Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged 'bruce springsteen'

February 9, 2010

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“Atlantic City” – The Band
(Words/music: Bruce Springsteen, available on Jericho, Rhino 1993)

This Levon Helm led version of “Atlantic City “ threw me for a loop the first time I heard it. I know Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska by reputation as some of his starkest songs with some of his darkest characters. So hearing the brightness of the accordion and mandolin on the Band’s version caught me off guard. For a song where the narrator turns to gambling as a desperate solution to problems, The Band’s version sounded too bright. It sounded more like a leisurely afternoon on the boardwalk than terse moments inside a casino.

So I went back to Springsteen’s recording and found his original version closer to this one than I remembered. Sure, this isn’t the inspired, determined protagonist associated with a lot of his later work, but the main character in “Atlantic City” isn’t completely devoid of hope. He tempers his observation that “everyone dies” with the hope that “everything that dies someday comes back.” Whether it’s what he wants to believe or it’s a true sign of faith, hope remains nonetheless. Even some of the sonic details in the Band’s version that I found surprising – specifically the mandolin and the harmony vocals – exist in Springsteen’s recording too. Whether Springsteen plays a mandolin or an acoustic guitar in its upper register, a string instrument accompanies him the same way his double-tracked vocal harmonizes with him during the chorus. Levon Helm and his bandmates did what good covers often do by highlighting certain aspects of the original. As a result, it creates a distinctly unique version of the song that differentiates itself while still paying tribute to the original.

More on The Band: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

January 2, 2010

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“Young Adult Friction” – The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
(Words/music: The Pains of Being Pure at Heart , available on The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Slumberland 2009)

Remarkably, I only experienced one moment in 2009 where I wanted to be in two places simultaneously. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart played a tiny show in an American Legion hall in the next town over from me. I would have been there in a heartbeat except that for months I had tickets to see Bruce Springsteen the same night. So I was financially invested in seeing the Boss (who, aside from Polvo perhaps, performed at the loudest volume of any band I saw in 2009 even in the nosebleeds), and it was an excellent show, but a nagging suspicion (and my friend Matt, who I’m pretty sure went to see them) makes me wonder how much I would have enjoyed seeing The Pains of Being Pure at Heart.

I played the Pains LP a lot in 2009, but particularly took a liking to the songs on the first side of the record. “Young Adult Friction” took less than ten seconds – basically by the change from the first chord to the second – to hook me in. The fuzzy guitars, hazy vocals, and gently humming synthesizer sounded like a lot of records I loved, but that alone wasn’t enough to hold my attention (otherwise, I’d have a record collection full of every band that owned a tremolo pedal). Instead, it was the songs themselves and not just the adornment that interested me. “Young Adult Friction” specifically toes the line between witty self-awareness, youthful excitement, and reluctant melancholy. Neither story nor sound are enough to carry a song alone, but when complimentary paired, the song benefits. Sure, the Pains LP isn’t exactly groundbreaking (and yes, I could rifle off a list of bands they sound like, but that just says more about me showing off my back catalog recognition rather than saying something about the song) but music doesn’t always have to be challenging. Sometimes, a good song played with the right mix of conviction, composition, and charisma satisfies like little else.

More on The Pains of Being Pure at Heart: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

September 25, 2009

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“Because the Night” – 10,000 Maniacs
(Words/music: Patti Smith and Bruce Springsteen, available on MTV Unplugged, Elektra 1993)

If it didn’t carry such a specific connotation, I’d declare “Because the Night” my favorite power ballad. Springsteen and Smith play off their mutual strengths, specifically their flair for the dramatic and their unconventionally powerful voices. “Because the Night” starts with a bittersweet piano line and gives the impression of a lonely piano feature before swelling and taking on the power of the full band. Appropriately, both Springsteen and Smith take their vocal cues from their arrangement; by the end of the song, both Smith and Springsteen emote the same passion and desperation as their lyrics. It’s this same quality that makes the 10,000 Maniacs version work for me. Natalie Merchant has her opportunity to step into the spotlight and plays up her strengths as a vocalist. That’s not to shortchange her band (who create a wonderful arrangement behind her, managing to elicit the necessary energy out of the unplugged arrangement), but this is Merchant’s moment in the spotlight (and let’s be honest, that’s the reason she’s the focal point in the cover photo). Like Springsteen and Smith, Merchant builds up to her emotional climax; while she doesn’t have the same power as the other two, she compensates with the sweet sincerity in her voice.

