Born to Run

Bruce Springsteen – Born to Run – 8/25/1975

I’m not much of a patriot. I’m glad I live in America and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, and I also believe in our system of government (although that’s pretty hard right now…), but I don’t go in for supporting irrational things just because that the way we do thing in ‘Murica. I also recognize that life in America is no more legitimate than life in another country. It may be easier or more privileged, but a tribesman in Uganda or a monk on Nepal probably doesn’t enjoy his life less because he’s not living it in the United States.

But I still have some artifacts of the American experience, and I like having them. Barbeques, the 4th of July, the flag, baseball, church on Sunday mornings – they’re not particularly patriotic things, but they’re common to a lot of Americans’ lives. If nothing else, they lend a sense of national identity, which is a good thing. And for me, nothing captures what it means to be an American better than the music of Bruce Springsteen. Say what you want, but America is Bruce’s town.

Bruce and his music was just one of those constants in my life, and it was from a very early age. Bruce represents a kind of American paragon. He pulled himself up by his bootstraps, struggled doggedly for success and paid his dues, and has a humble attitude about stardom. He’s comfortable in the spotlight, but doesn’t trash hotel rooms or do copious lines of coke like more decadent rock stars. And more than that, his lyrics typically deal with real and common concerns like getting a job, urban decay, feeding your family, and poverty – and he gives you a sense of hope about those things, not a spirit of despair.

The song “Thunder Road,” which opens his 1975 breakthrough album Born to Run, contains the spirit of “we can make it if we run” Americanism in a glorious Platonic form. It’s simply the narrative of an ordinary guy trying to convince an ordinary girl to leave it all behind, hop in his car and believe in the “magic in the night.” Its gorgeous piano riff and blazing saxophone endgame, as well as Bruce’s particular gift for soaring vocal histrionics, make you believe that anything is possible if you just have faith, gas in the tank, and two lanes of blacktop.

Like so many American musicians, he was first inspired to pick up a guitar when he saw Elvis Presley on T.V. when he was 7. He had the thirst for success and inflated optimism about his future that befits a red-blooded American. When Marion Vineyard agreed to sponsor his musical career to get it off the ground, he promised her would make it big, and she believed him.

He played in many venues all up and down the north Atlantic coast, including the famous Café Wha? in Greenwich Village, before he was 18. Early on, he played in a three-piece called Earth. Though the timing is right, this was most likely not the Earth that Ozzy and Tony’s band heard about, deciding to change their name to Black Sabbath. A somewhat less patriotic but fully human story is of when he was 18 and called for induction to fight in the Vietnam War. He decided before he got on the bus, as he says, “I ain’t goin’.” He didn’t exactly draft-dodge, since he DID actually show up, but he torpedoed his chances by acting crazy and failing his physical – he got a 4F, which basically means the army wouldn’t take you if you had an American flag tattooed on your crotch.

Anyway, his blend of country town optimism and hard-as-steel stubbornness paid off, because by 1975 he had a great band behind him (the indomitable E Street Band), two solid records, and a growing reputation. But he was cooking something up, getting ready for a blast of all-or-nothing rock and roll in Born to Run. He was no longer satisfied with simply entertaining people; he wanted to change people’s lives.

Next: The Big Man.

Advertisements