Published on Jul 21, 2003
Sometimes an album becomes so bound up in the context from which
it emerged that it’s tough to view it accurately through the prism
of passing time. Take, for example,
Born In The USA, the album that catapulted Bruce Springsteen
from cult-favorite critics’ darling to stadium-rocking global
superstar. It’s an album whose context informs every inch of its
content.
That context includes: the splintering of popular music into an
ever-expanding list of subgenres and niche markets, leaving
old-time rock and roll — particularly mature, thoughtful, literate
old-time rock and roll — on the outs, and sheeny, over-produced
pop at the top of the charts; and a conservative Republican
administration that, while presiding over a disastrous economy,
massive budget deficits and a militaristic foreign policy that
leaves even our erstwhile allies questioning our motives, uses a
mixture of propaganda and bald-faced lies to undermine any real
debate over issues while questioning the patriotism of anyone with
the courage to dissent.
Oh, wait. (I guess it’s true — the more things change, the more
they stay the same.)
While 1974’s
Born To Run was Springsteen’s artistic breakthrough, with
its expansive tales of youth on the run from encroaching adulthood,
Born In The USA, his commercial breakthrough, is a
bittersweet and often despairing look at what happens when maturity
eventually sets in. The characters are no longer scruffy hoods with
colorful names like the Magic Rat, they’re nameless working stiffs
brooding over unfulfilled dreams (“Downbound Train”) and
unfulfilling relationships (“I’m Going Down”), or indulging in
premature nostalgia over old times (“Glory Days”) and old friends
(“Bobby Jean”).
This dark vision is often obscured by the album’s production and
arrangements, which are also very much of the moment. Although the
instrumentation is the same as on previous Springsteen albums —
twin guitars, piano, organ, sax and rhythm section — the guitars
and drums are a little punchier, the organ moodier, and for the
first time, synthesizers are featured prominently on several
tracks. Springsteen — sometimes derided as being musically
trend-proof — gives “Working On The Highway” a tight, frenetic
Elvis Costello arrangement, layers “Dancing In The Dark” with poppy
synths, and includes a song he initially wrote for Donna Summer
(!), the heavy-guitars-over-a-disco-beat “Cover Me.”
This experimentation has the contradictory effect of giving the
music greater bounce and sheen even as the lyrics grow darker and
gloomier, leaving the songs more open to misinterpretation than
anything Springsteen has ever recorded. Amazing as it seems if you
actually paid attention to its brutally downbeat
Vietnam-vet-on-the-skids lyric, the ringing/stinging “Born In The
USA” was heard as a patriotic anthem by some
listening-comprehension-challenged moron inside the Reagan
re-election campaign. And while Springsteen made sure to correct
the record there — to this day, he rarely plays the song in its
full-band arrangement, preferring the stark,
impossible-to-misinterpret acoustic version — he played along when
it came to the second most misunderstood song on this album.
“Dancing In The Dark” is as unlikely a lyric for a hit single as
the world might ever see, a bitter self-interrogation whose catchy
synth melody and cheesy Hollywood video amounted to an exercise in
post-modern surrealism.
Some longtime Springsteen fans remain grumpy about this album
twenty years later. It’s a phenomenon I’ve witnessed with numerous
popular acts — the initial fan base resents “their” artist
reaching out for a wider audience and reacts negatively to anything
that dilutes their status as the quote-unquote “real fans.” The
problem with applying that logic to
Born In The USA is simple: how could you call yourself a fan
and not want songs this good to find the widest possible audience?
“No Surrender” is a friendship anthem for the ages, one of the best
tunes the man has ever written. “Darlington County” is a classic
buddy/road song, “I’m On Fire” a smoldering look at unrequited
passion. And the title track, despite its unfortunate entanglement
in ’80s politics, retains unquestionable musical potency; Max
Weinberg’s thundering drum fills at the climax of the song still
give me chills after hundreds of listens.
It’s true that
Born In The USA is an album very much of its time, and some
of the keyboard tones may sound a little dated now, but that’s true
of just about any ’80s rock album that mattered. It’s also become
iconic, an album that captured the imagination of both a listening
audience tired of being force-fed slick, pre-digested, insincere
music, and a dumbass political operative looking for a quick media
hit with the youth demographic. The real question, though, is do
the songs hold up? The answer is a resounding yes.