Merchant’s version, like the original Smith version and the Springsteen version on the Live 1975 – 1985 box, climaxes during the bridge. If the verses laid out the protagonist’s desire for her lover, the bridge drives home the extent of her longing. Appropriately, this is the musical turning point as well as the song builds in the final few bars. Merchant’s voice cracks slightly on the second “take me now,” and rather than feel like a bad note it almost sounds like she’s getting choked up. Whether it’s a bit of acting or an authentic moment of emotion, it only underscores the intensity of the moment.

More on 10,000 Maniacs: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

April 30, 2009

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“Blinded by the Light” – Manfred Mann’s Earth Band
(Words/music: Bruce Springsteen, available on The Roaring Silence, Warner Brothers 1976)

During his VH-1 Storytellers’ performance, Bruce Springsteen introduced “Blinded by the Light” as his only number one song and noted the irony that it was someone else’s performance that made it a hit. While I (certainly of a pro-Springsteen bias, so take that for what you will) prefer the original from Springsteen’s debut record Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J., Manfred Mann’s version remains the more popular one. Springsteen semi-jokingly attributes the cover’s success to Mann’s skewering of the “deuce” coup to sound more like “douche.” It’s interesting, because I think one area where the cover improves on the original comes in Mann’s clearer vocal delivery. The young Boss was still trying hard to be Bob Dylan, and perhaps dipped a little too much into his rhyming dictionary. Mann’s version makes these lyrics, which are generally nonsensical to begin with, somewhat clearer, which is the only reason that makes me believe that his pronunciation of “deuce” was intentional.

With these dense lyrics, both songs rely on the music to carry the weight. Springsteen’s version feels incredibly loose, letting the beat swing and the saxophone dance around the stage; even though it’s not one of my favorite Springsteen lyrics, it’s clear that he was having fun leading his band. Mann’s cover reverses this, going for a machine-like gloss. Swirling synthesizers replace the strums and saxophones as Mann’s band shifts speeds, playing with a half-time feel in the verse and resuming the beat to move into the chorus. It’s these rhythmic touches that build and release tension over the song’s seven minutes, even playing with the listener’s expectations by dropping down to only a hi-hat and synthesizer (which I hope he paid royalties to Pete Townshend for, since it sounds right out of his arsenal) for the chorus when we might expect it to crescendo to a climax. Ultimately, it comes down to personal taste, and even if I prefer the original, there are elements of the cover that I enjoy as well. Most of all, I’m amused to see how one song lends itself to two diverse versions. I’d be interested to know what Manfred Mann heard in Springsteen’s original that led him to arrange the song the way he arranged it.

More on Manfred Mann’s Earth Band: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

February 17, 2009

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“Upon Viewing Brueghel’s Landscape with the Fall of Icarus” – Titus Andronicus
(Words/music: Titus Andronicus, available on The Airing of Grievances, Troubleman Unlimited 2008)

While I love melody (think of how many times I’ve used “catchy” to describe songs over the past month and a half), I also have an affinity for loud, noisy songs. That’s not to say that I like anything turned up to 11 – I’ve tried to understand hardcore a few times and came to the conclusion that it’s not for me. My preferred type of noise still contains a melody. The noise might fracture, rearrange, or obscure it, but there’s still a melodic force driving these songs. I guess I find these songs fascinating for a couple of reasons. First, I think it’s interesting to see how far melodies stretch before breaking. That’s not to say that I like all my pop songs played loud and fast (I tend to abhor punk covers of pop songs) – it’s kind of a case by case basis. Sometimes, the song needs a lush arrangement or a sparce performance to do it justice. Sometimes, the melody serves as the thread holding together the rest of the chaos; it becomes more of a structural element than a spotlight focus. In these cases, the melody lets the band explore different sounds and create a composition that benefits from the cacophony.

