I counted a mere three sips of water, and even fewer gulps of air, as Henry Rollins talked non-stop for three hours last Tuesday at the Harro East Ballroom. The way he overlapped stories and moods was brilliantly put together. It wasn't so much a diatribe as it was a conversation where you're just too enthralled to participate.

Standing in what frequently looked like a martial arts pose, Rollins went from the election to the war to world travel to Van Halen fans to his relentless urge to stick it to the man, and to the discovery that sometimes, he is the man. It didn't have the cadence of spoken word per se, but Rollins' flow and eloquence was so riveting that three hours flew by. I did find it funny that after all his aversion to celebrity and his claims that he ain't one himself, when I handed him a copy of his interview in last week's City he promptly autographed it.

As much as Bruce Springsteen's newer stuff bores me, his live intensity sells it. I walked out of Blue Cross Arena Thursday night with a better understanding and appreciation of all of The Boss' stuff. "Born To Run," "Darkness On The Edge Of Town," "The River," and especially "Nebraska" are my faves, and he dipped into them a little for the sold-out crowd. I was knocked out when he pulled off a raw and rockin' version of "Reason To Believe," howling through a Green Bullet mic. The band was lean and mean, and despite the venue's size it gave the arena some juke joint charm.

Ahh, the nostalgia; sandwiched in there with all my fellow aging rock fans, I got a little misty, looking back on the days of rock concerts in Blue Cross Arena. Concerts where the air was electric with the anticipation of the general admission dash, the smoke was so thick, you couldn't see the overhead score board, and tickets were $8. It really hit me as I looked over the crowd during "She's The One," and spied one - one - lone lighter held aloft, in what back in 1979 would have looked like a lake of fire.