but] I don’t want a
wall of sound, I want a wall of clarity. I want people hearing every single thing I’m doing. When you compare them, I
think ours does hold up because it has that quality of actually hearing all the riffs. You don’t hear them as much on
the Spector records. When I produced Darlene’s live show, I had to re-examine those records and was surprised a
lot of the things he was known for really didn’t happen ‘til The Ronettes. The Crystals stuff was a bit more primitive.
It was a fascinating experience to delve into those records with my knowledge now and produce that show for her.”
18: Bill Wyman, Leo Green And Soulfire
In 2015, Bruce released The Ties That Bind, a boxed set of unreleased material from the River sessions and tour,
which was a particularly significant and favourite period for Steven. An initial two months of E Street concerts in the
new year – each featuring a performance of the entire double album – gradually expanded into an international trek
that occupied him until September. The following month, he travelled to London to celebrate Maureen’s birthday,
take part in Bill Wyman’s 80th Birthday Gala Concert (“if it wasn’t for Bill Wyman and his band, I wouldn’t be in the
business”) and make his first live appearance with his own band since the 80s. It was a development that surprised
everyone, including Steven. Having made precisely no plans to record or tour again, he soon found himself doing
both, as a result of “the most bizarre circumstance.” The catalyst was UK broadcaster, producer, tenor sax player,
Bluesfest director and Springsteen and Little Steven fan Leo Green. Earlier in the year, knowing that he would be in
London for the Wyman show, Leo invited Steven to form a band and appear at the same venue the following night.
Steven accepted the challenge, deciding to revisit the soul-meets-rock sound that he abandoned after Men Without
Women. He then enlisted Darlene Love’s musical director Marc Ribler to recruit the musicians for a new, expanded
version of the Disciples of Soul, reinstated their long-absent five-piece horn section (with Eddie Manion as leader),
added three female backing singers and searched his back catalogue for material to play at the London concert.
“That rehearsal was a revelation,” reveals Steven. As he rediscovered his old songs, he realised that “this stuff has
something that’s different and has value and I’ve ignored it and abandoned it for 25 fucking years. Maybe I had to
do that for whatever reason. Now I’m reacquainted with it, I thought this needs to be reconnected to an audience.
There’s something to it that’s hopeful and inspirational. I think we could use that now, without being sentimental,
without being too idealistic or romantic. My stuff was hard-core reality, with a motivational element connected to it.
Always had a hint of optimism. It seems important now. There’s not much to be optimistic about.” The London show
could have remained a once-only performance for old time’s sake, but it effectively revived Steven’s inactive solo
career. “I didn’t intend to. I didn’t plan on it. It was time to jump back in. Uncertain of the water, you just jump in.”
Two weeks later, Steven started work on Soulfire, an album that primarily features his own recordings of songs that
he’d previously written or co-written for others, including “I Don’t Want To Go Home,” “Love On The Wrong Side Of
Town,” “Some Things Just Don’t Change” and “I’m Coming Back” for Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, “St
Valentine’s Day” for The Cocktail Slippers and “Standing In The Line Of Fire” for Gary US Bonds. Simultaneously a
brand-new album and a Best Of Little Steven retrospective, its epic soundscape echoed the widescreen production
values that Steven used on Introducing Darlene Love. “That led directly to what I did with Soulfire,” he confirms.
19: Spiritual Nourishment And Sanctuary From Politics
In early 2017, Steven took care of business with Bruce and the E Street Band in Australia and New Zealand before
road-testing the new Disciples of Soul. Soulfire was released internationally in May, ahead of an extensive tour in
the summer and fall, which took him and the band from coast to coast in North America and twice around Europe.
This brings us full-circle back to Newcastle, where Steven is reflecting on the almost-complete UK tour (“it’s been
nothing but good”), which included a one-off cover of The Dovells’ “Bristol Stomp” in addition to the Beatles songs.
“Somewhere around 1000 [people per night] is what I’m shooting for,” he explains. “Gives you a solid base to work
from. If I get to 3000, [I’ll just] about break even. So that’s the goal. I figure it’s gonna take two or three tours to do
it. I’ll be lucky if it happens. We’ll see if we can get there eventually.” He emphasises that playing live music for real
audiences is “a wonderful way of communicating. I don’t think it’s been replaced by social media, although social
media does help in a way. It’s helping me right now as I come back from nowhere [and] have to start all over again.
