"1!2!3!4!" The hallowed call of the rock n roll superstar. A phrase that has been uttered so many times in this vast, soulless, cow shed of a music venue it should have no meaning whatsoever anymore. It probably doesn't, but tonight its a clarion call to musical arms. The Boss is back in town.

Its a strange contradiction to place this man on a pedestal, whilst lambasting others of the same multi-million selling ilk. I mean, its a mainstream rock band playing arenas, on the cold face of it, there is little or nothing to differentiate Bruce Springsteen from say, Bon Jovi. Is there fuck.

Bruce Springsteen has suffered a bit of an image crisis. Most of you (who can actually remember anything about him) probably still see him as a hick-stirring, flag waving, guitar-toting Yank with a revolver in one pocket, harmonica in the other and GWBush endorsed sponsorship deal stamped across his forehead. Nothing of the sort. The only reason why this man sings about America is because its his home. If The Boss were born anywhere else, it'd be the same. Perhaps that's why he's all things to all men: Preacher, confessor, narrator, historian and everything else in between. Behind all the misrepresentational guitar pomp and big-axe theatrics is a man who's been burdened with one of those 'voice of a generation' tags. The fact that he's come through it all with both feet on the floor and lack of obvious ego is amazing. The sense of humility that he seems to permanently exude is nothing short of miraculous. Don't hate him because he's American, be amazed that he is one.

Wembley is fit to bursting, complete with a palpable sense of excitement. Springsteen is on these shores with the E Street Band for the first time in the best part of 20 years. On his previous American tour reunited with the band, it seemed like a jaunt for old times sake, a Boss revue show. Now however, there is an album and a cause. That Springsteen would react to the events of last year is inevitable, but the way in which he did so is laudable. Instead of the chest-beating retorts that proliferated through the States in the wake of the 11th September, Bruce offered a more thoughtful, broadened perspective. Typical Springsteen. Therefore the opening of tonight's show is 'The Rising', the centrepiece of the same-titled album. Its an uplifting, emotional call that trades on humanity rather than nationalistic fervour. An oasis of sanity in an ocean of misplaced rhetoric. The theme is continued with songs like 'My City Of Ruins' and 'Empty Sky'. The sombre affectation is tempered by the redemptive qualities of 'Waitin on a Sunny Day' and 'Mary's Place'.

Of course, even the most hardened Boss follower would be lying if they said they didn't want to hear the hits. Y'know, those songs that make a rock band good enough to sell-out 15,000 £45 tickets in under half and hour. We get those in abundance. All things to all men, remember. Springsteen doesn't let us forget that he's a showman as well; inciting the crowd to fervoured acclaim through pretty much all the songs you need to hear to make the night a party. Never has Wembley in my unfortunate time here seemed so intimate and so full of life. 'Badlands' exemplifies the iridescent qualities of prime time Boss. A tune the size of a stadium, stuffed in to an Arena, coupled with the sort of everyman lyrics that destroy the innate embarrassment of belting the words out loud alongside an accountant from Slough. Have you ever heard 15,000 people sing

"I get up in the evening
And I ain't got nothing to say
I come home in the morning
I go to bed feeling the same way
I ain't nothing but tired
Man, I'm just tired and bored with myself" ?

Amazing.

Its this which sets him apart from the rest, a sense of unity and a way of expressing common-felt emotion whilst still seeming to focus on you. The Voice Of A Generation? Well, yeah. The cause is helped by the fact that the E Street band is still kickass. They may dress like businessmen now, but they still act as if they're the last gang in town. Nils Lofgren impressively skips through his own acoustic handiwork as an intro to 'Countin' on a Miracle', drummer 'Mighty' Max Wienberg pounds at his kit without remorse for the best part of three hours, whilst Saxophonist Clarence Clemons received the second biggest cheers of the night for his trailblazing parts on the closing 'Thunder Road' and the apocalyptic, roof-raising 'Born to Run'. Ah, 'Born To Run'. By general consensus of the 35 - 55 year old demograph , this is the best song ever written, and to be fair, its not far off it. That, 'Badlands' and 'Dancing In The Dark' are like a series of 6-minute money shots. Except without the post-adulatory sense of guilt and shame.

Its unashamed, unreconstructed rock, but, there's nothing to be ashamed about, it's the best show in town, and it beats the living crap out of Coldplay, incumbent in the same arena less than a week previous.

'Born In The USA' is aired too, with Springsteen quietly warning "I wrote this song about the Vietnam war," and adding, "I'd like to play it tonight as a prayer for peace". Sounding nothing like the misinterpreted anthem of two decades ago, tonight it stands as a warning against American-led world affairs, the singers face twisted in into a bile-filled rage as he spits out the words. Its chilling, and audience arms are pinned firmly to their sides. The song ends in a guttural wail of feedback and collapsing guitars. Its amazing.

A beautifully elegiac 'Incident on 57th Street', played solo at the piano quickly follows, a stark contrast, and then its over with 'Thunder Road'. The band and frontman pull themselves away from the stage, with Bruce promising a return in the spring.

"We've had some nice nights here." Smiled The Boss at the start of the show, you can add another one to that.