The level of enthusiasm Bruce Springsteen inspires in his audience is one with which only a few other music legends could empathize and with which even fewer have sustained for as long. From the songwriting that gives life to his albums to the showmanship that gives life to his epic-length concerts, the Boss has spent the past 40 years living up to his own conceived mythologies and—more importantly—giving listeners their own reasons to believe.
Springsteen & I, which debuted in theaters this past July and was released on October 29 by Eagle Rock on DVD, Blu-ray, and digital video, is at once an affirmation and a celebration of this singular passion. Directed by Baillie Walsh, the documentary tells of the effect of Springsteen’s music on his fans from the perspective of the fans themselves. And there’s a certain poignancy, in fact, to the ways in which those profiled in this film describe how Springsteen’s music has influenced and in some ways even shaped their day-to-day lives, making for an ultimately uplifting exposition on the profound power of music overall.
For those who are still baffled by such passion of the faithful, the extras include a sampling of live footage, recorded last year in London, of Springsteen and the E Street Band in action before a thoroughly enamored, massive festival crowd. The moments of Springsteen playing “I Saw Her Standing There” and “Twist and Shout” with special guest Paul McCartney, which ended the show before concert officials literally pulled the plug on it, illustrate that passion wonderfully coming full circle.
“Talking about music is like talking about sex,” Bruce Springsteen has been known to say. “It’s better when demonstrated.”
Despite whatever skepticism he may have in regard to the former proposition, however, Springsteen has increasingly proven himself to be a fascinating subject in both conversation and commentary, providing insights to his creative process as well as to the seminal influences that have resonated throughout his work.
In editing Springsteen on Springsteen: Interviews, Speeches and Encounters, veteran music journalist Jeff Burger has produced an indispensable anthology of such moments. With the pieces sequenced chronologically, Burger notes, “you see great changes in him over 40 years. So I’ve got pieces that capture the way he was in the 1970s and the changes that happened after that.”
That arc that emerges of Springsteen's perceptions of his own image and of his legend as he’s gotten older is striking. As I'm sure you remember, after Born In The U.S.A., for instance, he began to resist his public persona—“I’m like Santa Claus at the North Pole,” he’d say about him living in New Jersey—but in more recent years he’s seemed to have grown more comfortable in his own skin.
That’s right, and there was a lot of changing from the beginning to the Born In The U.S.A. days. In the very earliest interviews in this book he’s complaining frequently about the fact that he can’t pay his bills. He’s making $75 a week. He also said, in a 1974 interview, that “we won’t play anyplace over 3,000 seats, and even that’s too big.” He didn’t want to talk about music when I interviewed him in ’74. He told me, “That would be messing with the magic.” He didn’t want to take partisan political positions. He said he didn’t see why people get married and bring up kids. “That’s not for me,” [he said]. Quite a lot of changes.
In the included interview conducted by the late Paul Williams, Springsteen seems agitated at the day-to-day circumstances of his life: living on $75 a week, as you mentioned, while having to pay his band and whatever bills he had at the time. But he is resolute in his ambition as a musician. He almost takes that as a given, like, “No, I’m not going to do anything else.”
You’re absolutely right, and in my interview with him he said almost exactly the same thing, because he was also complaining to me. I left things in the book that were redundant because it was interesting that certain things were repeated. But when I talked to him he was worried that members of the band were going to quit because they weren’t making much money, he said, and they had bills to pay and maybe they’ll have to think about going into another profession. And I said, “How about you?” And he said, “No, no. Even if I don’t make any money this is what I have to do.”
He told Williams, “If you have a choice, the answer is no.” And he told you, “If you can choose you might as well quit.”
He really believed that.
But at this point had no sustainable success to back up his defiance. He was just running on adrenaline and ambition.
That’s right. He had nothing. I told him that I loved his second album but I hadn’t heard his first one yet, and he said, “I’ll send you my copy. I can’t afford a record player to play it on.” I half-thought he was joking, although when I put this book together I came upon another interview where he also mentioned that he couldn’t afford a record player. But I told him, “Hang onto it.” I knew he was gonna make it. I really did.
What was your impression in reading your interview with Springsteen, some 40 years on, when revisiting it for this book? Were you struck by any observations you made then, considering how they’ve since lined up with his career?
Well, I’d like to think my writing’s gotten better over 40 years. I was pretty young when I wrote this; I’m the same age as Springsteen, within a couple of months. But as far as the observations go it was interesting that I singled out Clarence Clemons as a high point, and that certainly turned out to be true. I thought it was pretty true to what I felt about that album later on.
