Back when Mr. Springsteen first breached the collective consciousness, as a relatively regular-seeming type, he was an oddball icon by ’70s rock-star standards. In those days, before influencers and podcasters and despite the decade’s unusually well-stocked dressing room of exquisite male movie stars (Robert Redford, Paul Newman, Warren Beatty, Jack Nicholson, Al Pacino and, for the kids in A.P. classes, Woody Allen), we young people more often looked to rock stars as avatars for style, sexuality, attitude, politics and the latest pharmaceutical diversions.