Album Review: Springsteen's Dream

working_426(2).jpg Bruce Springsteen’s new album Working On A Dream is book-ended by two uber-traditional works. That is not to say they are simply paint-by-number Boss songs, but rather they are driven by his essential Eastwood-esque passion to retrace and reconfigure Americana and the myths therein. The opener “Outlaw Pete” is nothing if not the true promise of an album written and recorded during breaks in a year of touring with the E Street Band; for eight stalwart minutes, Springsteen traces the oft-criminal life of “Pete” over appropriately Morricone-inspired theatrics and searing guitar. His familiar mix of earnestness and hilarity runs rampant: three-month-old Pete robs a bank in his “little bare baby feet” and flees from comeuppance for the rest of his life.

“The Last Carnival,” the solemn album closer dedicated to late band-mate Danny Federici, could not be more musically disparate from “Pete,” but it shares the Springsteen touchstones. The lyrics spark with physicality and action and depend on the listener’s familiarity with imagery of another time. It’s a soft-spoken, virtuoso performance. “The Wrestler,” the much-doted-on Oscar snub added on as a bonus track, feels banal by comparison.

However, there exists an entirely separate, dissimilar album in between “Outlaw Pete” and “The Last Carnival," comprised of small-scale us-against-the-world love songs.

Yet to use the phrase “us-against-the-world” implies almost too much agency and struggle. He paints love - monogamous love - as the eye of the storm, a retreat from circumstance and time and the pains of daily existence and all the other stuff he couldn’t get enough of in the 1970’s.

The language, though, isn’t as kinetic as the “Jungleland” days. His words are relatively dry and undistinguished - as if those songs on the album’s fringe soaked up all the metaphors and folklore Springsteen could muster on this go-around. Ironically, he builds no dream worlds on Dream - the stories are static, intimate, and only ethereal in their lack of palpable language. It often feels as though his goal was to use the words “love,” “you,” “darkness” and “stars” in as many different combinations as possible.

But a sparse palette doesn’t prove to be a necessarily bad thing. The first five songs to follow “Outlaw Pete” all recall “Two Hearts” in their simple effectiveness and how quickly the band storms to the chorus. “Working On A Dream” is probably a nauseating title to even President Obama, but the songwriting is lean and propulsive: “Out here the nights are long,” it begins, “The days are lonely / I think of you / I’m working on a dream.” To match, the band plays like a fast-and-loose three-piece, and Brendan O’Brien effectively streamlines the dozen parts per song without getting carried away, as he was wont to do on Magic.

Around the halfway point, the set dips with a few tepid genre excursions, aided by O’Brien’s lapse into over-production. “Good Eye” and “Life Itself” lack the execution necessary to keep the lyrics afloat, and as a result the thematic repetition starts to wear down the album. It begs the question: For an artist who is so historically willing to tango with the zeitgeist, why is The Boss writing an album about hiding away in love’s fleeting moments in such a hyper-topical time?

There are some easy, likely correct answers: he wanted to, this album wasn’t as premeditated as Magic or The Rising, he’s getting old, he loves Patti Scialfa. “Kingdom of Days” suggests a more involved answer, as The Boss recapitulates the us-against-the-world theme. In “Kingdom,” we see a Springsteen who is not necessarily apathetic to the world around him, as it first seems on Dream; he merely accepts his impermanence and thus values his relationships above all else. Like most of the album, “Kingdom” is less about working on a dream and more about enjoying one that is already actualized.

Though noticeably un-topical, Springsteen still stands on his soapbox for the duration of Working on a Dream, with a sermon reminiscent of bygone days - value your lover, hug your brother, teach your children well, etc. While the tenderness and the small scope wear thin on occasion, the strong points are all the better for their intimacy, like the closing lines of the colossal juke-box song “This Life”: “I finger the hem of your dress / My universe at rest.” It’s proof of his prowess that Springsteen made a mostly thrilling album about indulging in his satisfaction.

Of course, some would say that rock and roll dies when you’re satisfied; but we all know the real death these days is the Super Bowl Halftime Show.

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