Once Springsteen started to really gain traction with Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town and on from there, were you at all surprised by the magnitude at which he resonated with people?
Oh, I guess a little bit, because he achieved the success that’s really beyond most people’s imagination. He just came up there with Dylan and the Beatles and the Stones. Nobody expects to get that big. The fact that he became a star did not surprise me, but I was happily surprised to see how far it went.
Springsteen on Springsteen: Interviews, Speeches, and Encounters, edited by Jeff Burger, is published by Chicago Review Press.
In his new memoir, Cornflakes With John Lennon: And Other Tales From A Rock ‘N’ Roll Life, esteemed music journalist Robert Hilburn draws on some of the seminal events and encounters from throughout his career, delivering a narrative rich with insight and off-the-record observations.
As the pop-music critic and editor for the Los Angeles Times from 1970-2005, Hilburn approached his subjects—whether emerging bands with new albums or established artists during in-depth interviews—with patience and persistence, assessing their faults while encouraging them to live up to the promise of their talent.
Since leaving the L.A. Times, Hilburn has concentrated on writing books, Cornflakes With John Lennon being the first installment of that endeavor. He is also a member of the nominating committee for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
In the following conversation, Hilburn discusses the craft of music criticism, expounding on the merits of a great album, the measure of creative conviction, and what distinguishes the best artists from everybody else on the radio.
As a music critic, how do you discern what’s good apart from your own preferences and tastes?
When I was young, I loved movies and music. But I thought, Look, I can’t be a film critic because I don’t know enough about the history of film. I don’t know German film and all that kind of stuff. But I said, “I know rock ‘n’ roll.” I was there when Elvis and Jerry Lee and Chuck Berry all came up. I was buying records. I could tell which artists [were] going to be important and last and which ones weren’t. I just had a confidence that I knew what rock ‘n’ roll was. It’s like if you taste a piece of something, you can tell it’s sugar; you can identify it. You know the essence of it; you feel the essence of it. So I felt I could apply that to rock ‘n’ roll, in a sense. What I was looking for was an artist who excited me as much as Elvis did or Chuck Berry did or Jerry Lee Lewis did. Who could rise to that level? Who could make an original statement as opposed to just making music that was here today and gone tomorrow?
When I would get a record, [I would think], How does it sound? Is it appealing? Is it interesting? Does it sound like something you’d like to listen to? That has to be the first criteria. It’s got to be appealing. The second thing I would think of is the vocal. How convincing is the vocal? Does it sound like this really matters to this person? Is it catchy or is it interesting? Or is it just kind of wimpy? And the third thing is what is the record saying? What are they trying to do on the record? What’s the point of view of the record? How original is it? How creative is it? Does it bend the rules? Does is it tell you more about yourself or about society? So I was looking for something that sounded good, that seemed convincing to me, and really did kind of step away from the herd of pop music. Of the, say, 5,000 people who’ve made hits, if you take 20 of those people away, rock ‘n’ roll would’ve collapsed as an art form. Because everybody else feeds off the energy of the really great artists. Think if you took away the Beatles and Bob Dylan, for starters. Look at the hole that would’ve left.
If you took Dylan away, the Beatles wouldn’t have been the same.
And Dylan wouldn’t have been the same without the Beatles. Dylan could’ve stayed in folk music, but he saw his generation was adapting rock ‘n’ roll as its chosen voice. So he moved over to that, because of the Beatles probably. And then Lennon heard Dylan. My Lord, that made him a much better songwriter. But if you take two of those guys away, and take, say, Pete Townshend away, take Lou Reed away, take Springsteen away, take Bob Marley away, take Joni Mitchell away, that’s where the real art came from. They’re the ones who are the trailblazers and that was what I was always looking for—that kind of person.
I know you’re a fan of Tom Waits. Why do you think other artists have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and he hasn’t even been nominated?
I don’t know. There were certain people they just overlooked. I remember one year, I went to the nominating committee meeting, and they were going to pass over David Bowie and not put him on the ballot, not put Joni Mitchell on the ballot, not put Bob Marley on the ballot. And those seem like musts. The people who are on my list [are] Gram Parsons, Tom Waits, and Randy Newman. Those are three artists I think are just superior artists and belong in there. I have no idea why there’s a reluctance on Tom Waits. They put in artists that don’t sell a huge amount of records; you don’t have to sell a lot of records to get nominated. I don’t know why Tom isn’t because he’s an extraordinary artist… It’s a strange thing with Tom. One thing about him is he’s got this obsession to be remembered, to be different, to stand out. He told me a story that one time when he was a kid he went to a used-record store and went through the 99-cent bin. All of these records that were made by these people, they were all forgettable. [He said], “I never want to be another name in that forgettable list.” I think sometimes he even went out of his way to be different. I think he’s a beautiful songwriter just when he does conventional songs like “Ol' ‘55” and that stuff for One From The Heart, those kinds of songs. But I think he thinks maybe that they’re too easy and he wants to be a little more complex. Sometimes I thought he got a little too far out. But I loved The Heart of Saturday Night, from that period, and I loved Mule Variations. I just think he’s an “A” artist. I can’t explain why he’s not in.
