2008 Woodie Awards
From the vault...Born in the USA
cbell@gsc.edu
Chris Bell
Issue date: 4/15/08 Section: Entertainment
A difficulty in evaluating older albums occurs when reminiscence collides with objectivity. For me, listening to Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" conjures memories of an eleven year old whizzing across the floor of Great Skate in Germantown, Maryland, wearing a Michael Jackson "Beat It" jacket and parachute pants. The song is burned in my memory along with other anthems of my skating days such as New Edition's "Cool it Now," Van Halen's "Jump" and Prince's "When Doves Cry." Paradoxically, Springsteen's ironic paean to lost innocence, seen most effectively in "Glory Days," was first embraced, at least by me, while in the throes of such innocence.
Listening to the record nearly twenty five years later, one finds that it holds up remarkably. Most music we like when young fails to strike a chord beyond mere nostalgia later in life. See M.C. Hammer, Flock of Seagulls, or the entire disco era for reference. Springsteen offers a unique one-two combination that few artists can throw: he makes radio friendly music that packs a lasting literary wallop. That the album had seven hit singles that still sound as fresh today as they did in 1984 exemplifies such endurance.
Looking through contemporary commentary on the record, one consistent lament is the Regan Administration's appropriation of the title track. Even a cursory listen to this song reveals the obvious irony of the anthemic chorus. After all, who could misconstrue even the opening verse: "Born down in a dead man's town, the first hit I took was when I hit the ground. You end like a dog that's been beat too much, till you spend half your life just covering up?" Judging from the thousands of Reagan idolaters who rocked to the song at the former president's rallies, the answer is many.
However, the point of the entire album, which is mostly filled with the usual Springsteen themes of loss, despair, and hopelessness, is that many, if not most, Americans fail to see the truth staring them in the face because of the gilded luster we place over reality. Springsteen, backed impeccably by his E-Street Band, seemingly celebrates the bleak content of his songs by rocking hard on most tracks. The single deviation from this formula, incidentally, is the minimalist "I'm On Fire," a haunting track that still makes parents feel the need to lock up their daughters.
The 1980s remains a dubious period for pop music. How many musicians depended on the image they could craft on MTV, still in its infancy, to reach the public? How many, like Prince, crafted music much better than most realized by complementing it with a distracting stage persona? Has anything really changed since? Whatever the answers, one can see nearly two decades later that Springsteen's own flirtation with superstardom, now a distant memory, did not affect the quality of his work. And, one can rest assured that, unless your peak in life was zooming through a roller rink, the only environment where you'll hear about people telling boring stories of their glory days is on a record.
Listening to the record nearly twenty five years later, one finds that it holds up remarkably. Most music we like when young fails to strike a chord beyond mere nostalgia later in life. See M.C. Hammer, Flock of Seagulls, or the entire disco era for reference. Springsteen offers a unique one-two combination that few artists can throw: he makes radio friendly music that packs a lasting literary wallop. That the album had seven hit singles that still sound as fresh today as they did in 1984 exemplifies such endurance.
Looking through contemporary commentary on the record, one consistent lament is the Regan Administration's appropriation of the title track. Even a cursory listen to this song reveals the obvious irony of the anthemic chorus. After all, who could misconstrue even the opening verse: "Born down in a dead man's town, the first hit I took was when I hit the ground. You end like a dog that's been beat too much, till you spend half your life just covering up?" Judging from the thousands of Reagan idolaters who rocked to the song at the former president's rallies, the answer is many.
However, the point of the entire album, which is mostly filled with the usual Springsteen themes of loss, despair, and hopelessness, is that many, if not most, Americans fail to see the truth staring them in the face because of the gilded luster we place over reality. Springsteen, backed impeccably by his E-Street Band, seemingly celebrates the bleak content of his songs by rocking hard on most tracks. The single deviation from this formula, incidentally, is the minimalist "I'm On Fire," a haunting track that still makes parents feel the need to lock up their daughters.
The 1980s remains a dubious period for pop music. How many musicians depended on the image they could craft on MTV, still in its infancy, to reach the public? How many, like Prince, crafted music much better than most realized by complementing it with a distracting stage persona? Has anything really changed since? Whatever the answers, one can see nearly two decades later that Springsteen's own flirtation with superstardom, now a distant memory, did not affect the quality of his work. And, one can rest assured that, unless your peak in life was zooming through a roller rink, the only environment where you'll hear about people telling boring stories of their glory days is on a record.
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