Happy 40th Anniversary to Bruce Springsteen’s seventh studio album Born in the U.S.A., originally released June 4, 1984.
Bruce Springsteen is at his best when he’s meandering, leading the audience to a cliff and, miraculously, talking us down. It’s the nineteen-minute version of “Tenth-Avenue Freeze-Out,” from Live in New York City (2001), the “Jungleland” solo, the mesmerizing introduction to “New York City Serenade.” While I don’t mind a snappy rock song, most Springsteen afficionados will agree that his masterpieces usually clock above five minutes.
As a result, I’ve always struggled with Born in the U.S.A. (1984), a record comprised entirely of snappy rock songs. Out of twelve tracks, seven(!) were spun off as singles; I’ve always felt that it sounded like a collection of singles, rather than the narrative journey that defines albums like The Wild, The Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle (1973), Darkness on the Edge of Town (1978), or even latter-day classics like The Rising (2002). Where is the wandering? The magic? The mystery?
To be extremely clear, the songs are great. “No Surrender” would be a perfect thesis statement for Springsteen if he didn’t already have “The Promised Land,” “Badlands,” or “Born to Run.” “Darlington County” fulfills the “goofy singalong” category established by “Cadillac Ranch,” and “I’m On Fire” is such a dyed-in-the-wool brooder that I think indie rock bands are legally required to cover it.
“Downbound Train” is mysterious and fascinating, intimating a pop song but borrowing harmonic vocabulary from “The River,” one of Springsteen’s most harrowing cuts. Even the weakest track, “Working on the Highway,” is nowhere close to the man’s worst song. I have no qualms with the individual songs on Born in the U.S.A.; my long-running discontent is more about the album’s lack of center.
But perhaps this criticism neglects historical context. In 1980, Springsteen had been on a massive global tour in support of The River (1980), which included 140 dates in eleven months. Coming down from that massive high and unsure of where to go next, Springsteen put out Nebraska (1982), an acoustic and largely hopeless album recorded in a bedroom. There was no tour in support of Nebraska and tracks like “Reason to Believe” give the impression that Springsteen had given up on the idea that hope was to be found anywhere. And then…
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THWACK. Born in the U.S.A. opens with a low synth note and then a massive snare hit from Max Weinberg. The song is ferocious, chastising the U.S. government for its mistreatment of Vietnam veterans, announcing a return to the ethos that defined Darkness on the Edge of Town. This is not the guy who wrote “Reason to Believe;” it's the guy who wrote “Badlands,” and then some. So, where does that leave us?
Born in the U.S.A., for all its pop doldrums, is Springsteen clarifying his position: Yes, times often feel hopeless, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be hopeful. You can hear the belief in miracles on cuts like “Bobby Jean,” in which Clarence Clemons’ saxophone soars with unironic optimism that outright rejects “Nebraska.” Although there is no “New York City Serenade,” no “Jungleland” no “Drive All Night” on this album, Born in the U.S.A. does have that meandering quality of pulling us back from the cliff at just the right moment. Except, the cliff is Nebraska, a masterfully written emotional low-point, and Born in the U.S.A. is the epilogue.
No Springsteen record since The Wild, The Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle is as content as this one. Born to Run searches for escape; Darkness on the Edge of Town grieves when it can’t be found; The River is a wild, operatic attempt to do both at once, and Nebraska is for those who never even dreamed to leave. Born in the U.S.A. simply says: we’re here. We’re sitting in bars reminiscing on the old days. The government is screwing us over. We’re forming bands in garages and basements because it helps us feel something. And all of that—including the stuff that works against us—makes us who we are.
And so, while there are Springsteen records that I feel more deeply in my soul, I do have to admit that Born in the U.S.A. has a point. Not everything in our lives is a soul-stirring odyssey. The stuff in-between deserves its own share of anthems.
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