I think there’s a part of him that’s reluctant to reveal himself in his songs.
One time, I did this interview with him, maybe ten years ago, where I went up to near where he lives in Northern California. We met at this restaurant—like a roadside tavern—and he brought in three or four books with him. He brought in a phone book; he brought in a book on how to cook potatoes; and something else. And he started reading though that. It’s just his way of being an interesting character so you can’t get through to him. I said, “Look, Tom, you can just keep doing that or you can really try to honestly answer questions. Because think of people who love your music and who are influenced by your music; they really care about you and want to know a little bit about you. Wouldn’t you like to know about people you care about? Hoagy Carmichael or some[one]?” And he got really resentful, like I was really trying to push down his wall and he didn’t like that. He kind of eased up a little bit and started talking more personally, but it’s still very difficult for him to do that. I don’t know if he just doesn’t want anybody to know about it or he likes the idea of the disguise.
In the book, you really underscored how creatively insecure a lot of the major artists are—Bono, Dylan, Cobain, Springsteen. Even in their strongest artistic statements, they’ve had insecurities.
Bruce [Springsteen] puts it really well: If you want to keep being a songwriter, you’ve got to keep digging layers off yourself, so you get deeper and deeper into yourself. That's why John Lennon, with that album, Plastic Ono Band, he couldn’t get any deeper than that. And when you do that—when you lay yourself naked—you’re vulnerable. And [so] if somebody says, “Oh that’s a terrible album,” or, “That’s a stupid thing you’re thinking,” that’s just not talking about your work; it’s talking about your own essence in a way. A lot of times, it’s a void in somebody that pushes them to be an artist. It gives them sensitivity. It makes them want to articulate their fears and desires. It’s a way of compensating for things they lack.
How do you answer the age-old criticism that you get—usually when you give a negative review—that because you don’t know how to write or perform music, you’re not capable of assessing what a musician does?
The fact that you’re not a musician? I found often, when I would take musicians with me to a show, they would get too caught up in the technical aspect of it. How is the guitar player? Is it in tune? Is it a difficult song he’s playing? And I didn’t care if it was in tune or if it was difficult or anything. All I cared [about] was the sound, what came across to me. What was the emotion? What was the feeling you got out of this record? I didn’t care about the construction of it. I didn’t care if the Rolling Stones were great musicians or bad musicians; I just knew “Satisfaction” and “Honky Tonk Women” were great records.
On a visceral level.
Yeah. My thing is totally emotional and, to a degree, intellectual in the sense that I’m thinking about what they’re saying. But mainly it’s emotional. Do you feel this? Does this feel real to you? Is this something you haven’t heard before? Is this band going to new territory? Is the Velvet Underground doing something that the J. Geils Band doesn’t do? Well, yes they are. Is U2 doing something that the Teardrop Explodes isn’t doing? Yes they are. You have to get a sense of rock history, what things are really speaking to your heart and to a truth and adding to the vocabulary of rock ‘n’ roll as opposed to just streaming along and making nice, pleasant, enjoyable records, but not really affecting things. You could take away the whole career of Billy Joel and it wouldn’t affect rock ‘n’ roll at all. You could take [away] hundreds of artists like that—REO Speedwagon, Kansas, Deep Purple—it wouldn’t affect the history of rock ‘n’ roll in terms of this art form.
In the book you say you learned from experience that you should concentrate on looking for great, new artists regardless of their commercial potential. For aspiring music critics, though, if you’re consistently writing on good, promising artists no one’s heard of, isn’t that career suicide on some level?
My deal with myself all the time at the L.A. Times [was] I said, “Look, I want to personally make sure I find—in each generation as well as I can—the most important artists and write about them.” Some of those artists are going to be successful commercially and readers are going to care about them; some others aren’t and readers are not going to care about them. As long as I’m doing that, I want to also go out and review anybody that becomes popular… I didn’t want to say to the public, “I don’t care who you think about.” So I would make sure I always reviewed the popular act[s] of the day too, but I would just give them a negative review. But I would at least acknowledge that so at least a person could say they saw it in the paper and I just didn’t ignore it… I didn’t want it to be an esoteric kind of thing. Even though I was doing a negative review, there’d still be a big picture and it’d be a big story and so forth; it was acknowledging it at least.
