I watched the resort’s breakfast cook, John, via the kitchen’s pass-through window, crack eggs. He had an Anthony Bourdain vibe. I looked forward to my free, seaside omelets. Omelets were his oeuvre. I don’t know much about eggs, but I know what I like.
Torrential rain saturated our tiny island. I watched the swimming pool’s water level hit the brim while I worked on a coffee buzz. A daylong downpour still made for a good day in paradise. Someone pondered the local Cruzan Rum, their morning solution to the saturation. “Our room’s Netflix works,” another said, in full surrender.
John was from New Jersey. Most working at the resort were from somewhere else, employable tropical escapists relocated to St. Croix fulltime for one reason or another. Me, I was there for a temporary unburdening of all bothers big and small.
“I love your omelets,” I said.
“I know guys who use milk, but I never did. I just mix the eggs,” John said. The morning was so grey it was hard to even see the sea if not for its ghostly whitecaps. He apologized for the rain.
“I love Springsteen,” I said, despite my current beef with The Boss. It seemed important to mention Bruce in a positive light to a Jersey guy. I had already professed my love for The Sopranos. Tony Soprano. Bruce Springsteen. I’m sure John’s heard it before.
John actually met Bruce in his Born To Run years. He was a nice enough guy, John assured me.
Last fall, I bought tickets for Springsteen’s 2023 tour. Previously, I attended The River tour in 2016 and watched carefree crowd-surfer Bruce back float across a river of excited fans, mic to mouth, boot toes pointed heavenward, his 66-year-old-still-studly body hefted overhead like a supine, sacrificial superstar. Rock and Roll religion, most high. Anxious to see him in 2023, I forked out $300 for each so-so seat, a supposedly fair price.
Scott caught this great shot of The Boss crowd surfing during one of his shows in Louisville, Ky., while on The River tour in 2016. (Photo provided by Scott Saalman)
After surviving the initial queue (a virtual line) during the Ticketmaster presale, numbers reflecting the cost of available seats burst whitely like lightning strikes, revealing increased prices with each flash. I frantically sought seat sections with favorable views, desperate to secure them before the prices rose higher. I have ordered tickets for an estimated 170 artists in my lifetime, from Alabama to ZZ Top, but this was my most stressful, Whac-A-Mole style, wild-wild-west ticket-buying experience by far.
Soon, media headlines hammered Ticketmaster for their “dynamic pricing” strategy, during which prices are adjusted upward in real-time in response to strong demand. Some fans paid more than $5,000 per seat. Just being associated with the sale made me feel complicit to an act of corporate greed.
Rolling Stone (RS) listed dynamic pricing on its list of “The 50 Worst Decisions in Music History.” Even Backstreets, the leading Springsteen fan publication since 1980, folded in protest because it “violates an implicit contract between Bruce Springsteen and his fans.”
Still, a Harvard Business Review article by Rafi Mohammed noted that Bruce probably wouldn’t need to worry about backlash: “Whether or not Springsteen’s pricing strategy is deemed a success will depend on him performing a strong ‘it was worth the price’ concert. Given his track record of innovation and dedication to perfection, my money is on Bruce.” Full disclosure: Mohammed saw 40 Springsteen shows.
Springsteen defended the decision, telling RS, “I know it was unpopular with some fans. But if there’s any complaints on the way out, you can have your money back.” His flippancy upset me. I couldn’t, in good conscience, attend his show. I resold my tickets at break-even, and then I decided to boycott Ticketmaster for all of 2023, a great sacrifice for a concert junkie like me. Friends rolled eyes at my righteous indignation and saw Bruce without me. It’s hard to be a saint in the city.
Home from St. Croix, Brynne informed me that two of our favorites, Nick Lowe and Elvis Costello, were touring TOGETHER this summer. “Too bad we won’t see this,” she teased. I repeat: Lowe and Costello TOGETHER! I instantly replied, “I can go if someone else orders the tickets.” A shameless loophole was revealed. Brynne ordered tickets. Jonesing for more shows, I personally purchased Boz Scaggs tickets, ending my boycott that had lasted a measly four months. I was like a hunger striker caving at the appetizers. Two faces have I.
I had told John from Jersey about the Bruce controversy. “He’s forgotten his fans,” he replied. “Bruce could say no. He doesn’t need the money.” The egg man looked scrambled. He walked away. John had eggs to crack.
I’ve read nothing but rave reviews regarding Springsteen’s 2023 shows, and though early articles referenced Bruce’s alleged upset fans, millions of tickets were purchased. Shows sold out worldwide. I’ve read nothing about requests for refunds.
I believe now that I have been blaming the wrong parties for high ticket prices. Actually, it’s music fans like you and me who are to blame. We willingly buy tickets no matter the cost.
My solo boycott was as insignificant as a single raindrop hitting the surface of the sea. Speaking of which, our purchase of two tickets to paradise gave us front row seats to the greatest show on Earth, the Caribbean Sea. Ticketmaster didn’t see a dime.
Still, I wish I’d kept those Springsteen tickets. Just don’t tell John.
Contact: scottsaalman@gmail.com