rock stars create intimacy among the masses Bruce Springsteen. There's a scene in Springsteen & I, the big-hearted 2013 documentary of fan tales from the edge of Bosstown, in which a bloke from England describes his trip to Madison Square Garden to see his idol. He and his wife arrive in New York to discover their seats are up in the rafters, but disappointment turns to elation as a mysterious beardy guy appears from nowhere, quietly explains that he works for Bruce, exchanges their nosebleed tickets for front-row wristbands, then vanishes into the crowd. Bon Jovi and Guitarist Bobby Bandiera. OK, maybe that really happened. And maybe it's some kind of fable. A bit like God or Santa, perhaps this upgrade roadie character is a way of rationalising the miracle of intimacy that made Springsteen's E Street Band the unparalleled highlight of 2013 - and quite possibly the peak of evolution in the whole stadium showbiz catastrophe. For precious moments at least, Leonard Cohen channelled a similar kind of magic, in his more muted fashion, on his third tour in five years. Paul Simon was a third near-mystical presence. Filtering through these lifelong poets of the soul, a blinding purity of heart put most of their spectacle-oriented arena challengers in the shade. Not that Barry Gibb's peerless songbook left a dry eye blinking at his first post-Bee Gees outing. Nor did Jon Bon Jovi labour in vain under the bonnet of that absurd giant inflatable Buick. But the tendency for heritage acts to play on their own mythology - the slow-dissolving slide show is often the giveaway here - has a funny way of distancing us from the crucial thrill of here and now. Lou Reed. Ringo Starr, to his credit, seemed to have imposed a house rule that nobody in Festival Hall mention the B-word. Between a gracious but palpably weary Yellow Submarine and a majority share of his All Stars' mid-'80s hits, though, lay a pretty thorny compromise. Even staunchly progressive electric-African-blues-folk journeyman Robert Plant performed in front of a giant psychedelic poster of his Zeppelin-era self, a confusing and unflattering juxtaposition that may have explained his bizarrely belligerent attitude to his public. Neil Young used nostalgia as a stick, almost, reeling off a listless and futile Heart of Gold in the midst of a maelstrom of feedback from a new wall of noise called Psychedelic Pill. Nick Cave was more subtle and more generous in dealing with his backstory: his new Bad Seeds performed their sumptuous Push the Sky Away album with MSO and children's choir before a less astonishing second half of classic memories. Nick Cave. The choir-and-strings comprised the must-have accessory for many acts in 2013, from the gospel according to Archie Roach at the Playhouse to the euphoric rush of Texan prophets of joy the Polyphonic Spree at a greatly improved Melbourne Festival Hub music box on the rowing club corner of the Yarra. Each was stirring in different ways, but the lone voice of Martha Wainwright at the Recital Centre could have made a Concertgebouw and Mormon Tabernacle amalgam look like overdressed try-hards. Again, some mythical roaming roadie would need to be invented to explain her ability to electrify a hall from front pews to back. But hey. There are spaces beyond walls and chairs in which to galvanise an audience these years. Miley Cyrus, Robin Thicke and Kanye West all did it from a great distance using the reliable strategy of pornographic provocation. Daft Punk made themselves one of the music stories of the year by launching an album in Wee Waa, NSW, then failing to show up. Chrissy Amphlett. Conversely, showing up was all David Bowie had to do to send his dormant stock soaring - without so much as a single public appearance or interview. His surprise comeback, The Next Day, was a cunningly calculated media event that illustrated much of what the album had to say about a hyper-connected world fixated on celebrity. With love and respect to Chrissy Amphlett, Ray Manzarek, George Jones and J. J. Cale, it was the sudden disappearance of Lou Reed that brought the most profound outpouring of affection - something that would have surprised him, one suspects, given the modest reception of his work these last 40 years. There's some other brand of rock'n'roll magic afoot here, beyond the long reach of even Bruce Springsteen. But notice how the space between us and Lou has grown infinitely smaller these last few months? Don't ask how. That's just how the great and mysterious bearded upgrade roadie rolls.