Driving toward the new Leeds Arena yesterday, I found myself thinking about what big indoor concerts in the city used to be like. The only reasonably sized venue was the old 5,000-capacity Queens Hall, a bleak former tramshed thathosted the likes of Thin Lizzy and Duran Duran, and sounded like an echo chamber. The eerie sound certainly suited Joy Division, who gave an astonishing performance there at the 1979 Futurama festival, but my abiding memory of the place (now a car park) is that the grey floor came off on your clothes when you sat down.
How times have changed. The new purpose-built Leeds Arena is the venue the nation's third-largest city has wanted for decades, and it may revolutionise live music in the north. The arena houses 13,500 people, cost £60m to build, looks like a giant space pod and was apparently modelled on an insect's eyeball. But does it deliver as a live venue?
I'm here to see Bruce Springsteen, who last played Leeds (at the open-air Roundhay Park) in 1985. Now he is playing his first arena show in six years with the E Street Band after personally asking to "road test" the new venue before its official opening in September. The buzz in the area has been at fever pitch all week, but by 6pm, the car park machines are malfunctioning, and there are still long queues outside at 7.20pm – 20 minutes after the Boss was due onstage. But inside, jaws are dropping. The lady next to me surveys the building's sleek, minimalist interior of concrete and lush red seats and exclaims: "It's beautiful."
Springsteen finally hits the stage and the first 20 seconds are drenched in Queens Hall-like echo. But the problem is instantly fixed and the crowd seems to levitate. I may as well tell you now what I was texting friends during and after the gig: Bruce Springsteen at Leeds Arena is as great a rock'n'roll concert as I've ever seen.
The thing is, I've never been a fan of his. Someone once lent me a badly recorded tape of the album Born in the USA and I only cared for Dancing in the Dark. I've spent years with my eyes glazing over while misty-eyed devotees told me, "But to get Bruce, you've got to see him live." It's true.
The venue helps. Although it has almost the capacity of the rival Manchester Arena, it doesn't feel like a shed. Where most arenas are designed for basketball, this one was purpose-built for the pop experience. The tiered seating was cleverly designed to face the stage (rather than surround it) and it raises quickly, so the capacity is far greater than it appears and the arena experience feels surprisingly intimate. A wander around confirms crystal clear sound throughout, backing up the venue's claim that there are no bad seats.
I am lucky enough to get in the standing area in front of the stage, and a walkway through the floor means that every time Springsteen takes a stroll, a good number of the audience are close enough to touch him. But right to the back, the crowd are on their feet and dancing. People are hugging each other and spittle lands on my arms as people shout requests. It's like going to a giant church: I've never known a crowd atmosphere quite like this, even at football.
Some moments will stay with me – and surely everyone else here – forever: Bruce downing two fans' pints, one after the other, during Darlington County; Bruce crowd-surfing; Bruce getting an entire family up to dance with him during Dancing in the Dark. Then there's the moment the video screen behind him fails and a Boss-led chant of "Leeeeeds" brings it flickering back to life, which may be an astonishing example of what Springsteen says is the "eternal redemptive power of rock'n'roll". I don't know more than a quarter of these songs about factories and working men and cars and girls, but I find myself punching the air and singing every word of Because the Night; writing "life-affirming" and "I feel like I could cry" in my notebook; reeling backwards with the sheer velocity of Born to Run. Springsteen makes what should be crass rock postures look sincere and primal. He ventures toward self-parody (a 63-year-old man displaying rippling muscles through a wet T-shirt?) but, crucially, never crosses the line.
Somewhere in this three-hour road-to-Damascus moment, I observe that the toilets are lovely (if misleadingly signposted, so yours truly pays a visit to the ladies), that corporate sponsorship is only visible outside the concert hall and that drinks are typically canned and overpriced (although, very untypically, hand-pulled local ale is available in the upper-tier bars). The friendly security people kindly place our drinks in a tray so I can attempt the impossible feat of carrying liquid through a Springsteen crowd that is undergoing some form of spontaneous self-combustion during Land of Hope and Dreams.
The lighting can't be faulted, but the Boss plays the entire last hour with the house lights up, making every person and the building itself part of the show. When I drive past the arena later, the space pod is glowing red, white and blue in tribute to its American performer.
In the next few weeks, the arena will host Elton John, Rod Stewart and Leonard Cohen. This first night may prove impossible to follow, but thank you Bruce and Leeds Arena for one of the best parties the city has ever had.
And the Boss's verdict on the venue? "A beautiful building, and a great place to play."
