Fate's ugly face and an Unkind Clock: Makin' it all count

I was wrong. I admit it. And, for that, I apologize. You see, some money-offering rags had recently tasked me to spiel about Bruce Springsteen’s new platter and it wound up being this super quick turn around sort of deal and…well…in the mad rush to judgment I wound up getting it all wrong. I’m sure I can be forgiven. I believe in those of you out there who, for some reason, believe in me. "The joke’s on me" Springsteen sings on "Lonesome Day", "but it’s okay, if I can just get through this lonesome day." Amen to that brother.

Well, okay, I didn’t get it all wrong. What I did was publicly (in a piece that ranks right up there among my worst – a long list to be sure) toss a "B" grade on this record when now, in hindsight, I’d toss it at least an "A-"(don’t ask me what the hell these single letter evaluations mean – I abhor them) - and that’s no joke.

Neither is The Rising, which, unlike the hollow sentimental reunion tour with the E-Street Band back in 2000, is a genuine return to past glories. And while much ado has been made about this disc being in part Springsteen’s reaction to the tragedy that was September 11, 2001, the initial anticipation – that it would be the first Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band record since 1984’s Born in the U.S.A. (that’s 18 years people – longer than the full ensemble had even existed in the first place!) – has been unfortunately superceded by the vague political overtones.

But ah! Therein lies another misnomer of The Rising – that it is in some way a political record. It is not. In fact, the record is such a profound and deeply personal study of one’s own mortality that it ultimately comes to rest as far from political as you might get. It is a record about death. A record about what we leave behind when we die. A record about the living left behind in death’s wake. A record that celebrates a life that is never far from the shadows of death but remains worth living. The Rising is a meditation, a celebration, a catharsis, and an unyielding triumph.

When Springsteen debuted "My City of Ruins" on a nationally televised charity program for the survivors of September 11, 2001 he played it as a sparse acoustic howl. At that time the songs lyrical poignancy didn’t carry the full weight of its prayerful gospel leanings. That night on my television the mournful chant of "rise up! Rise up!" that closes the song sounded more angry, defiant, and, perhaps (gulp) jingoistic. Maybe it was just my mood, or maybe it was Springsteen’s personal temperament that evening, hell, it could have been the disposition of our entire country – I don’t doubt it, or claim to know. The only thing that I did know was that it didn’t feel right. The song was completely lost on me.

The thing is this: if I hadn’t been asked to write a review of The Rising I would never have bought the damn thing. My skepticism, fueled by that acoustic performance on the TV of "My City of Ruins" just a few short nights after September 11, would have gotten the best of me. So when I did finally hear the record, and when I finally – albeit nervously – got around to its version of "My City" I was not only surprised, I was intrigued by its use of Curtis Mayfield’s chord progressions in "People Get Ready", and was thrilled and astonished that here, on record, the song was transformed into a thoughtful chanter’s prayer.

In fact the entire affair – save the four middle songs that render the record a victim of the commonplace CD era crime of having too many minutes of space available – is a stunning shocker. After nearly twenty-years who woulda thunk it?

Not me, that’s for sure. I was fully prepared for the worst. Instead I found the E Street Band at its sublime best, complimenting Springsteen’s ruminations on mortality with subtle texturing ("Lonesome Day"), beautifully bombastic rockroll racket ("Countin’ On A Miracle"), soulful and effective mimicry (the aforementioned "My City of Ruins"), and classic E Street bomp ("Waiting on a Sunny Day"). The Rising sounds as fine as any this bunch has ever recorded. And as easy as it might have been for this bunch to jump into their old skins and recreate a sound that they’d once ruled the world with, they didn’t even think to try. That was then; this is now. That was youth; this is wisdom.

And for me, age and guile win out. Hell, I was the guy who never saw the excitement that everyone else seemed to see in the 2000 reunion tour. That affair felt forced to me. Those old songs - the songs of a younger man with no wife, no kids, a little wisdom, and an open road at his feet - felt hollow now. I didn’t buy it…not for a minute. And I was suspicious that Springsteen didn’t anymore either.

Having dealt with what I’d considered the disappointment of those reunion shows I was more than prepared to write off any new recording. I’d heard "Land of Hope and Dreams", "Murder Incorporated", and the other toss off's the group had done and not been impressed. Springsteen, even with the E Street Band, sounded lost, drifting, and directionless. So what would be the point? This record would have to go a long fucking way to get past my now fervent skepticism. I figured it to be dead on arrival.

Presumptuous maudlin sentiment can override the best intentions and that was a real possibility on a project like The Rising. To draw inspiration from such massive and obvious suffering simply sounds like a disingenuous ploy to tug at easy target heartstrings (not to mention wallets). Americans are suckers for such obvious sentimentality, always have been. So as word came around that Springsteen’s new record would be a reaction to Spetember 11, well hell, what were we supposed to think? His recent run musically adrift, a horrific American tragedy, blue-collar heroes carrying the day, it all seemed to add up to a Springsteen record that dwelled in the mawkish aspects of his past musical glories.

But Springsteen steers clear of his youth this time out, as does the E Street Band theirs. The Rising is a terrific portrait of maturity at all turns: musically, lyrically, vocally, and emotionally. It’s a record that sounds good, feels good, and plays even better. And while it’s doubtless that September 11, 2001 had its impact on the making of these songs, I figure that this is the ‘aging-graceful’ rockroll record that Springsteen has always had in him, the one that the faithful knew would come along someday – an observant, intelligent, and passionate view of life’s immeasurable joy and power as seen through deaths hazy prism. And while death may seem almost as imminent as it is inevitable in these Days of Fear, you have to learn to value life as it is granted to you. So make it count…each day, every moment - because your life, whenever its time runs out, will become someone else’s memories. It’s just that simple…or so Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band make it seem.

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