Fog and drizzle blanket Sunderland FC's ground as Bruce Springsteen and his band begin their UK tour, almost by stealth. It's just after 7pm on the longest day of the year. It could be mid-winter. With no preamble and, for a time, no discernible lights, the 16-strong outfit strike up Badlands (from Springsteen's 1978 album, Darkness on the Edge of Town) in front of a muted crowd.
Three hours later, the edge of town is considerably brighter. Springsteen has not only stood on top of a piano, but butted its keys with his ear on Seven Nights to Rock, a breakneck rockabilly tune.
Bandanna-wearing guitarist Little Steven has drenched Springsteen with a spongeful of water when his Boss falls to the ground in mock exhaustion. During Dancing in the Dark, a couple of fans have pulled their best shapes alongside soloing guitarist Nils Lofgren, celebrating his birthday. Sax player Jake Clemons has almost replaced his late uncle Clarence in the crowd's affections, with cheers greeting his every brass breath.
In all the fervent discussions about the bard of New Jersey, his politically charged latest album, Wrecking Ball, and a body of work on love and hardship of four decades' standing, commentators often overlook the fact that, live, Springsteen is a big cheesy ham. Ringing out the chords on his guitar with legs astride, Springsteen looks almost camp, a poseable rock action figure. There's a showbiz streak as wide as the Wear to his facial contortions, as he milks the roar of the warmed-up crowd. The sight of a songwriter so revered wiggling his bottom alongside Little Steven is a great counterpoint to the earnestness of much of tonight's set.
Not that there is too much wrong with the earnestness, either. Wrecking Ball supplies seven songs tonight, each one more combative than the last. Death to My Hometown is a full-blooded Irish stomp about the powerlessness of the average Joe. It captures Springsteen's most consistent gift – couching difficult subject matter in potent hoedowns. Decline, exploitation, war and death all receive an airing tonight, ennobled into fist-punching entertainment. Another Wrecking Ball cut, Shackled and Drawn, is a whooping country song about physical labour – which is, the song posits, still better than no labour at all. In sympathy, Springsteen travels the breadth of the stage doing a chain‑gang walk.
You might have expected a slightly more insurrectionary mood from a Wearside crowd, suffering significantly more from the ravages of the recession than the plush hub of the south east. But with ticket prices around the £60 mark, those here are probably still largely employed.
Nevertheless, a little thrill ripples through the crowd for one line on Jack of All Trades, a song about making do and mending in hard times. "If I had me a gun/ I'd find the bastards and shoot them on sight," Springsteen sings of the bankers who made off with all the money.
Modern-day mass events – gigs, sporting fixtures and political rallies – can't help but echo many of the ancestral dynamics of faith gatherings. And while most rock'n'roll makes liberal use of religious metaphors, there is a blatant revivalist tinge to tonight's show, which borrows heavily from soul and gospel. Land of Hope and Dreams turns into People Get Ready. Lyrically, we are never far from Biblical language – a valley, or a mountain; Springsteen takes us down to The River, to some of the biggest cheers of the night, then takes us up to The Rising, in a quiet, but moving passage at the midpoint of the set. Famed for his grandiose bluster, Springsteen's real knack is keeping a stadium rapt to songs where the suffering isn't offset by anthemics. Fans hungry for rarities get Point Blank, a bleak romantic cut from the early 80s in which love and hope don't stave off the ravages of poverty.
The rabble-rousing of a politician or the sermonising of a preacher is within his grasp. And yet Springsteen's interjections tonight are down-to-earth. "Patti (Scialfa, his partner and backing singer) is at home making sure our kids aren't getting into drugs," he quips. A recent show in Madrid neared the four-hour mark. But as the E Street Band end their set with a run of old hits – a sublime Born to Run, a jubilant Glory Days – it's hard to feel short-changed.
• This article was corrected on 23 June 2012. The original mistakenly mentioned the Tyne rather than the river Wear. With apologies to Sunderland.
