E Street Shuffle Archive

Sometimes the dice are kind to me.

After the thesis-worthy “Moonlight Motel” the other day, I’m grateful for a song that isn’t about the lyrics at all.

“The Fever” isn’t about the lyrics, and it’s only partially about the music, which simmers and smolders for most of its seven-and-half minutes.

“The Fever” is about the performance. An early outtake from the recording sessions for Bruce’s second album (so early that it pre-dates every single song that actually made the album), I’d be tempted to call it the E Street Band’s finest moment on vinyl, but this track is so early that the band hadn’t even acquired their name yet. Every single musician on the track gets a turn in the spotlight, and every single one of them makes the most of it.

“The Fever” is a song out of time, even at the time. A throwback to late-night R&B soul ballads, “The Fever” sounds completely unlike anything we’ve come to associate as the E Street sound. (That’s probably at least in part due to the song’s pre-E Street origins–a copy of the original lyrics dated 1971 resides at the Hard Rock Cafe in Sydney.) “The Fever” is sultry, languorous, and somehow simultaneously loose and taut. It sounds like the kind of song you’d hear in a movie soundtrack, at a smoky club or a seamy casino (like in the 2007 film, Lucky You.)

“The Fever” swings. It struts. It seduces. Read any review of “The Fever” from its debut in select markets as an “official bootleg” (more on that later) to the present, and you’ll see the phrase “slow burn.” There’s no better descriptor.

There’s only one right way to listen to “The Fever,” and that’s in the dark with headphones.

We know we’re listening to something special before Bruce ever sings a note. Vini Lopez’s rhythmic imprecision is an immediate scene-setter: we imagine ourselves shuffling home from our daily grind. Combined with background finger-snapping, it almost sounds like the setup for a scene out of West Side Story, but when Garry Tallent enters after about 30 seconds, unusually high in the mix, we instinctively know that it’s been a long slog of a day.

Every future E Streeter shines in “The Fever” but its arguably Danny Federici who wins standout honors, taking the song aloft while Bruce moors it to the earth on piano. When Bruce sings his first “alright!” more than a full minute in, it’s almost startling–we’ve been seduced so thoroughly that we expect “The Fever” to remain an instrumental track.

There are indeed lyrics to “The Fever,” unnecessary as they may be, but there’s no story. Our narrator is an early prototype of a formula Bruce would tweak and nail years later: he has a job; he had a girl.

When I get home from my job, I turn on the TV But I can’t keep my mind on the show When I lay down at night, I don’t get no sleep So I turn on the radio But Lord, the only thing I hear is you whispering in my ear The words that you used to say Well now the days grow longer My love grows stronger The fever gets worse every day

Somewhere along the line, our narrator screwed up, lost the girl, and hasn’t been able to move forward since. His job keeps his mind off of his romantic troubles during the day, but the nights… are long.

At night, his memory takes over, and loss becomes need becomes hunger. Neither the TV nor the radio can block the sensory memories that haunt him.

I got the fever for this girl (He’s got the fever, oh he’s got the fever) Nothing that a boy can do (When he’s got the fever for a girl) (He’s got the fever, oh he’s got the fever) Left this little boy blue

The narrator has more words to say, but no additional content. Like the narrator’s fever for the girl, Bruce’s lyrics and vocals build in intensity without ever being granted the gift of relief. (Speaking of, that last line of the chorus is one of Bruce’s most delightful double entendres on record, even if Bruce steps on it the first time.)

We also have to note Clarence’s essential contributions. In my opinion, “when he’s got the fever for a girl” edges out “kid, you better get the picture” for Clarence’s best cameo vocal. But oh, that mid-song solo… “Jungleland” and “Drive All Night” deservedly get the love, but Clarence’s performance in “The Fever” is sorely under-appreciated.

Well I can remember coming home See you standing at the stove With the dishes on the table Dinner ready to go Well maybe out to a movie show Something that you like to see Because you were my sun in the morning You are my moon at night When I think about it, makes me feel alright Well now the day grows longer The love just grows stronger And the fever gets so bad at night

Even Vini gets a rare moment in the vocal spotlight, joining Clarence for some Greek chorus-style commentary:

Well I can remember coming home, turning on my TV (But he can’t keep his mind on the show) When I lay down at night I cannot get no sleep So I turn on the radio But still the only thing I hear is you whispering in my ear Them words that you used to say And now the days grow longer And the love just grows stronger And the fever gets bad every day

If you’re a Garry Tallent fan, though, it doesn’t get much better than around the six-minute mark, when Vini and Garry carry the song unaccompanied for a solid thirty seconds. The band finally reunites for the final minute, each member doing their own thing, but always in concert, finishing with a final, triumphant flourish from Vini.

“The Fever” was recorded in a single take with no overdubs. It’s simply a remarkable performance.

So that begs the question: just what the heck was Bruce’s beef with it? Because Bruce has had a serious love/hate relationship with it since he first recorded it. Although it was one of the first songs recorded during the recording sessions for his second album, Bruce never seriously considered it a candidate for inclusion on The Wild, The Innocent, and The E Street Shuffle. And although we know he played it a couple of times just before he recorded it, once he committed it to tape Bruce did his best to make sure no one ever heard it again.