How do you interview emerging artists who have talent and promise, but aren’t very good at expressing that in conversation? How do you draw them out?
That’s interesting. Most of the time, if there’s something about an artist’s music that interests you, when you start talking to that artist they can articulate something about it. If you just keep asking questions over and over again. Partially it’s the interviewer’s responsibility to make that artist feel comfortable and draw it out of them… Like, Bruce didn’t want to talk about his music in the beginning, so I would keep trying to make him feel comfortable and explain to him why it was good to talk about the music. Often if you ask the right questions and make them feel comfortable, they’ll respond.
How do you see the role of the critic insofar as encouraging promising artists to pursue their craft?
That’s the whole thing. You encourage them in your review. You say this is a promising artist. Like U2, when you first saw U2, I don’t know that they were great musicians. I’m not sure they were great songwriters; they weren’t great songwriters. But there was something about them; there was an attitude. The instrumental construction of the music had this power. Bono had this power. You just felt this group cared about it. That’s one of the things: Is this group just wanting to be successful or does the group care about making good music? You get the sense of U2 that they cared about it and you wanted to follow them. It took me a few years to realize this, but whenever you go see a new band or listen to a debut album, you’re not just listening to that album and seeing that night’s show. You’re trying to think, Well what about a tour from now and an album from now? Where can they take what they’re doing? Have they got any place to go? To make an example, the Strokes came in and were very successful very quickly with that Velvet Underground sound. And the White Stripes came along at the exact same moment. When I listened to the Strokes, there was nothing. I could see through the whole thing; it was like I could see how the puppet strings worked.
At the time?
At the time, yeah. I could see what they did. I could see how they got these influences together and made this catchy sound, but there was nothing behind it. And I didn’t see where they were ever going to be able to go. But I walked into the Troubadour and I saw Jack White on stage. And I said, “Now this guy is going to go someplace.” This is an interesting artist. You could hit him with a two-by-four and he’s not going to be compromised by the record business. He wants to make great records, not just have a hit record. In that moment, see, I was excited by the White Stripes because I could see them going somewhere. I was not excited by the Strokes because I couldn’t see them going anywhere.
After all these years, is it harder for music to fascinate you?
Yeah, it is. I think it’s very difficult for a person starting out. Think of all the stuff that’s been written. Look at the ‘60s when the Beatles and the Who and the Stones started off, they almost had virgin territory; they could do anything. As each group comes along, that’s been done before. So you have to take a variation of it; you have to find a new way of saying things. But the biggest thing for me as a critic was—when I first started reviewing—if I’d go into a club and I heard one good song from an artist or a band, I would think, Well that’s interesting, and write about that. As time went on, I realized that there [were] lots of people who have one good song. So it would take more from a band to get me interested than just the one or two good songs. I had to have five or six or an album or a sense that they were going somewhere. The number of times a year I was excited about something was fewer, but when those things came along and measured up to that level, I’d get just as excited as I was before.
Cornflakes With John Lennon: And Other Tales From A Rock ‘N’ Roll Life, published by Rodale Books, is currently available at booksellers retail and online. Visit Robert Hilburn's official website for more information.
Like Dylan and the Stones, the Beatles and Bowie, so many biographies have been written about Bruce Springsteen that—barring some crucial shift in context that would warrant the writing of an altogether new life story—books that concentrate on a particular aspect of his craft have become more prevalent in recent years.
One of the newer ones, Magic in the Night: The Words and Music of Bruce Springsteen, sets its focus on the Boss’ songwriting. While author Rob Kirkpatrick does an adequate job of identifying major and recurrent themes in Springsteen’s works, his assessments seem derivative and compulsory or—when not backed up by one of his many cited sources—contrived.
Surveying each of Springsteen’s albums in chronological order—from 1972’s Greetings From Asbury Park through 2007’s Magic—Kirkpatrick delivers a condensed account of their writing and recording, now and then injecting an innocuous opinion or side-note anecdote respective to the album at hand. There aren’t any notable revelations here and any fresh insight to be gleaned would most likely come from a more qualified source rather than from the author, who frequently renders his subject and occasionally his work in a condescending light.
