Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band, Washington, DC, May 27, 2026

Setlist: WAR / BORN IN THE U.S.A. / DEATH TO MY HOMETOWN / CLAMPDOWN / NO SURRENDER / DARKNESS ON THE EDGE OF TOWN / STREETS OF MINNEAPOLIS / THE PROMISED LAND / TWO HEARTS / HUNGRY HEART / YOUNGSTOWN / MURDER INCORPORATED / AMERICAN SKIN (41 SHOTS) / LONG WALK HOME / HOUSE OF A THOUSAND GUITARS / MY CITY OF RUINS / BECAUSE THE NIGHT / WRECKING BALL / THE RISING / THE GHOST OF TOM JOAD / BADLANDS / LAND OF HOPE AND DREAMS - PEOPLE GET READY / AMERICAN LAND / BORN TO RUN / DANCING IN THE DARK / TENTH AVENUE FREEZE-OUT / CHIMES OF FREEDOM

“He likes the rain.”

That was an offhand comment I made to myself on Wednesday night in DC, just letting off some nervous energy. My touring comrade had been through enough weather at Springsteen shows that they did not require this information, but it was so I could get a nod and mentally convince myself that it might rain but the show would still continue, it would absolutely not bring hail or wind and we’d have to evacuate the GA pit after arriving for first roll call that morning at 6am. 

It was about 7:45pm on Wednesday night and I was standing on the terraplas covering the outfield at Nationals Park, two or three people back from the rail in front of Steve and Garry. We were all waiting for the clock to hit the 8pm mark, hoping that the show’s presence at a baseball facility meant that there would be people working there who could say, “It’s going to rain but the lightning is going to head north of us, no reason to not start the show.” 

I thought about all of this later after the rain had begun in earnest, right around when it was time for “Streets of Minneapolis.” It was here that the initial nervousness that understandably accompanied the opening of this show, in this city, on this tour resolved itself. The tour’s catchphrase was, after all, “Minneapolis to Washington,” and it would still be the Washington show even though the tour would now end in Philadelphia. Additional sets of eyes would be on this particular event. 

But that all dissolved somewhere during the song, when the rain was falling but when I turned around and saw all of the phone lights flashing in the stands, even way up in the top level. Something in the rain, in the fact that the audience’s attention did not waver, shifted the energy and while Bruce still presented the song the same way he did every night, with deeply felt intention, respect, dignity and always what felt like a very personal furor, where he was almost spitting the words out. When you watch him sing the song — especially with the band — you can understand how he managed to write and record it in record time, because it impacted him so deeply.

Tonight there was an addition, though, besides the rain: because there were no seats behind the stage, the large video screens that have become de rigeur for a stadium setup switched to photographs of Renee Good and Alex Pretti, and then, somewhere behind me and just over to my left, a chant of “ICE OUT NOW” began and quickly swelled. It was loud and sustained.  Bruce was doing something else when this started; I’m pretty sure his back was to the audience and he might have been swapping guitars. 

This wasn’t gratuitous crowd participation, this wasn’t a pat gesture, this was honest and real and it is raining and some of us might have already been crying but this moment, 40,000 people in a baseball stadium in Washington, DC — yes people traveled to this show, but at least half of the crowd were local, and had lived through their own occupation and a large variety of disrespectful acts aimed at the city they live in — were given a communal space to air their grievances and their sorrow and their fear and their anger. 

Bruce’s attitude changed from this point onward, in that it looked like he felt that he had truly connected, that he had made his point, that he could maybe have a little bit of fun at this show. He could spend time on the stairs leading down from the stage (the stage did not retain the runway we’d seen at the indoor shows but more of a configuration like in Hyde Park in 2012, with a slight extended curve at the center where the stairs ended). He handed out harmonicas to excited children, he sat backwards on the rail and reclined back into excited men and women. He seemed more relaxed and it looked like he was enjoying himself more. I was grateful that he got that.