Thankfully, his manager Mike Appel had other ideas. Appel secretly sent out cassette tapes of “The Fever” to a few Bruce-friendly radio DJs, and the song became an under-the-radar hit in Philadelphia and Houston, despite Bruce’s stubborn refusal to release it officially. (I vividly recall hearing it on the radio often when I was growing up in Philly in the 1970s.)

In fact, radio station KLOL in Houston received so many phone-in requests for “The Fever” that Bruce was pretty much forced to play it when he dropped by the studio with the (still unnamed) E Street Band in early March 1974. It’s strange to hear “The Fever” played acoustically with Danny’s accordion standing in for the piano, but it works thanks to the band’s ability to conjure the song’s cool vibe on command.

But aside from its outing in Houston (Bruce played it in concert the following night), “The Fever” received nothing but neglect from Bruce throughout the Wild & Innocent and Born to Run years.

Bruce finally gave his song up for adoption to Southside Johnny, who recorded a bold, brassy version of “The Fever” for his 1976 debut album. If Bruce’s original simmers, Southside’s cover swaggers.

“The Fever” quickly became Southside’s signature song, and Bruce seemed content his song had found a home with someone who loved it more than he did.

But then came the Darkness Tour and an early Texas stand, and by popular demand out came “The Fever,” just as strong on stage as it was on cassette.

And with Philly on the schedule just a couple of weeks later, Bruce ended up keeping it in the set list. (In true Philly style, Bruce tells of kids running up on stage, yelling “BRUCE! FEVER!” in his ear.)

During a radio interview the day after Bruce’s first Darkness show in Philly, local DJ Ed Sciaky challenged Bruce’s professed ambivalence towards the local favorite: “You used to say you didn’t like the song, and a lot of people think it’s one of your best.” Shruggingly, Bruce replied “I don’t know. It was just something that I wrote so long ago. It was just an older song and never a real favorite of mine.”

But then he immediately contradicted himself in his next breath: “I liked it… I always liked it. But just for myself.” So maybe “The Fever” just represented a sound Bruce felt he’d moved beyond.

And yet, “The Fever” remained in the set list throughout the rest of the Darkness Tour, growing in power with each passing performance, culminating in what may be the best performance of the song ever when worlds collided on August 30th.

Bruce was playing his Darkness show at the Richfield Coliseum in suburban Cleveland; Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes were playing at the same time at The Agora in Cleveland itself.

Well, they were supposed to be anyway. The simultaneous booking presented a challenge for Steve Van Zandt, who was a member of both bands, so Southside’s show started three hours late so that Steve could zip across town after his E Street gig.

Steve brought Bruce, Roy, Garry, and Clarence with him to catch Southside and the Jukes’ set, and when it was time for Southside’s traditional encore of “The Fever,” The Jukes got a little E Street infusion when Bruce, Clarence, and Garry (plus Steve, already on stage) joined the band for what has remained my all-time favorite Springsteen/Southside performance.

Just watch the comfort and chemistry between these two legendary bandleaders, and how at ease the bands are with each other. For an appearance that couldn’t have been planned or rehearsed, it was absolutely electric.

After the Darkness Tour ended, it seemed like the only way to ever hear “The Fever” live again was to catch Southside Johnny in concert. But when word spread of a multi-disc box set of unreleased outtakes on the way in 1998, Springsteen fans rejoiced. Surely “The Fever” would be included!

But typically and maddeningly, Bruce omitted it from Tracks, and when interviewer Charlie Rose asked Bruce about its absence during a television interview, Bruce replied with a litany of excuses: “That was something that… I had it sequenced at one time, and it was very long, and Southside did a great version of it, and it’s never been one of my favorites.”

When Rose pressed Bruce about whether fans would ever see it, Bruce laughed and replied, “Well, it’s been seen! It’s probably seen in more homes than… [laughs] but we have a nice version of it, and it’s mixed, and I’ll probably get it out. I’ll probably put it out on a B-side or something.”

He put it out on something the following year: an odd compilation/sampler of outtakes from the box set called 18 Tracks that included three songs not included in the original set. One of them–finally–was “The Fever.”

And with “The Fever” finally available as an official cut, the song finally returned to the E Street Band’s set list with a cameo appearance on the Reunion Tour (in Philly, naturally).

“The Fever” has remained a rarity in the post-Reunion era, although it’s a fairly safe bet you’ll get it if you regularly catch Bruce’s shows in Philadelphia, where “The Fever” has made three appearances since 2009, most recently at Bruce’s U.S. record-setting marathon show in 2016.

Bruce can’t seem to shake “The Fever,” despite how much and how often he professes to try, and his fans certainly don’t want him to. We’ll likely continue to see it make rare appearances here and there when Bruce plays in his longtime strongholds.

I’ll leave you with a rare solo electric piano performance of “The Fever” from Bruce’s 2005 tour, played by request in Boston. It’s a great performance, but true to fashion, Bruce can’t resist getting a dig in first. Enjoy this seldom-heard performance of what Bruce called “an annoying fan favorite.”

The Fever
Recorded May 16, 1973
Released: 18 Tracks (1999)
First performed: March 15, 1973 (Boston, MA)
Last performed: July 6, 2019 (Asbury Park, NJ)

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