For example, when mentioning Springsteen's infamous lawsuit against his then manager Mike Appel following the release of Born to Run, Kirkpatrick notes that his intention is “not to take sides,” but then proceeds to label the then-twenty-something Springsteen as “careless to the point of naiveté regarding financial matters.” For the record, the author makes no remarks or judgment on Appel’s business acumen at the time.
In another instance, the author dismissively undercuts the significance of one of Springsteen’s mentors and the prime inspiration for We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions. Kirkpatrick asserts, “Not only was this the first collection of arrangements that the nation’s most famous singer-songwriter [Springsteen] had ever released, but it dusted off songs associated with a folkie who was decades removed from pop-culture relevance.” That’s sort of like saying J.D. Salinger—who, like Pete Seeger, is also 90 years old and, incidentally, alive—isn’t influential or important in the realm of literature (or in pop culture, for that matter) because he hasn’t published anything in about the last half century.
The most frustrating part of Kirkpatrick’s examination of Springsteen’s work, though, lay in his comparative scrutiny of songs that have yet to see the proverbial light of day. Now, most Springsteen fans know that a treasure trove of unreleased material is locked in the vaults and that Tracks barely scratched its surface. Knowing such material exists, though, is different than knowing its specific contents.
Regardless, the author writes of several obscure, as-of-yet-unreleased songs, at times describing their sound—as he does with “One Love” and “Betty Jean,” calling them “rockabilly” and “country”—while at other times explaining their narratives (“Richfield Whistle,” “Losin’ Kind’”).
Altogether, he compares and contrasts such works—including their arrangements, lyrics, and themes—to officially released ones of the same era on albums that anyone can obtain (in this case, Nebraska and Born in the USA). It’s a one-sided assessment, though, because most people (even many diehard fans) neither have these obscurities nor the resources to acquire them to form their own opinions. Knowing the author has heard them doesn’t help the reader or the rock ‘n’ roll listener appreciate what it feels like to hear these songs roaring at full blast.
Point blank, for those serious enough about Bruce Springsteen’s songwriting or career in general, there is no shortage of compelling and comprehensive books available at your local library or bookstore; this one just isn’t among them. While Rob Kirkpatrick lays out a solid premise and expounds on a few thematic tendencies in Magic in the Night: The Words and Music of Bruce Springsteen, his uninspired and often patronizing analysis does nothing to serve that objective.
Bruce Springsteen has released an EP through all digital outlets, its proceeds benefiting the Danny Federici Melanoma Fund. Magic Tour Highlights comprises four songs as well as corresponding videos, all recorded live during the American leg of his latest tour and featuring special appearances by Alejandro Escovedo, Tom Morello, Roger McGuinn, and the E Street Band’s own Danny Federici, who succumbed to the virulent form of skin cancer less than a month after the included performance.
According to Springsteen’s official website:
On sales of these downloads, the artists, songwriters, and music publishers are waiving all of their royalties, and Columbia Records is donating all of its net profits, to the Danny Federici Melanoma Fund. The iTunes Store is donating their first year's net profits as well.
The tracklisting for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band: Magic Tour Highlights is as follows:
1. "Always A Friend" (performed with Alejandro Escovedo)
Recording Date: 04/14/2008 (Houston, Texas)
2. "The Ghost of Tom Joad" (performed with Tom Morello)
Recording Date: 04/07/2008 (Anaheim, California)
3. "Turn Turn Turn" (performed with Roger McGuinn)
Recording Date: 04/23/2008 (Orlando, Florida)
4. "4th Of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)" (Danny Federici's final performance with the E Street Band)
Recording Date: 03/20/2008 (Indianapolis, Indiana)
Buy the album, support the charity, and enjoy the rock ‘n’ roll.
An accordion lay beneath a lone spotlight. Meanwhile, nine musicians stood onstage in solemn tribute, their backs turned from the audience as they looked up at a giant screen. To the soundtrack of “Blood Brothers” playing over the PA system, a video montage memorialized Danny Federici – founding member of the E Street Band – who’d died from cancer only six days earlier and whose funeral took place the day before.
With the late musician’s usual station at the organ riser left vacant, Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band commenced with “Backstreets,” its signature prelude – on this night – sounding ever like an elegy. “We swore we’d live forever,” Springsteen sang, wrenching in his delivery, as the song rumbled through its second refrain.
Afterwards, Charles Giordano, who has stood in for Federici since his final full performance last November, gracefully took the stage to round out the band. As well, Patti Scialfa was on hand for the first time on this leg of the tour.
