In what has become a recent tradition in the States, Bruce Springsteen was yesterday the fifth veteran act in a row to be booked by the NFL for the allotted 12 minutes during half-time at the Super Bowl, following on from Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake, Paul McCartney, the Rolling Stones, Prince and Tom Petty. It is now regarded as one of the highest-profile gigs in music - Petty and Prince both saw big sales increases for their back catalogues after their hit-filled performances, and indeed Springsteen has already drawn criticism from observers, even fans, for maximising the exposure from the Super Bowl performance to promote the simultaneous release of his new album, Working on a Dream, and a Greatest Hits package that has been made available exclusively at Wal-Mart.
But then, Springsteen is nothing if not a master of media manipulation and showbiz jive, even if he does it in the guise of a blue-collar worker who just happens to be passing through on the way to the Five and Dime. He's the ultimate professional amateur, his aw-shucks-me? schitck concealing enough ruthless business acumen to make P Diddy weep.
There were no wardrobe malfunctions for the black-clad Boss, and nothing was left to chance. He just came on and commanded us to step back from the guacamole and put our chicken fingers down with such authority it made us wish we were eating guacamole and chicken fingers, as the E Street Band (Nils Lofgren's sideburns looked great, by the way) barnstormed their way through a four-song set comprising three "hits" - Tenth Avenue Freeze Out, Born to Run and Glory Days – plus the title track of that new album.
And that was it. No Promised Land or The Rising, no Pete Seeger covers, no attempts to hijack the occasion for political ends. It was pure Las Vegas razzmatazz all the way. Despite his reputation for ploughing his own furrow and not giving his audience what they expect, it was a supremely well-judged – or should we say acquiescent? - performance, one that capitalised on the country's Obama-victorious mood of euphoria.
It also begged the question: what value will Springsteen and his we-shall- overcome positivity have now that America, or at least its authority-challenging artist community, has finally got what it wants?