Still, as a student of literature, I’m drawn to noisy songs because when done well they tend to hold their secrets in close like a short story. These works reveal different aspects with each exploration, depending on the point of entry. Appropriately, Titus Andronicus combine allusion (perhaps to excess) with their raucous and noisy songs. Like Icarus, Titus Andronicus aim their sights high on The Airing of Grievances, an album bursting at the seams with desperate (and sometimes despondent) vocals, barreling drums, and layers of furiously fuzzed out electric guitars. One might even say that the album sounds like Icarus’ melted wings after he flew too close to the sun – the album spends its 45 minutes sounding on the verge of collapse, while vocalist Sarim Al-Rawi sounds on the verge of an emotional meltdown as well. However, the album works because it revels in its near collapse; it’s almost as if Icarus approached the sun, felt his wings melt, and howled the entire way down like he was on a rollercoaster rapidly dropping. It sounds like a band pushing themselves to the brink and enjoying every feedback-laden moment of it.

One notable thing about the Brueghel painting referenced in this song is that Icarus is a tiny spec in the landscape – without the title, we wouldn’t even know he was there. In a way, Brughel seems to undercut Icarus’ ambition by painting him as a tiny detail within a larger landscape – it’s nice that he strove for greatness, but the world goes on without him. After seeing Titus Andronicus this past weekend, this makes sense, as Al-Rawi constantly put his band into contex with commentary between almost every song. He pointed out friend in the audience, made numerous reference to being from New Jersey and having spent time in Massachusetts (they were playing in Boston), and addressed the crowd with self deprecating charm and a hint of scorn. They played cover songs that framed their upbringing (tearing through Springsteen’s “Badlands”), their musical style (by letting one of their songs seamlessly transition into “Wipeout”), and their understanding of musical history (by covering “Roadrunner” by Boston’s own Modern Lovers). He even repeatedly told the crowd that they needed to leave early because their hometown paper (The Glen Rock Gazette) was taking their picture and it “meant a lot to [their] moms.” Their set was an energetic burst of these combustible songs, but it seemed like Al-Rawi wanted to put his band into context by painting their landscape as much bigger than their own glorious, thrill-seeking drop to the ocean.

More on Titus Andronicus: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

February 1, 2009

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“Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)” – Bruce Springsteen
(Words/music: Bruce Springsteen, available on The Wild, The Innocent, & the E-Street Shuffle, Columbia Records 1973)

Earlier tonight at the Super Bowl, we saw Popular Bruce, as the E-Street band tore through abbreviated versions of “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out,” “Born to Run,” “Working on a Dream,” and a crowd pleasing version of “Glory Days.” Sure, there were other songs I wanted to hear (most of which would have tipped the running time over the twelve allotted minutes, as there were still thirty minutes of football) but I understood the selection. Tonight’s set served as an introduction to the uninitiated or alternately, as Springsteen said this afternoon – “a twelve minute party” (and a twelve minute commercial for his new album and forthcoming tour). It served its purpose – it was a fun set and a worth halftime show – a reward for those who stuck with the game through halftime.

While Springsteen has enjoyed wild amount of popularity, his more important (and more resonating) role is as Populist Bruce. Some of this reputation comes from the E-Street Band’s lengthy tours and marathon concerts, but ultimately the show matters little without substance. Springsteen’s best songs read like melodic short stories – he crafts characters with an eye for detail and empathy that most authors would kill for – so much so that many have lifted these characters from their songs and gave them their own stories. For example, I just recently came across a book titled Meeting Across the River – a collection of stories that are all based on the short song at the end of Born to Run. After halftime, I pulled Bruce Springsteen’s America: The People Listening, A Poet Singing off my shelf and flipped through it (remembering that I started but never finished it). Robert Coles collected ten stories of Americans from many walks of life connecting with different songs in Springsteen’s catalogue. Even searching Amazon for links to those two books brought up plenty more books that I haven’t seen – many of which go beyond the tired biographical route that gluts up the music section at Barnes & Noble. These songs, and ultimately these characters, stick with so many people, myself included, because they seem real. We know Mary and Sandy and the narrator in “Thunder Road” or the guy described in “Glory Days.”