His grief palpable, Springsteen summoned unwavering resolve and spirit to deliver a rock ‘n’ roll show for the ages. He revisited old haunts and old flames, nights on the neighborhood boardwalk, and souped-up cars that race in the streets. The ecstatic audience, which numbered over 16,000 strong, offered its collective empathy, condolence, and encouragement along the way.
After barreling through the nostalgic rebellion of “No Surrender,” he dusted off “4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy),” as pianist Roy Bittan played Federici’s iconic accordion part. “We better get this one right,” Springsteen said beforehand, smiling. “Someone’s watching.” He sustained the wistful mood with “Growin’ Up,” which he prefaced with the concession, “All right, one more fairy tale.”
Wild and innocent sagas aside for a while, Springsteen tore into some of his darker, more intensive tracks, beginning with “Atlantic City,” its line that “Everything dies, baby, that’s a fact” feeling prescient under the circumstances. He yielded the focus on “Because The Night” to Nils Lofgren, who commandeered a blazing guitar solo. Not stopping between songs, Springsteen descended into “Darkness On The Edge Of Town” before the erotic throb of “She’s The One” raised the proverbial roof.
In the midst of reminiscence and revival, Springsteen made room for some Magic in the night. “Is there anybody alive out there?” he howled as he ripped into “Radio Nowhere” with a vengeance and a shredding guitar. He plowed through “Gypsy Biker” with stark venom in his voice while, on “Long Walk Home,” he led the audience in echoing its poignant chorus.
Harmonica at the ready, he ushered in “The Promised Land” – as Clarence Clemons consummately wailed on the saxophone – setting the pace for a solid conclusion to the main set. With his wife by his side, he played a particularly touching version of “Brilliant Disguise,” a song seldom performed yet beautifully done so here. And in one of the most thrilling selections of the show, he sang “Racing In The Street,” his voice weary yet resilient as the music ascended from a solo piano to a full-band arrangement. With “Badlands” and “Out In The Street,” both anthemic as always, the Boss brought the set to its vigorous climax.
“Thanks for helpin’ us through,” he said appreciatively to the audience upon his and the band’s return to the stage. With everyone reconvened for the encore, they played a lively, bluegrass version of the inspirational chestnut, “I’ll Fly Away,” in special honor of Federici.
To a seismic response from the crowd, Springsteen then directed the band to play “Rosalita (Come Out Tonight),” which a fan had requested with a sign near the stage (that he later autographed and returned to its joyful owner). From there, he powered through “Born To Run” with the house lights on, rocking that classic like it was his latest smash. He kept the momentum going with “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out” before shuffling into “American Land,” which brought this emotional and triumphant concert to a close in grand style. This, ladies and gentlemen, is how they send off a friend on E Street.
Danny Federici, a founding member of the E Street Band, died Thursday at age 58 following a three-year battle with melanoma.
On his official website, Bruce Springsteen pays tribute to his bandmate and friend, writing, “Danny and I worked together for 40 years - he was the most wonderfully fluid keyboard player and a pure natural musician. I loved him very much...we grew up together."
Indeed, as keyboardist and organist in the E Street Band, Federici occupied an essential role in defining the sound and scope of Springsteen’s music. Songs like “The Promised Land,” “Kitty’s Back,” “Because The Night,” and “4th Of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)” feature distinguishing performances by the musician known affectionately as the Phantom.
Last fall, Federici assumed his usual role on the road, touring in support of Springsteen’s latest album, Magic. However, following an emotional concert on November 19 in Boston – the last night of the tour’s first leg – a statement was released, revealing Federici’s illness. Charles Giordano, who played with Springsteen on his 2006 album, We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions, as well as on the tour that supported it, has stood in for Federici on all subsequent dates.
Federici’s very last performance with the E Street Band occurred on March 20 in Indianapolis, where he made an impromptu appearance, playing several songs toward the end of the show.
With a world tour still ongoing and heading to the American Southeast, news of Federici’s death prompted Springsteen to postpone his next two scheduled concerts, Friday night in Ft. Lauderdale and Saturday night in Orlando. Information regarding rescheduled dates has yet to be announced, but ticket holders are urged to check with Ticketmaster or venue websites for impending details. As it stands now, Springsteen will resume his tour on Monday, April 21 in Tampa.
Also stated on Springsteen’s website, “The Federici family and the E Street family request that, in lieu of flowers, donations be made to the Danny Federici Melanoma Fund.” The foundation’s website serves to accommodate online contributions as well as to honor Federici’s memory.