Every show seems to be gaining strength from the social media from the previous show, so it can be helpful but it
doesn’t replace the contact that comes from taking a live music show around the world. Something different about
that. Different than records, movies, books, art in general. Something about that live experience that gets in there
and can be inspirational, the most meaningful communication we have. I still feel that and I’m seeing it on this tour.”
Steven is impressed with the crowd response so far, considering the fact that he’s “touring with this level of a band
[with] no hits. There’s a dozen people in the audience that might sing along. It’s gotta be 80, 90% are people there
outta curiosity, and we win them over every single song. They’re paying rapt attention [to] everything I’m saying. It’s
like a classroom. It wasn’t intended to be that way, but it’s a history of rock ‘n’ roll going on and they wanna know
about it. You can feel it, and then they applaud wildly at the end of every song, which four minutes earlier, they’d
never heard of. That is meaningful, at least to those who show up. Will it grow like the old days? We’ll see, I really
don’t know, I hope so. If not, certainly the people who come are leaving with more energy than they came with.
They’re leaving with an element of hope, as bad as it is out there in the world. It’s never been worse, I don’t think.”
“Since World War Two, we’ve had a wonderful, maybe rocky, but a basic trajectory that’s gone up,” he continues.
“We bring down Berlin Walls, we have unions and trade agreements and environmental agreements and suddenly
we don’t. Now we have fucking Brexit, which is a disaster because the politicians can’t find a way to explain it to the
people properly and can’t make a deal with the European Union. Everything’s exacerbated by our administration,
which is completely going backwards in every possible way, breaking every agreement, putting up walls, not taking
them down. Let’s destroy the environment as much as we can, insane shit going on. We are, for the first time in my
life, [for] an extended period of time in the context of the world, heading down. People are conscious of this, they
know that we have a complete disaster going on in the most powerful country in the world, they feel that and they
come to the show and we’re giving them two hours of sanctuary from politics and spiritual nourishment the best
way I know how, which is real great music. The arrangements, the songs, the presentation, we’re doing everything
we can to make it an unforgettable experience. All my life, 40 years of experience, is in this show. I’m proud of that.
There’s a story being told. It’s in the songs I’ve chosen, just from instinct, and there’s a message in there, basically
having to do with my old themes, non-partisan solidarity and common ground. Suddenly those themes have more
meaning than ever. I wrote some of them in the fucking early 80s. It’s kind of a shame that they’re still relevant.”
 20: Feeling Useful And Living With Purpose
So what of the future? “I now have to transition myself to a new career that’s gonna be non-political. I gotta figure
out what that is,” explains Steven. “I’m in between right now. I just made my first non-political album. I’m happy with
it. But where I go from there, I don’t know. I can only make conceptual albums, that’s for sure. I can’t go back and
just do a collection of songs. This album has a concept. It’s all about me, folks, right here! This is who I am, as a
songwriter, a singer, a guitar player, an arranger, a producer. But that only happens once. Now what? This tour is
helping me not only come back and reconnect, but also start to push it forward in an evolutionary sense.” Referring
to his previous five solo albums, Steven continues, “I never got a chance to evolve each one of those genres. I’d go
from one to the next, because it wasn’t about the music. For the first time in my life, I’m gonna evolve this genre,
I’m gonna stick with it and see where it can go. I tend to live with purpose, I write with purpose. People [ask] ‘Do
you go home and write a song?’ No, I don’t write a song unless I have a reason to, that’s how I am. At the moment
[I’m not sure] what my purpose is gonna be. As the tour goes on, I’m feeling useful, which is a good way to feel.”
THE RUN-OUT GROOVE
On that positive note, I call a halt to proceedings and thank Steven for his time. “My pleasure,” he replies, “glad you
made it.” He’s not the only one. While he’s feeling useful, I’m feeling successful, having covered all the important
stages of his life and career in approximately chronological order, ticking all the boxes in terms of my expectations.
