Wednesday, March 21, 2012

I Quit

Today is 1995 all over again. It's Leon Hess hiring Rich Kotite. It's desperate. It's clueless.

It's Brett Favre, without the Hall of Fame pedigree. It's about sizzle and money.

It's certainly not about football. The Jets traded for a passer who cannot throw. They invited a distraction of mega-church proportions. A quarterback controversy tailor-made for our self-doubting #6. A huge mess in the messiest of locker rooms.

Tell me this isn't about selling PSLs and jerseys. How will Tony Sparano resurrect the dead and dying wildcat offense? How long before poor play pressures the team to bench Sanchez? How will the team win games with a quarterback completing under six passes a game?

Tebow is a winner. He's a born leader, tough as nails and he can run. He can look as awful as any quarterback to play the game for 55 minutes and something always seems to happen to eek out miracle wins. But while prayer and miracles are great for the soul and TV ratings, they are not recipes for long-term success in the NFL. The Broncos knew this. They couldn't wait for an excuse to send him packing. No team in the league but the Jets thought he was worth more than a 5th round pick. Even if they did, they knew enough to avoid him and the circus he causes.

The Jets share a stadium with a classy organization that seems to make all the right moves. They are once again the idiot step-brother begging for attention they don't deserve. The Giants won a Super Bowl, and the Jets signed a dick-pic texting stallion that broke down and should have been euthanized like an extra from HBO's "Luck." They won again and the Jets now sign the Second Coming of Rick Mirer.

Tebow Help Us if the Giants win another ring this year. The Jets will probably hire Gregg Williams.

Tuesday, March 06, 2012

Hard Times Comes And Hard Times Go

I'm no optimist.

The economy has shown signs of life. We've got a baby due in June. The sun is shining today.


Another election year (seems like this has been going on for at least three years already, no?) has showcased the extreme disconnect between half of the country with the other half. Dictators fall and rise, while death and uncertainty reign in the parts of the world that more and more seem to determine our fate. Europe teeters on default. Americans face the prospect of joblessness turning into its own permanent occupation. My dog died. I'm pretty sure Khloe Kardashian is still a thing.

In steps Bruce Springsteen with his Wrecking Ball.

An album named after a song
he seemingly threw together to celebrate a stadium's demolition to enrich billionaires. But it's more than that. It's a song about impermanence, hard times and the things we take for granted. It played even better live in the shows after Giants Stadium, a raucous full-band, trumpet-blaring party of a song that also somehow plays as a subdued requiem for glory and anything we were told is supposed to matter when growing up.

The new album follows this lead, building hefty, angry songs lightened by levity. And not the dopey kind of levity like "Queen of the Supermarket" from the last album. But the kind of joy of playing that tempers bitter lyrics with hope and grace.

It's interesting that he's finally released an original album directly inspired by the songs and styles he embraced with the Seeger Sessions material. American folk/immigrant/gospel/Civil War/Civil Rights music filled with shouts and yelps and yips and hollers. This is good waiting-on-the-Apocalypse music.

With all the references to bankers and money changers, it's just a matter of time before ADL whiner Abe Foxman calls the album anti-Semitic. (You heard it here first)

I also like the use of trumpet, perhaps unavoidable with the loss of Clarence Clemmons. But also appropriate as a plaintive, mournful accompaniment.

Also interesting he'd include "Land of Hope and Dreams," now 11 years old. But I suppose we're still hoping and dreaming.

The new version of that song doesn't top the live versions (what Springsteen studio effort does?) but it offers its own catharsis, punctuated by a Clemons sax blast from beyond the grave. It flows perfectly from "Rocky Ground," a wondrous gospel meditation -- as singular a song as Springsteen has ever recorded, probably alone with "World's Apart" from "The Rising" in its uniqueness, and superior in its execution.

He could put "Land of Hope and Dreams" on every album from now on as far as I'm concerned. It's obvious he no longer has a notebook full of instant classic songs to choose from so that 15 or more don't make the cut but could easily supplant some that did. (I'm looking at you, "I'm a Rocker.")

"Jack of All Trades" might be the best new song on the album (not counting "Land of Hope and Dreams "and "Wrecking Ball"). Something about its simple sentiment matching its simple piano figure, slyly undercut by the discordant electronic drone that signals something ominous behind the singer's assurances that everything will be all right, leading into the righteous howl of a Tom Morello guitar solo. Quite excellent. There's also some Spanish guitar flourishes that foreshadow the uplifting message and "Ring of Fire" mariachi riff of "We Are Alive," which echoes the heavenly choir coda from "The Last Carnival," eulogizing Dan Federici on the last album.

"Shackled And Drawn" romps and blisters, though it's hard for me to avoid thinking about the melody from They Might Be Giants' "Particle Man." I also hear echoes of Johnny Cash's "Don't Take Your Guns To Town" and the piling-on-language of Bob Dylan's "It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) on "Death To My Hometown."

Of course, while I appreciate the sentiments behind the lyrics -- and though they are far superior to anything on Working On A Dream -- none of these songs approach something like "Johnny 99." But then it's not fair I guess to set the bar that high.

Perhaps I'm pining for something that will never happen, but I always find myself wishing he and Roy Bittan would get together and record one more great piano-based rock song in the style of "Thunder Road," "Jungleland," "Backstreets," "Incident on 57th Street," "Racing In the Street," "Point Blank" and "Independence Day." Something with a real piano lead instead of a simple arpeggio like "You're Missing" or "Jack of All Trades." He hasn't really done this since the 70s. Arguably, the synth/organ riffs of "Born in The USA," "Glory Days," "Dancing In the Dark," etc. filled that void. But nothing since then. The intro to "I'll Work For Your Love" on Magic teased at something like this. Free Roy!

Anyway, I like this very much. Even starting to appreciate "We Take Care of Our Own" a little more. Like a lesser version of "Radio Nowhere" mixed with "Working On A Dream" and "Long Walk Home."

Though "We Take Care of Our Own" comes off a little preachy for my taste. It's like he takes that great verse from "Long Walk Home" about the flag over the courthouse and makes it too literal. His best writing reveals themes and a point of view through stories and images ("Long Walk" starts with a man spurned by his lover and wandering a town he no longer recognizes). This one is a lot like the song "Working on A Dream," a pleasant sentiment complicated by the reality of the times told in a too straightforward manner.

And maybe this goes without saying, but it's certainly better than much of that album, probably his most disappointing effort overall. (Even Human Touch, Lucky Town and Devils and Dust had two or three songs I count among his best. Nothing on WOAD meant anything to me at the time or now, except "The Wrestler," which was supposedly a bonus track and doesn't really count -- and also references a one-legged dog, which is not something that really exists).

Mixed-Metaphor Watch: "The road of good intentions has gone dry as a bone." Why was this road wet? And why would this be an advantage? Is it a canal? Has there been a flood? If there's been a flood, wouldn't dryness be a good thing? I wonder what the one-legged dog would think of this.)

I find it funny when people complain that a millionaire like Springsteen has no right to sing songs about the downtrodden. As though there is some hypocrisy in a man of any income level (who gives plenty to charity) making art that exposes society's inequities. The characters on Wrecking Ball aren't asking for a handout. They aren't demanding the rich give up their riches. All they want is a fair shake and an honest day's work. And if the game is rigged, I say fuck yeah, bring on your wrecking ball.

This is 2012. Springsteen is no longer 27 years old. The world shows so much promise and so much treachery. We don't take care of our own. Or maybe we only take care of our own small group of like-minded, like-skinned, like-moneyed brethren. But we are alive. And we must live as though everything will be all right. Even if it doesn't always feel that way.