In a letter posted Wednesday on his official website, Bruce Springsteen announced that he is endorsing Democratic Senator Barack Obama for president. “I have now seen enough to know where I stand,” the musician writes. “Senator Obama, in my view, is head and shoulders above the rest.”
A outspoken critic of the current Bush administration, Springsteen notably participated in the 2004 Vote For Change tour – which featured a range of artists including John Fogerty, James Taylor, R.E.M., Bonnie Raitt, Pearl Jam, the Dixie Chicks, John Mellencamp, and Jackson Browne – in support of Democratic Senator John Kerry’s presidential campaign.
Yet while he has addressed populist themes and societal struggles in his music for decades, Springsteen has only defined and affirmed his personal political views publicly in recent years.
In expounding on his decision to support Obama in this year’s election, he asserts, “He has the depth, the reflectiveness, and the resilience to be our next President. He speaks to the America I've envisioned in my music for the past 35 years, a generous nation with a citizenry willing to tackle nuanced and complex problems, a country that's interested in its collective destiny and in the potential of its gathered spirit.”
Indeed, Springsteen underscores issues and conflicts that the United States presently contends with on his latest album, Magic. His narratives – of death, disillusionment, and moral decay – function not only as rock or even protest songs, but also as indictments against what he believes are the destructive consequences of a corrupt administration.
Currently on tour with the E Street Band, Springsteen is set to begin a three-night residency on Friday night in Florida, the state that notoriously factored in ceding the presidency to George W. Bush in the first place.
“After the terrible damage done over the past eight years, a great American reclamation project needs to be undertaken,” he maintains. “I believe that Senator Obama is the best candidate to lead that project and to lead us into the 21st Century with a renewed sense of moral purpose and of ourselves as Americans.”
Born in Pakistan and raised in England, Sarfraz Manzoor grew up in a state of discontent, invariably torn between the contradictions of his heritage and his personal ambition. When a college friend introduced him to the music of Bruce Springsteen, Manzoor considered it a revelation, one that would serve as self-affirmation and inspiration in an environment that seldom encouraged either.
Given what could have comprised an impressive memoir, though, Greetings From Bury Park suffers from a fragmented narrative and flawed thematic development.
Manzoor renders the chapters more or less thematically rather than chronologically, which accounts for much of the book's inconsistency. Moreover, though, the writer doesn't support his assertion of how Springsteen's music bolstered his desire to define his identity and sense of purpose.
The basics of the account, at any rate, suggest a potentially compelling story with cultural enlightenment. As a toddler, Manzoor emigrated from his native Pakistan to the Luton, England neighborhood of Bury Park along with his mother and siblings. His father, having already moved to England eleven years prior to earn enough income to prepare for and provide an eventual home, awaited their arrival.
In the setting of contemporary British society, Manzoor was indoctrinated by his parents to abide by the tenets of his Pakistani heritage and Muslim faith. He learned that cultural obligations and expectations usurped personal preference, and that honoring one's family trumped all other secular values.
As adolescence set in and the free will of adulthood beckoned, however, Manzoor writes that he began to question his allegiance to the mores of Pakistan—a country in which he neither resided nor felt any direct bond toward—as well as his adhering to principles he didn't altogether comprehend or necessarily espouse. He clashed often with his traditionalist father over matters as significant as marriage and ones as comparably inconsequential as attending a rock concert.
It's within the context of these formative circumstances that Manzoor declares, yet fails to establish the book's purported central theme: how his fervent appreciation for Bruce Springsteen's music influenced the perceptions he harbored of his culture and his very identity. He writes that, after listening to a friend's cassette of Springsteen's songs, he immediately felt connected with and enlivened by the musician's work.
Unfortunately, he doesn't underscore this resonance with sufficient insight, instead supplying facts—such as his collecting of bootlegs and his eventual attending of Springsteen concerts—while making scarce mention of why this music by this artist meant so much to him in the first place. While Sarfraz Manzoor need not reenact some specific epiphany or offer a grand testimonial to substantiate his affinity for Bruce Springsteen's music, not explaining how or why he identified with it inevitably relegates the book's alleged premise to a mere incidental distinction.
Greetings From Bury Park contains the elements of a great story that could have assimilated cultural perspective with the power of rock and roll, but its exposition ultimately lacks continuity and breadth.
A good storyteller knows how to craft a convincing narrative, one in which specific circumstances and characters express a universal sentiment or ideal. Rock and roll allows a story to be told to the beat of a drum, the chords of an electric guitar, the rhythm and melody of music. In 2007, Bruce Springsteen blended his literary songwriting skill with the energy and resourcefulness of the E Street Band to create Magic, the best album of the year.
