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Backstreets. com: 2. Setlists. October 1. Walter Kerr Theatre / New York, NYNotes: Opening night. We've got magic to do, just for you.

We've got miracle plays to play. We've got parts to perform, hearts to warm. Kings and things to take by storm. As we go along our way— "Magic to Do," Pippin. From the Magic Rat to "magic in the night" to Magic Street, Bruce Springsteen is no stranger to the conjuring arts. For decades, his concerts have been described as feats nothing short of miraculous, and he has discussed his own songwriting in terms of a magical act: creating, from out of the air, something where there was nothing before. Now he does it again.

Written and directed by the man himself, Springsteen on Broadway is an act of alchemy, taking familiar elements — from his songbook, his concerts (particularly his solo tours), his memoir — and combining them, with a new venue, to create something we've never seen before, something that has had preview audiences… well, spellbound. Opening October 1. Good evening, New York City!" but instead with a list of essentials, stated plainly at center stage.

In fact, as simple starts go, this is almost as basic as it gets: "DNA," says Bruce. That is just one of "the elements that will come in handy should you come face- to- face with eighty thousand screaming fans who are waiting for you to do your magic trick.

Waiting for you to pull something out of your hat, out of thin air, out of this world…. I am here to provide proof of life to that ever elusive, never completely believable 'us.' That is my magic trick."With just guitar, piano, harmonica, and a very talented magician's assistant billed as Patti Scialfa Springsteen, Bruce makes good on this implied opening promise. Chekhov would probably agree: if you talk in the first act about having a magic trick, you'd better demonstrate it by the end.

And Springsteen doesn't let us down. It's hard to say exactly when it happens — it's a gradual effect, a gathering of forces, a calling- up of spirits, great greasepaint ghosts on the wind — but by the end of this at- times mesmerizing performance we've found that proof of life. Springsteen on Broadway is a true theatrical performance, with a script, an arc, and a fourth wall to break. It might have been difficult to imagine this new endeavor as anything but a stay- put solo tour, as a residency. But this is not a series of concerts — it's a one- man show (with all due respect to Patti) that Springsteen has carefully crafted, rehearsed, and honed to perform night after night.

It's greasepaint and footlights, without either of those being literally true. Which might not be remarkable for any other extravaganza on the Great White Way, but for an artist who rarely plays the same set twice, who is known, loved, and lauded for his on- stage spontaneity, it might seem a startling change of pace. It's not quite a new trick for an old dog, though.

The secret that's not quite a secret among Springsteen fans is that his concerts are rarely quite as unscripted as they appear. Sure, he can turn his band on a dime, call audibles left and right, teach his horn section a new song on the fly. Carnival Of Blood Full Movie Part 1. But there's also a careful choreography to an E Street Band concert not necessarily evident the first time you see it. The second time you see it, you might be astonished to realize how much is a clockwork part of the show: a shout to the crowd, a spray of water, walking to this side or that, nightly moves and cues that are practiced to maximize the heart- stopping and house- rocking night after night. Springsteen is a showman par excellence.

And making things seem spontaneous is part of his job, part of his craft — call it the illusion of the first time. Which makes a Broadway show of this kind a not- so- illogical endeavor.

It all happens on a spare stage. In keeping with his career aesthetic — Springsteen's staging over the years has been minimal, other than the occasional Super Bowl fireworks or mammoth flag backdrop — there's very little to distract from the performance itself. There's not even a curtain. Theatergoers arrive to find the set waiting, all blacks and grays; the dark brick wall in the back, by appearances, could be a freshly painted set or the old bones of the place. There's a barred window stage right; dim, industrial pendant lamps; and most prominently, a grand piano.

Heather Wolensky's scenic design evokes a black and white photograph — say, Springsteen photographed by Eric Meola 4. Lighting designer Natasha Katz will soon work subtle wonders with color on this near- black box stage, illuminating that back wall, streaming in like sunlight or like beams through cellar windows. Wrecking Ball imagery also comes to mind, with the tools of Springsteen's trade on view and little else: a couple coiled cables hanging from the wall, monitors and a mic stand.

Stacks of black road cases are the closest things to props. The acoustic guitars will come. Those road cases give the proceedings a backstage ambience and some on- brand cool; they also present some irony.

Never has Springsteen been as unpacked or as settled- in for a run of shows. He's going to live here for a while. Given that, this looks like a space that he'll be happy to call home.

And he does appear at home in performance here — in Springsteen on Broadway he's our Leading Player, our Stage Manager, talking directly to the audience, cracking jokes, sharing his stories, journeying to spots mystic and exotic (Big Sur with Mad Dog qualifies, right?), all in the service of the most unified narrative he's ever put on stage. Starting at the very beginning (a very good place to start), the first song out of the gate should come as no surprise for a show inspired by Springsteen's autobiography. It's right there in the title, and Springsteen doesn't resist its natural place in the show: what else could it be but "Growin' Up"? If his preceding "magic trick" litany sounds familiar, it's because you've probably read it: it's part of the foreword to Born to Run, and his memoir's text forms a great deal of the script of the show.

Anyone who thought Springsteen might be breaking out his glasses and sitting down to read from the book, however, as he did on stages when promoting his bestseller, will be relieved during the vivid childhood recollections of "Growin' Up" to witness how he interweaves the text with the music. The naturalistic performance establishes the standard operating procedure for the entire evening. He's bringing select portions of his memoir to life, telling a story in words and music to the extent that at times you can't really say where the songs stop and the stories begin.

It's all one big story, and one big piece of music. But what is the story? It may not be what you think — that's another magic trick that Bruce pulls off over the course of the night. Beginning with such straight autobiography that it's almost paint- by- numbers, he engages in some of sleight of hand that brings us somewhere else entirely by the end of the night. It begins subject- by- subject and chapter- by- chapter. From childhood and an Elvis Presley creation myth ("Growin' Up") we move on to look at Freehold ("My Hometown"), his father ("My Father's House"), his mother ("The Wish"). Then there's the freedom of escape ("Thunder Road," sung with great tenderness).

Up to this point, the show seems to write itself. These are stirring, moving performances, each one: the melancholy piano interlude that precedes "My Hometown"; the deftness and humor with which he describes retrieving his father from a bar as a child, the men's broad backs on their stools; his evocation of the stillness of his mother's office at the end of a working day and, repeatedly, the sound of her high heels. The memory of that sound echoes so much through "The Wish," you can only imagine how much it echoes through the writer's mind.