Marsh, who continues to wear his blue-collar lineage like a banner across his chest, spent much of last year in his airy Connecticut carriage house writing approvingly about Springsteen's overtures to unemployed steelworkers and food bank organizers. You, the dummy in the corner with the unused brain, come over here.' "Īnd though Marsh is a bestselling rock writer now, Bruce Springsteen's Boswell, a publisher, a putative grown-up far from Pontiac, "esthetically, I've never left." it was like, 'Oh, you're a lout? Come over here. Rock 'n' roll - as the white teen-ager listening to the black singer in the racially festering town came to believe unwaveringly - was "a voice for people without a voice, culture for people who came from places defined as barbaric. "I guess you could call it an epiphany," says Marsh, remembering his galvanic reaction to Smokey Robinson's hungering falsetto in 1964. NEW YORK - Dave Marsh got rock 'n' roll religion on a sticky summer night in Pontiac, Mich., when he was 14 and "You Really Got a Hold on Me" glided through the speaker of his AM radio.
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