A performer's very real talent comes in the ability to make you feel like a five-year-old again, and The E Street Band -- as well as its somewhat-notable frontman -- produces the sort of wild, unabashed glee found in tree forts and nickel pretzel rods at the corner store.

On Sunday night, I wasn't at Mergl's Meats on Brighton Road with my mom and a five-cent piece, but I might as well have been. Bruce Springsteen and his longtime support group may have chosen Buffalo to be their final resting place, and the jam-packed HSBC Arena faithful gave them some sort of Irish wake that will resonate with nearly everyone associated with it for a long, long time.

If at this point you're wondering why you're being tortured with another non-sports entry from me, you can thank my boss, Andy Roth, who wrote a spirited review/commentary that shows you don't have to be born here to understand what Buffalo wants to emote. Indeed, for one night our city's hotels were packed and restaurants tested by pilgrims who trekked to a venue that was undoubtedly the center of the music world one November evening.

In a city that's seen its fair share of memorable performances in theater, music and more, Sunday evening has more than a puncher's chance at going down as the most important entertainment night in Western New York history. On Little Steven's birthday with two band members hinting at retirement and a setlist straight out of its genesis, the E Street Band may have backed Bruce Springsteen for the final time, and that verb does the group no justice.

Almost 70-years-old, Clarence Clemons' saxophone poured through the venue with a smoothness I hadn't heard in my handful of times seeing the band. Roy Bittan and Nils Lofgren spent dueling times in the spotlight as Little Steven continued to dare his leather pants to explode.

In the end, however, it's all about Bruce. The 60-year-old put forth a performance that could shake a man half his age --a crowd-surfing, guitar-throwing, ear-splitting rockathon that teased four hours. Borderline-forgettable songs from recent records resonated with significance, and Christmas tributes worn thin by commercial radio -- "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town", anyone -- kicked stodgy, jaded music fans like myself right in the face.

"Get up, man, this is what rock and roll is all about."

It was a night that touched upon the universal themes of our city. The ambition-with-no-place to go seething through "Dancing in the Dark." The downright defiance of "Born To Run." The remembrance and call-to-honor reaching through "The Rising." This man and his band understand what people want to be, and tugs at those strings as often and as hard as possible.

Standing to the left of the soundboard, I heard talk that Pat Riley and Artie Lange were 20 yards from me. My best friends watched the show five feet behind NBC's Brian Williams, and rumours throughout the joint were Nicolas Cage and Meg Ryan were taking history all in.

That was all cool to hear -- and yes I tossed a searching glance or two around -- but my focus was uninhibited enjoyment of my favorite rock and roll troupe to ever walk God's green earth (and traipse up a mess of dirty, muddy music in the process).

For another -- likely the last -- time, Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band delivered exactly what they promised: a return to the feeling of getting my first cassette tape from my parents, popping it in the deck and vowing "No Surrender", as if I had any idea what it meant.

(Here's where I realize I can make any number of corny puns about "Glory Days" or being "Born in the U.S.A." Must... resist... pull...)

And it all happened in "My Hometown."

Sorry.

Email: nick@wgr550.com