Springsteen’s distinguished ability to lyrically personalize abstract issues is apparent throughout this album. As well, his deftness in delivering a dark message with often-incongruous music is remarkable. “Gypsy Biker,” for instance, is ostensibly a eulogy to a war-fallen friend, with eloquent lyrics imparting condolence. Yet an onslaught of raw guitar symbolizes anger toward the powers that allow such senseless death to happen in the first place. Such dichotomy of words and music, the conflation of two divergent elements to tell one story, manifests throughout Magic.
Indeed, this effort illustrates much of what makes Bruce Springsteen such a significant artist. He’s Steinbeck with a Stratocaster and this is his Winter Of Discontent.
Next month promises a unique enthusiasm among Bruce Springsteen fans. Sparked by the October 2 release of his new album, Magic, Springsteen will embark on his first concert tour with the E Street Band in nearly five years. Within the midst of that excitement, a new documentary about the Boss will hit retail shelves on October 9. Bruce Springsteen: Under Review 1978 – 1982, Tales of the Working Man examines the work that Springsteen wrote and released over the span of three pivotal albums: Darkness On the Edge of Town, The River, and Nebraska.
In this 82-minute analysis of, arguably, the most prolific phase of Bruce Springsteen’s career, journalists including Robert Christgau and Anthony DeCurtis offer critical insights along with assorted Springsteen biographers, Backstreets Magazine editor Chris Phillips, and Vini Lopez of the original E Street Band. As well, vintage clips of Springsteen on stage and in interviews are thrown in for good measure.
The documentary frames the discussed trilogy within the context of what album preceded it and what album followed, which consists of Born To Run and Born In The U.S.A., respectively.
By unanimous consent among the commentators, Born To Run signaled a watershed moment in popular music, one that summoned the spirit of early rock and roll as it yielded a new language to the songwriting lexicon, with lyrics that read like literature on the page and sounded cinematic blasting out of car radios.
Also a consensus is that Springsteen realized how his effort had set a high precedent for himself. One factor he didn’t bank on, though, was litigation with his former manager that would put him, in his words, “out of commission,” for three years.
In 1978, following his three year prohibition from recording new material, Springsteen released Darkness On the Edge of Town. Described in this documentary as the sound of hope and dreams colliding with the cold, hard truth of life, this album presented Springsteen as a more concise and, ultimately, a more grievous storyteller.
For a guy who was previously “pulling out of here to win” on “Thunder Road,” songs like “Badlands,” “Something In The Night,” and “Factory” illustrate that winning does not come easy, if it ever comes at all.
According to Chris Phillips of Backstreets Magazine, Springsteen subsequently intended to release an album entitled The Ties That Bind, but he scrapped the project because he felt it was “too personal” as it addressed issues of men and women. In its place, Springsteen eventually released a double album, The River, in October 1980.
While the documentary characterizes Darkness On the Edge of Town as a concentrated focus almost to the degree of being a concept album, The River is described as, essentially, a large batch of songs, expansive in its scope and varied in its themes. From the blind ambition of “Independence Day” to the existential crisis of the title track, Anthony DeCurtis asserts that such topics were “not the stuff of pop songs. Nobody else did that.”
Commenting on some of the lighter fare of the album, DeCurtis offers a perceptive view, which he says Springsteen once agreed with him on, that it’s those songs that the album’s characters would’ve listened to in their respective lives. Such an acknowledgement by Springsteen underscores the depth of thought and detail he instilled into the creation of his albums.
With the release of Nebraska in September 1982, Springsteen created his darkest and most desolate landscape yet in which to set his narratives. On songs like “Atlantic City” and the chilling title track, characters that are “tired of coming out on the losing end” resort to violence and murder to make ends meet. Borrowing a phrase from Southern novelist Flannery O’Connor, the serial killer in “Nebraska” rationalizes his murder spree by squarely saying, “Sir, I guess there’s just a meanness in this world”.
Following a pattern that he would maintain to present date, almost to the letter, Springsteen followed up the stark sounds of Nebraska with a full-scale rock record. Born In The U.S.A. introduced Springsteen to an even wider audience, yet it also attracted a myriad of misconception.
For serious fans, Bruce Springsteen – Under Review 1978 – 1982 Tales of the Working Man will suitably compliment your overflowing collection of Springsteen music, videos, and memorabilia. Sure, you may already know some of the basic facts that are addressed, but the thorough analysis contained within this documentary will certainly put this era of Springsteen’s work into a sharper context and, for that, it’s well worth watching.
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