Having risen from the 'new Dylan' of 1973 to the 'future of
rock and roll' in just four albums, Bruce Springsteen opened the 1980s
with The River, a two-record set that, paradoxically, showcased a new
facet of his abilities: economy.
Not that anyone was complaining, but through the ‘70s,
Springsteen took a kitchen sink approach to recording, either weighing his
tunes down with frantic wordplay (Blinded by the Light, For You)
or building them up into extended, multi-layered pop operas (Rosalita, Jungleland).
But The River is one lean, mean, crowd-pleasing machine, with a slew of
three-minute sucker punches that are just about as catchy as anything by
Bruce’s boyhood idols – Creedence Clearwater Revival, Bobby Fuller,
Elvis Presley.
And that’s what makes this week’s Chopping Block such a
fool’s errand:
We start things off with The Ties that Bind, and
right away Springsteen’s new appreciation for all things short and sweet is
evident. (The chorus can be most accurately written as The ties that
bi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-ind / Now you can’t brea-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay
-eak/The ties that bind.) Never before had Springsteen written a song so
fun to sing along to. Brilliant, yes, important, yes, but never this much fun.
If anything, Sherry Darling ratchets up the fun
quotient, what with the spontaneous cheering and applause. Of course,
Springsteen’s lyrics touch on political and economic strife, but deep down it’s
just a funny little tune about a guy who can’t stand his mother-in-law. Another
keeper.
You’d think a Bruce Springsteen song called Jackson Cage
would be important and thought-provoking, maybe remarking on hope in a hopeless
world, that sort of thing. And you’d be right. But it also rocks pretty hard
for its 3:03 running time. Follower Two Hearts is also great, the kind
of song that makes you wonder why you don’t listen to this album more
often. And it’s a head-spinning 2:46 long.
Have I made my point yet? Good. Because things slow way down
on Independence Day. This song was left off of Darkness on the Edge of
Town, probably because it sounds an awful lot like Racing in the Street.
Which is a good thing. Oh, and the lyrics are heartbreaking.
Hungry Heart is next, the album’s lead single and
Springsteen’s first in a long line of ‘80s hits.
(Trivia: Hungry Heart
was the result of Joey Ramone asking Bruce to write a radio-ready tune for his
band, and Bruce – who in years past had penned hits for Patti Smith and Manfred
Mann’s Earth Band – happily obliged. But when Columbia Records producer Jon
Landau heard it, he convinced Bruce to keep the song. That’s why Hungry
Heart by Bruce Springsteen went all the way up to #5 on the Billboard Pop
charts while The Ramones’ next single, We Want the Airwaves,
stalled at #50 on something called the Club Play Singles chart.)
Follower Out in the Street is another great one, with
its story of a guy just happy to be alive in a five o’clock world. Crush on
You might be even better, since chicks are more inclined to dig it. You
Can Look (But You Better Not Touch) sounds like a cover of an old Buddy
Holly chestnut, which means it’s totally awesome.
With a frilly organ intro, I Wanna Marry You starts
exactly as you’d imagine. But before that first verse is finished it has become
something deeper. (To say I’ll make your dreams come true would be wrong /
But maybe, darling, I could help them along.) And then we end the album’s
first half with the title track, a mid-tempo dirge about the narrator of Thunder
Road, ten years later. Pretty depressing stuff, but also great. Keep it.
Finally, after eleven brilliant songs that combine the hooky
with the meaningful, Point Blank is an almost welcome misfire, a weird
marriage of cocktail lounge piano, screechy organs and boring lyrical content.
We’re back to rock and roll genius with Cadillac Ranch,
and this one’s got no deeper meaning than its raucous celebration of James
Dean, Junior Johnson and gas guzzlers ‘tearing up the highway like a big old
dinosaur.’ I’m a Rocker is another classic, as Bruce and the E Street
Band channel Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels.
Fade Away is, in the words of Steve Van Zandt, a 'lost little gem,' and he’s right. It might have stalled on the pop charts (it
was the album’s second single, reaching #20 before going under), but it’s a
great slow number. Keep it.
Like Independence Day and The River, Stolen
Car is vintage Bruce. It's a story song about a man driving a – you guessed it –
stolen car in the hopes of getting caught before he’s swallowed by the darkness
around him. (No one else in the world writes songs like this, by the way. Those
who want more of this kind of thing should pick up a Raymond Carver short
story.) It was also used to nice effect in the Stallone flick, Copland.
Ramrod features some goofy double entendres and a
haymaker of a sax solo by Clarence Clemons. It may not be the best song
on the album, but that roller rink organ riff (think Chris Montez’s Let’s
Dance) is hypnotic. As much as I’d like to chop something, there’s no way I
could get rid of this one. Follower The Price You Pay is a moving mid-tempo
ballad about living with regret. Yet another keeper. Eight-and-half-minute Drive
All Night is one of Bruce’s all-time greatest moments as a singer.
This masterful, life affirming two-record set ends with Wreck
on the Highway. Inspired by Roy Acuff’s song of the same name, it’s
about a man who has witnessed a car accident on his way home from work and
can’t shake the image of ‘blood and glass all over.’ A harrowing closer, to be
sure, and an effective statement about just how precarious life is. Rock songs
are rarely, if ever, this poignant.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we might as well leave The River alone.
(Even Point Blank isn’t bad enough to stand as the album’s only duff
track.) I should have known who I was tangling with.
Next on the Chopping Block: The Cure’s Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me.
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