Show four and I finally had internalized the setlist, the initial clarion call of the opening speech before “War,” quietly reciting the line about “the righteous power of art, of music, of rock ‘n’ roll in dangerous times,” and then almost chanting along with Bruce those lines about “...choosing hope over fear, democracy over authoritarianism, the rule of law over lawlessness, ethics over unbridled corruption, resistance over complacency, unity over division, and peace over—”

And then, one more time, the explosion of “War,” which until this tour I had only seen twice before, on Tunnel of Love at the Spectrum (RIP) in Philly in 1988, falling between “Spare Parts” and “Born In The USA.” I remember when the single came out in November of ‘86 to support the release of the 75-85 box set and how it was on the radio constantly, every time you turned it on. It always felt like summer for a moment every single time because it was recorded outside at the LA Coliseum and so every time I heard it it was a flashback to heat and warmth and the enormity of a stadium show, the loud roar you could hear miles away. 

But also, I think that it’s easy to overlook the intent of “War” beyond its immediate emotional and energetic impact. “I want to begin tonight with a prayer for our men and women in service overseas, we pray for their safe return.”

If time and energy had permitted, one of the two things I was going to do in DC in my time between GA queue checkins was go find Walter Cichon and Bart Haynes at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. (The other one was a visit to the National Museum of African American History and Culture, which I did manage.) Bruce Springsteen has written in detail and with frequency about his guilt and his gratitude at not being sent to Vietnam, and although that is not necessarily governing this song’s return to the set, it’s also not not part of the tangible amount of anger, despair and frustration that infuses this performance of this song. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to war, he didn’t want anyone to have to fight or die in an unnecessary war.

I’ve never heard “Born In The USA” in Washington, DC, so I don’t know how it usually feels. I was grateful beyond belief to be amongst the large European contingent who traveled over for these shows, because no one there is going to look at my response to the song and think that I don’t understand what it’s about. They are jumping up and down in unison on the choruses because it’s written to inspire exactly that kind of response, because it is legitimately a great fucking song, written to be performed in front of 40,000+ people. No one is jumping up and down to the chorus because they were born in the USA, even if (as in my case) they happen to be. 

There is so much about BITUSA that is genius: the small vivid slices of each scene in each verse, the drumbeat borrowed from “Street Fighting Man” (and not just because of how it sounds, I do not think it is accidental that the subject matter of that song is directly adjacent), the tension and the pacing of the verses and the choruses, that moment where — if you are close to the stage, and the volume is right — Garry Tallent’s bass almost physically moves through you, you feel it in your bones and in your chest. 

“Death To My Hometown” feels even more relevant in this particular spot in the set, the connection from “They destroyed our families, factories, and they took our homes” and “Come back home to the refinery/Hiring man says, ‘Son if it was up to me’” is steely sharp. I thought of this song every time I saw National Guards randomly strolling down the street in DC, and the amount of excess security patrols just in my small travels around the city, also in yet another CVS in another city where I didn’t buy a Sharpie to keep my GA number intact because it would have required me pushing a button to call an overworked cashier, where upon entering a grocery store I am immediately informed that my receipt will be checked upon exit. I’m grateful that we’re taking this song and delivering it with the intent it was written.

But it is also my chance to catch up on notes from the first two songs because the fourth song requires all of my attention because I am going to sing “Clampdown” as loudly as I can, in this city, especially, for the memory of Joe Strummer. I know the crowd likes the “corrupt Presidentes” line but we all know the best line in the song remains “Let fury have the hour/anger can be power.” I am grateful that this other doorway into the song is offered to people who might not have listened to a lot of Clash songs. Morello owns this fucking song, his excitement at singing it is my favorite part, Bruce’s enjoyment of Morello’s excitement is also top tier, I remain amazed that they found a way to get the horns into it, I just wish we’d figured out how to get a vibraslap into the thing on honor of the original but the Clash didn’t have one live either.

(I listened to Sandinista on the drive home and would have loved to hear Bruce’s take on “Somebody Got Murdered.”)

“No Surrender” is delightful fun. “Darkness On The Edge of Town” was another example of how Bruce is figuring out how to present these songs that might not be comfortably in his usual range, keeping the verses almost conversational so he can save his power for the choruses and then that final, feral TOWNNNNNNNnnnn. It maintains the essential power and emotion of the song while not killing his voice. 

Following this particular performance of “Streets of Minneapolis,” “Promised Land” felt even more like redemption, it felt like hope. “Hungry Heart” was a joyful sojourn down the stairs to meet the crowd on the rail, walking end to end. The young bespectacled boy on his father’s shoulder was gifted a harmonica and by his triumphant reaction you knew this was not a case of “Bruce Bait” but a kid for whom this meant a lot. “Two Hearts” was serious and goofy and at the end, Bruce kissed Stevie on the head and pointed at him in a manner Steve was not supposed to see, encouraging the crowd to cheer for the musical director. 