Still, to me, “Rosalita” embodies all of the qualities I love about Bruce Springsteen’s catalog. Musically it’s seven minutes of unadulterated fun – all saxophone, Hammond organ, and the kind of drums I’d play after drinking an entire pot of coffee. Lyrically, Springsteen describes a lover desperately trying to court a woman who’s out of his league (at least socially, as her parents try to keep them apart). The arc is as old as time – Romeo & Juliet, Great Expectations, hell, even Slumdog Millionaire are all tales of unrequited or inaccessible love – but Springsteen puts his twist on it by casting himself in the song (or, at least drawing on his own experience as a struggling, working class rocker). The last two verses – including that flawless call and response section with his background singers – rank among Springsteen’s best vocal performances. At this point, he merges the youthful exuberance on his first two albums with desperation and passion that foreshadowed the creative leap he’d take on Born to Run. It’s the Young Boss singing for sure – he wants Rosie to come on out and have a good time, but never loses his charm when faced with adversity.

More on Bruce Springsteen: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

January 6, 2009

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“Silence Kit” - Pavement
(Words/music: Stephen Malkmus, appears on Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, Matador 1994)

I try my best to stay away from “this equals that” kind of criticism in part because more often than not it’s imposing something onto the song from the outside. Sure, there’s times where songs or albums or songwriters have obvious touchstones (and you know this because every single review will mention it), but I rarely found a “this sounds like that plus that” kind of synopsis helpful.

That being said, I’m about to break my own rule when I say that “Silence Kit” and Bruce Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” have some less than obvious points of relation. Both Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain and Born to Run found their creators reaching a wider audience (Springsteen soon became “The Boss,” Pavement and Matador Records rode the mid-90s alterna-boom to a gold album and a distribution deal with Capitol Records) and both albums start with songs about leaving town. However, while “Thunder Road” is a large and cinematic (or, to its detractors, “overblown) song about cars as a source for personal redemption and the opportunity to “make something” of yourself, “Silence Kit” exchanges optimism for anti-climax.

Springsteen once called “Thunder Road” his “invitation” to his listeners, and “Silence Kit” unfolds similarly. The slow groove at the twenty second mark, Malkmus’ high notes right before the minute mark (it almost sounds like he’s saying “hiiiiiii”, but let’s not get carried away), and even the way Malkmus seems to give advice to the “silent kid” (the song became “Silence Kit” on the Crooked Rain sleeve due to an ink blot on the artwork) all seem like an invitation to leave town. However, while “Thunder Road” pulls out of town, “Silence Kit” stalls at the city line where they merely talk about leaving rather than jumping town.

The vehicle, in this case, seems to be music as the last verse talks about grabbing drum sticks to pull “myself into the spotlight, ecstasy feels so warm inside.” However, just as the attempt to leave stalls at the edge of town, this rush fades after the show, leaving the narrator alone with his two hands. It shares the same sense of urgency and yearning for “more” (whatever that it), yet “Silence Kit” ends more realistically; all of our problems can’t be solved by driving away into the sunset, no matter how much we’d like to just jump in and run. Instead, Pavement explore life’s contradictions, absurdities, and quirks over the rest of Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, with “Silence Kit” as the invitation to follow the band along.

PS - this post is a hat tip to my friend Devine, who recently started a new blog this is the city line that culls its name from this song. He writes about sports, music, and other topics of interest with the same humor, self-deprication, and razor-sharp wit that makes me love Pavement, so it’s worth checking out, sports fans.

More on Pavement: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

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