It isn't just that he is the Boss. Anyone can be the Boss. As he proved last night at the sold-out Richmond Coliseum, Bruce Springsteen is a consummate performer.

The songs were classics. The performances epic. The energy level insanely high.

Think of how great it would be if you could hear it.

I've been to four Springsteen concerts now, including two previously at the Coliseum, and I've never encountered this problem before. Springsteen and his band, usually so crisp and sharp, sounded like a wall of fuzzy noise.

True, it was great fuzzy noise -- spectacular at times. But you should be able to distinguish the instruments, shouldn't you?

Not that it matters when the performer is Bruce Springsteen, whose least-known song is a small masterpiece of lyrics and music. No matter how deeply he digs into his catalog -- last night, he pulled out the powerhouse rockabilly tune "Stand on It," which even he admitted was obscure -- it still sounds amazing.

"Stand on It" was a request, one of several. The Boss knows how to work the crowd, gathering signs from the audience with their requests on them, slapping hands with the fans, falling into the upreached arms of the first rows, pulling a boy from the audience and giving him the thrill of his life -- letting him sing along on one fist-pumping anthem.

Legendarily tireless, the singer-songwriter never relaxed for an instant. He took almost no time between songs, the last note of one blending into the first note of the next. And when he did finally take a break and talked to the crowd, he graciously recalled his early days as a performer when Richmond was the only place he could play outside of New Jersey.

"It's truly sustained us at a time when we didn't have a lot else," he said to the appreciative crowd.

Of course, the crowd was appreciative at all times, bestowing adoration to one of the bands that deserves it. Springsteen and the E Street Band have become American icons through their lyrical connection to the country's heart and their sheer musicianship.

Which is why it might have been nice to hear a little more of the musicianship. Max Weinberg's bass drum was miked so loud that it created an arrhythmia-producing low-frequency thump that was actually a little painful and a lot distracting. The rest of the sound was all too often muddied, except in the softer songs such as "She's the One."

The beginning of "Cadillac Ranch," one of the great opening riffs in all rock'n'roll, was so fuzzed-out that you couldn't determine what song was being played almost until they began singing it. In that song and others, though not all, even Clarence Clemons' distinctive rusty buzzsaw of a sax could not cut through the sonic molasses.

Postscript: After writing this review on deadline, I ambled around the Coliseum. The sound was much crisper in most other locations.
Contact Daniel Neman at (804) 649-6408 or dneman@timesdispatch.com.