You truly felt the skill in the setlist sequencing when we moved into “Youngstown.” We’d had the intensity and we’d had the joy and now we were back to a story that remains relevant. There’s such a majesty in how it opens, the texture and color of the intro is compelling and evocative. But then:

Well my daddy come on the Ohio works when he come home from World War Two
Now the yard's just scrap and rubble, he said "Them big boys did what Hitler couldn't do."
Yeah these mills they built the tanks and bombs that won this country's wars
We sent our sons to Korea and Vietnam, now we're wondering what they were dying for

We haven’t stopped wondering.

Nils Lofgren was dialed into a different wavelength tonight, the “Youngstown” solo was stadium-sized — they’re always enormous but tonight he let out all the stops, it was accusatory and furious and overwhelming, flying upwards into space, these huge targeted swooops. I also noticed more interaction between Nils and Morello tonight, smiles and glances and fist bumps exchanged, and was sad to think this might be one of the last times we get to experience that.

I will always remember this version of “Murder Inc.” because I was surrounded by people who danced their fucking asses off. It’s always great — I’ve never seen a weak version, there’s no way, you’d be better off audibling it out than doing a half-assed version — but Bruce had loosened up and was visibly appreciating the audience’s reaction, and the solo duel between himself and SVZ was dynamite. “Murder Inc.,” a song about guns, coming after “Youngstown,” a song about the stuff that makes the guns. The man is a fucking genius. But also? That intro, those raw, acerbic chords, the downbeat, the rhythm, the increasing tension in the vocals from verse to verse which then get relieved by that scream of “MURDER INCORPORATED.” The Europeans sing the melody line back on this one. It is one of my favorite parts.

“American Skin” seemed darker tonight, in this place, in this time. Tonight I realized that Jake Clemons doesn’t raise his arms until the verse where Lena is giving “the talk” to her son and says, “Promise Mama you’ll keep your hands in sight.” I turned to my touring comrade after Morello’s solo and said “That is the best solo I’ve ever heard him play” and got the “okay, sure” look because we both knew very well that it would probably not be the best solo I would ever hear him play tonight much less ever. But like Nils’ “Youngstown” solo it felt sharper, angrier, a vivid aural depiction of the sorrow in the actual song x 100. 

“Long Walk Home” was a balm to the soul, it is so optimistic, so insistent in its belief. It is the musical version of “The America l've sung to you about for 50 years is real,” it is both real and American. It ties into “Youngstown,” “Now the yard's just scrap and rubble” vs. “The diner was shuttered and boarded with a sign that just said ‘gone’.” The triumvirate of Morello, Jake Clemons, and Bruce center stage, multiple times, how this band is the band he always wanted, enormous and incredibly capable and multi-ethnic, multi-racial, men and women, ever since the Bruce Springsteen Band. Everybody lifts everybody up, everyone has their routines and their in-jokes and exchange glances at their compatriots across the stage. 

And I know I had a mild grouse at the use of the American flag image on the small screens in the arena in this song, but tonight? In DC? I would have been mad at them if they didn’t do that, a giant flag that hung on the screens until it dissolved into the band, Bruce at the center. 

“Long Walk Home” of course goes into “House of A Thousand Guitars” (which I keep typing every single time as “Land of A Thousand Guitars”) and “from the stadiums from the small town bars” got a little recognition. It continues the theme of community and of connection, and that is exactly what we see onstage as well inside the small village that is the E Street Band in 2026. 

There were plenty of people with signs tonight, people who had seen other shows and should have known better that he was not going to break out “Where The Bands Are,” “Part Man, Part Monkey” or “Jungleland” tonight (and when you talked to them you found out that they knew their chances were slim). I was fairly certain there would be no setlist additions (and am still certain of that for Philadelphia on Saturday) but I was curious if his prepared remarks would change. They did in the introduction to “My City of Ruins,” where he specifically mentioned what recently happened at Delaney Hall in Newark, and he mentioned the presidential slush fund that was going to compensate J6 attackers; I personally appreciated being able to boo the Supreme Court within earshot of the Supreme Court.

