Springsteen - Seeger Sessions v The Rising

When Bruce Springsteen’s Seeger Sessions aired on TV last year, I could hardly believe my ears. Having taped, watched once and hastily filed, I thought I’d better give it a second chance. Just in case I’d been unfair.

But no change, I’m afraid: music I find tedious, with performances to match – a wholly alienating experience.

So I had to reassure myself about Springsteen generally and chose to re-listen to The Rising. Thank the Lord: it sounds just as powerfully revelatory as it did when it drove me to write the review below for Music for Grown-Ups.

Whither Bruce? Let’s hope he’s over his Seeger/heritage phase.



The Rising: A Modern Masterpiece

OK. This article is a full eighteen months late. There's a reason. When The Rising was released, in 2002, I collected the (mostly positive) reviews, filed them away, and added the album to my "must-buy" list. But I also decided to delay buying it until all the fuss had died down.

At his best, notably on Darkness on the Edge of Town and Nebraska, Springsteen is one of rock's handful of great creative artists - he's a doggedly original writer who draws convincing, spare vignettes of the urban struggles of oddballs and ordinary people. He's also a fine musician and an exceptional performer (even if his bombastic arena shows are too near to mainstream show biz for my tastes).

But there's another side to Springsteen, which has always tempered my admiration. It's the sing-along-a-Brooce anthemic sloganeering designed for very large crowds - Music for Middle American Males (eagerly adopted by their peers in the rest of the world). Much of this stuff sounds like (and is widely taken as) parochial bluster, regardless of its creator's avowed intentions. Mid-'80s Springsteen is absolutely NOT music for grown-ups.

It was partly a fear that The Rising would be a suffocating Good-ole-USA love-in that decided me to delay buying The Rising. Don't get me wrong, I'm not yet another knee-jerk anti-American. My respect for the US is boundless. It's just that indulgent patriotism - by the nationals of any country - makes me cringe, whether it's the God Bless America variety, or Flower of Scotland, Waltzing Matilda and, especially, the deeply objectionable God Save Our Gracious Queen.

So I was reluctant to pay to torture myself with what I feared might be indulgent parochialism, draped in maudlin Fourth of July/Independence Day/Thanksgiving/High School graduation references - cultural references as alien to me as the totems of Islam, the bhurka or the call to prayer.

And there was a strong suspicion that the enormous tragedy of 9/11 (as I have learned to call it) was far too sensitive an issue for mere entertainers to handle: schmaltzy crocodile tears, bogus sentimentality, inarticulate hearts worn on flashy sleeves are inherently unattractive. As is facile political analysis by people whose views are simply not worth hearing. Neil Young had done a fine job on 9/11 in Are You Passionate? But I wasn't sure Bruce was up to the task.

I shouldn't have worried. The Rising, which I finally listened to - very carefully - over the holidays, is nothing less than a modern masterpiece, a fitting evocation of the wrought emotions of 9/11 and its aftermath. A permanent memorial to the outrage. But it's also so much more.

Springsteen's achievement - 73 minutes of intense emotion, scarcely drawing breath, without even approaching a false note - is appropriately massive. The Rising is a near-perfect suite of 15 linked songs of a quality infrequently encountered; and, a rarity among rock albums - it doesn't have a single weak track.

The standout song, musically and lyrically, is You're Missing. Keening strings and organ showcase poignant lyrics which recite a litany of evidence that the partner won't be returning. Ever. The pathos in the voice is almost palpable.

Popular music has seen few, if any, evocations of pained loss which are even remotely as convincing as this: its direct line to that part of the brain which controls the tear ducts places the song alongside the greatest operatic arias, the ones occurring in the final scenes of the finest operas, when the heroine finally expires.

Into the Fire, with its gospel incantation: "... may your... give us..., may your..." is not far behind. The Rising is equally powerful. Nothing Man sees the tragedy from the point of view of the Ordinary Joe, and is appropriately written and performed. Mary's Place, the only concession to Springsteen's key constituency - 40 year old/middle American/male/trainers-and-blue-jean-wearers - while disguised as an obvious singalongaBrooooce air-punching anthem, complete with mandatory (unnecessary) rock sax, turns out to be a beautifully-crafted study in turn-the-other cheek stoicism.

The two songs which see 9/11 from a different perspective - Worlds Apart, which addresses the problems of star-crossed lovers in Afghanistan, and Paradise, spoken by a suicide bomber just before the final act - save the album from being too USA-centric, adding enormously to its worldview, and its complex evocation of humanist values.

The album's superior lyrics are enriched by the eclectic range of musical styles it employs, which will surprise listeners who associate Bruce only with arena anthems. To hear such powerful lyrics set in such a range of genres is an unexpected bonus. Gospel, blues (often in the same song), anthemic rock, tender balladry, Mid-Eastern devotional inserts, telling pop hooks, and even the effective use of strings, will ensure that this album will still sound fresh and inviting in fifty years.

What elevates The Rising way above contemporary reportage of the unspeakable, diabolic attack on the Twin Towers is the universality of its concerns. Like most great art, it can be read as a general, as well as a particular, statement. The sentiments so authentically explored in The Rising are applicable to any human crisis which evokes suffering, grief, loss, stoicism, anger, bewilderment, courage, resignation, heroism, comfort, and sadness.

Darkness on the Edge of Town revealed Springsteen as a uniquely gifted chronicler of the struggles of proletarian youth in urban America. Thirty years on, The Rising tracks him painting, equally successfully, a much larger canvas - the struggles of Everyman, everywhere.

Because of the scale of its ambition, and the seeming ease with which it realises it, The Rising is great art. It's a triumphant (but absolutely not, note, triumphal) response to a national tragedy, with universal resonance. Not only is it among the artist's finest work, it's one of the highlights of all rock music.

The Rising confirms Springsteen's stature as one of the giants of popular music - as if it was ever in doubt.



Gerry Smith