Mugger: NOWHERE MAN
Give Bruce Springsteen his due: When he releases a new recording, journalists scurry to their keyboards or microphones to pass judgment on the latest batch of songs and, with few exceptions, the reception is rapturous.I read no more than a couple of reviews before purchasing Springsteens latest disc, Magic, and then playing it a dozen times in successionexcept for the opening track, the retro-but-still-pulsating dud, Radio Nowhere.
I eventually found two pieces that were notable. The Times resident philosopher/sociologist David Brooks, were he so inclined to soil himself with the vicissitudes of pop music, could have tapped a cultural oil gusher considering the disparity between the articles by Pitchforks Stephen M. Deusner and The Wall Street Journals Steve Stecklow.
It was Deusner who first gave me a jolt. Writing for a younger audience (the online Pitchfork is comparable today to Rolling Stone in the early 70s or Spin in the mid-80s as a diverse source for music criticism), the author, while giving Magic qualified praise, accurately says that Springsteen doesnt have the cachet of Bob Dylan but is more approachable. Ill buy that, but then this: In the 1970s, [Springsteen] was never hip, although he tempers that zinger by claiming that today the 58-year-old has influenced any number of indie bands.
But, at least initially, the damage was done. At first, I thought Deusner was simply being provocativethe early Springsteen wasnt hip!and sort of snotty. A generation ago, Springsteen didnt have the visionary calculation of David Bowiewho emerged with a new persona every 18 monthsor the flash of Roxy Music, but gee whiz, I thought he was a lot cooler than the Eagles, Grateful Dead or the Doobie Bros., acts that were immensely popular.
As it happened, sucked in by the Columbia Records tease that Springsteen was the latest and best new Dylan, I was in the first wave of devotees of the unassuming rocker from Jersey and was particularly partial to his second release, The Wild, The Innocent & the E Street Shuffle. When he played at a small venue in suburban Maryland in early 75, before the onslaught of Born to Run-mania, the show wasnt sold out and I bought a walk-up ticket and wound up in the fourth row. It was a spectacular three-hour performance (with a preview of Jungleland) that was a lot more exciting than Dylans comeback concert with The Band that Id seen at the Nassau Coliseum a year earlier when I was 18.
As I thought about it, though, Deusner wasnt far off the mark: Springsteen, with his manic cavorting on stage, goofy mugging with saxophonist Clarence Clemons, overwritten songs about cars, easy chicks and parental respect, wasnt especially hip, at least not in the same league as Bowie, or, as the decade wore on, Talking Heads, Television and the Clash. (And now that I think about it, was there any dorkier pop star than Springsteen in the MTV video of 1984s Dancing in the Dark?) Im old enough now and tempered by responsibility that the idea of being hip doesnt really enter my mind, but if a reviewer had written that about Springsteen in 75 Id have been really pissed.
As would, I imagine, the Journals Steve Stecklow, who chronicles his own history with Springsteen in his article, Teaching My Son to Respect the Boss. For better or worse, Stecklow is a true believer and has seen Springsteen on every tour of his since 1978. Mind you, Stecklows not a layabout groupie whose free time is limitlesshes a Polk Award-winner, and just last year carried home a Pulitzer Prize for a joint series on backdating stock optionswhich makes his steadfast devotion all the more puzzling. Maybe the earnest rock star is Stecklows own fountain of youth, his virtual face-lift or tummy tuck, but I dont get it, especially considering the diminishing quality of Springsteens work over the decades.
Stecklow, whose 14-year-old sona White Stripes and Wolfmother fanreluctantly accompanied him to Springsteens opening night concert of the Magic tour, remarked that Radio Nowhere was a Green Day derivation, heresy in the dads eyes. (I dont see the connection myself, since Green Day, whose American Idiot was a lot more politically incendiary and urgent than Magic, sounds a lot more like the Clash than Springsteen.) But by the end of the show, Stecklow proudly reports, young Jesse was apparently won over by the intensity of the experience and wore a Springsteen T-shirt to school the next day.
Sounds like a bit of apple-polishing to me, but who knows. I asked my own 14-year-old (who favors Animal Collective, Of Montreal and Radiohead) to give Magic a whirl and an hour later he just gave me a disgusted look. Way too over-produced, Nick said, and the lyrics couldnt be sappier.
I pressed further, and asked his opinion of my favorite Springsteen songsBadlands, For You, Atlantic City, Lonesome Day, Brilliant Disguise and Lucky Townall but one at least 15 years old, and received middling approval. It was patronizing, of course, since kids are experts, but at least he listened. My own father wouldnt have dreamed of foisting Perry Como, Dean Martin or Benny Goodman on me 35 years ago.
Springsteen mania is the almost exclusive territory of middle-aged men and women and that wont change. When the Boss sings in Radio Nowhere that hes Just searchin for a world with some soul, Id bet that most music fans under 35 would suggest that hes just not looking hard enough. Rolling Stones longtime writer David Fricke takes a different view, insisting that the angry, droning treble of Radio Nowhere is blessedly louder than the oceanic static of bent truths, partisan reporting and general bullshit that passes for life-and-death debate in the new wired order.
If you say so, David. I think a more accurate conclusion comes from the A.V. Clubs Noel Murray, who wrote on Oct. 2 about Magic, The result is a new Springsteen, all duded up for 1988.