The distance and the angle I was at let me get to enjoy Bruce in full-on street preacher mode, which felt slightly amped up tonight for MCOR. He stood there on the center platform where it was still slightly raining — I don’t know how much it actually rained but every item of clothing I had on had to be hung up overnight in the hopes it would dry and it took me like an hour to get back to my hotel after the show — and I love this part so much because he is pulling from the traditions that inspired him and the rest of the E Street Band, the stories about going to the Satellite Lounge in Fort Dix to see Sam & Dave, or other clubs down the Shore that brought in the great rnb performers and he would go and watch and study and steal everything he possibly could. Tonight he stood on that center platform out in front of the pit and repeated, “I pray….” three or four times, and it was holy, it was church.

Once again Nils was in exceptional form and elevated “Because the Night,” which assumed its stadium powers. “Wrecking Ball” echoed across the ballpark, and “The Rising” always hits differently on the East Coast, especially Washington, DC, where for many attendees, this isn’t a news story they watched on TV the night that it happened.

And then, one more time, this incredible duet version of “Ghost of Tom Joad” with Morello and Bruce. Bruce sets up the first verse, the band swing in, and then Morello at the mic and another wave of specific applause. I have heard that the reason so many Europeans assumed the risk of traveling here right now happened once Morello got added to the tour, not just because it meant it was going to be a different show than the one they saw last summer, but because Morello adds something. He has delivered insanely intense performances every single night I saw him and he is taking songs I love and adore and expanding them, making them better. GOTJ with Morello is emotional, gigantic, heart-stopping, full of anger and pain, but still full of power and fight and redemption. 

When he is singing his part of that last verse — Bruce sings the first half with Morello behind him, and then he steps aside and Morello steps up, a bit of showmanship but also deep symbolism — it is heart-stopping, power and pathos and deep sincerity:

Where there's somebody fighting for a place to stand
Or a decent job or a helping hand
Wherever somebody's struggling to be free
Look in their eyes, Mom, you'll see me

Every night I would sing those lines with my whole chest, and then immediately burst into tears on the final chorus. We are all agreeing that things are bad, but we are all determined that we will, somehow, make it better. It makes you want to fight, it makes you ready to do so.

And it is with that note that we swing into “Badlands,” majestic and inspirational in this form. “A king ain’t satisfied till he rules everything” — yes, we know. Tom and Nils sing backing vox together in the same mic; Bruce does that thing down front where he just keeps sliding his hand down the neck of the guitar, held aloft, punctuating the message, a guitar-based reveille. 

“American Land” featured the lyrics on screen — they already had this, it’s not new, I do not think this added anything but it also did not matter after everything that had already happened. Everyone sang “Their hands that built the country we're always trying to keep out” with especial gusto. “In the future we want to keep raising our voices” — okay, this is new! — for hope and justic together, Tom Morello and I will be back again here in DC on October 3 for another night of music and resistance, the first ever Power to the People festival will be announced to the world tomorrow, but you’re hearing it now first tonight!” (The details ended up being less exciting than this announcement was at the time, but it’s still great.)

The warhorses with the lights up remain thrilling: “Born to Run,” “Dancing In The Dark,” and then, of course, “10th Avenue” (where no one checked how the existing video would display on these gigantic screens, or they did and decided it didn’t matter.) Bruce was back out in the crowd, not dancing but did a bunch of hops up onto the rail, he handed out some guitar picks, he delighted a whole bunch of people, including, very visibly, himself. 

I’m not ready for “Chimes of Freedom” but I’m never ready for “Chimes of Freedom.” I never thought I would get to hear this, I explained to someone in the queue that I had resigned myself to only possibly getting to hear it when (god forbid) Dylan passes (may he live until 120) and Bruce performed it at some tribute show. It is here because of its original association in 1988, because how many times Bruce tried to write his own version and came close but it’s still not Chimes of fucking Freedom, and given that you have an incredibly great version to offer, why not just pull that out. (It still takes nerve.) "Chimes" is a benediction, it is setting a tone, it is solemn, it is an invocation, it is a prayer, it is a hope, it is a dream. It is the right thing to send us home, ringing in our ears.

I am not going to Philadelphia (truly!) so this is probably the last post about this tour. Thanks for reading along. You can subscribe if you want to continue to get new posts relevant to your Springsteen interests in the future, because I will always have more to say about Bruce Springsteen than I will ever find another outlet to publish.