I would still only have scratched the surface if I’d had twice as long, but I’m more than satisfied with the outcome of
our conversation. Checking the time, I realise that two hours have passed, much longer than I’d anticipated. It was
primarily one-way traffic. Steven spoke, growing increasingly more expressive, while I provided occasional prompts
to steer him in the right direction. I was impressed by his energy and passion. His replies were thoughtful, honest
and entertaining and he showed no signs of fatigue or disinterest, despite his exhausting schedule. I offer to let him
check my final draft in due course, but sense that it will be just a formality. “I don’t have any secrets at this point!”
“Alright my friend, we’ll be seeing you around,” says Steven after we take photographs. He’s right. Our paths briefly
cross again when he‘s signing autographs at the stage door after the Newcastle gig the following night and I thank
him once again for his invaluable memories, insights, opinions and observations. The next day, he flies to Sweden
to continue his European tour and I head home to begin transcribing our 18,000-word interview and transforming it
into the feature that you’ve just read. I’ve researched, chronicled and enjoyed Steven’s activities for four decades
and feel honoured to have spent some quality time with the man who’s lived that extraordinary life, to have followed
the tour for a while and to have witnessed the obvious enjoyment that he derived from fronting the band each night.
In December, I catch Steven’s Holiday Homecoming concert at the Count Basie in Red Bank, where the band are
joined onstage by their crew, friends and family to toast the end of the tour, the start of the Christmas holidays, and
a potentially eventful new year. Soon afterwards, on a freezing cold, sunny, blue-sky winter afternoon, I take a train
to Asbury Park and retrace the journey that Steven and I took in our interview, soaking up the history and following
the well-worn pilgrimage trail from the Upstage building to the Stone Pony, then up to the Wonder Bar, Convention
Hall and Paramount Theatre. Asbury’s glory days, both as a tourist resort and a rock ‘n’ roll hotspot, are long gone.
Developers are moving in and gentrification looms, but the city retains an irresistible, indefinable magic. The streets
are paved with memories and if you’re in the right place at the right time, musical giants still walk the earth. (Earlier
in the year, the reborn Disciples of Soul made their New Jersey debut here, the day after Steven, Southside, Bruce
and other 60s survivors took part in the Upstage Jam). With only dog walkers and seabirds for company, I retrace
my steps down the deserted boardwalk, watch waves breaking on the sand and muse about the passing of time.
THE BONUS EP (2018-2019)
Steven returns to the Paramount Theatre five months later to be inducted into the New Jersey Hall Of Fame beside
his early heroes The Four Seasons. Bruce gives the induction speech and joins Steven and the Disciples of Soul at
the end of the ceremony for a performance of “I Don’t Want To Go Home.” Previously honoured as a member of
the E Street Band, Steven joins an exclusive cast of Garden State artistic heavyweights that includes Count Basie,
Frank Sinatra, Bruce, and his “other boss,” the late James Gandolfini of The Sopranos. His resurgent solo career
continues to gain momentum over the coming months with the appearance of Soulfire Live! in various formats, the
launch of his innovative international TeachRock teacher appreciation tour, and the preparation of a retrospective
boxed set of his out-of-print solo albums and a two-volume collection of highlights from the Lilyhammer soundtrack.
Although he’s emphasised that the E Street Band remains his first priority and that he won’t be leaving for a second
time, Bruce’s decision to take an extended break after his Broadway residency gives Steven the green light to hit
the road with the Disciples of Soul for a third consecutive year and release Summer Of Sorcery, his first album of
new original material (“Love Again,” “A World Of Our Own,” “Superfly Terraplane”) in 20 years. The songs evoke
“the excitement of youth and the sense of unlimited possibilities” and recall a time “when dreams came to life and
miracles were just around the corner.” Sensations that were undoubtedly experienced in the mid-60s summer heat
by that teenage kid from Middletown, New Jersey, before he began a five-decade rollercoaster ride that he couldn’t
have imagined in his wildest dreams and went on to become arguably rock and roll’s most passionate ambassador.
My sincere thanks and never-ending gratitude to Holly Cara Price, the undefeated warrior queen of the upper west side, without whose
persistence and determination this interview would never have happened. Thank you, baby!

If you’d like to provide feedback or ask questions, please e-mail Mike at: druidsinspace@gmail.com