Born to Run

I can’t claim to be Bruce Springsteen’s biggest fan. From his extensive back catalogue, I own just three albums: Born to Run, Darkness on the Edge of Town and Born in the USA. The only performance I’ve seen is footage from his half-time American Super Bowl show. But I’m fascinated enough to read his autobiography. Fascinated, because he’s managed to sustain a career where so many of his contemporaries have failed. Indeed not only has Springsteen survived; he’s prospered: Devil’s Dust and Wrecking Ball, two recent offerings, succeeded commercially and critically. I'm interested because I remember reading articles documenting support for Obama, transgender rights and unionised workers. I know the image of Springsteen: blue jeans, clenched fist, America’s child – but I don’t know the man. I want to learn where this blue-collar millionaire came from; I want to discover how the Bard of the Highways survived Fame’s inevitable car crash; I want to find out about a person whom lives on The Hills but looks up to the downtrodden.

Springsteen begins his autobiography by revealing that a rock concert is a ‘magic trick.’ Before the show there is nothing but potential. There is a stage for the magician to take his place, but as yet nothing magical has occurred. Then, when the conjurer walks in, anticipation fills the air. If the sorcerer has put the time in, they have within their power the chance to astound and amaze. So it is with the rock band. If music is your vocation, showmanship your calling, then no one in the audience will see your sleight of hand: the grab for the microphone, the chord change, the hoopla game with the strap – no, they’ll just feel it. Every magic trick begins with ‘a set up.’ The spiel, blarney and talk. Springsteen starts by telling us about his family, stoking the anticipation for what we’ve really come to find out: how the hell do you write a song like ‘Born to Run’?

Rockin' the Super Bowl.

Bruce was born into an Irish-Italian family in Freehold, New Jersey. Brought up near St Rose church, Springsteen was literally raised in the bosom of Catholicism. Living in his grandparents’ house, the generations clashed. Given her own daughter died young, his grandmother doted on him. This maternal devotion did not sit well with Bruce’s mother, who struggled for power against this matriarch. Feeling usurped, she instead chose to mother her husband. A man who took to the bottle, Douglas Springsteen was a man that needed looking after. Often he would return home drunk, taking out his frustrations on his wife and children. Instead of offering her children support, she brought her husband to breast, placating him over her offspring. When Springsteen’s grandparents died, he felt orphaned. He would later go on to enjoy a healthy relationship with his mother, but he found one with his father a lot harder to come by.

This patter is the backdrop for the trick Springsteen would come to learn. Whilst watching the Ed Sullivan Show in 1956, he along with 70 million other Americans were introduced to the gyrating hips of Elvis Presley. The shake, rattle and roll of the man’s body bewitched and dismayed the country in equal measure. In the young Springsteen it set him off on a course: How can I pull a stunt like that? How can I pull a song from my hat? How can the eyes of the world be on me?

Earning money by mowing his aunt’s lawn, Springsteen bought a guitar. It wouldn’t be long before he joined his first band The Castiles, named after a brand of shampoo. Unfortunately, a drugs bust meant Springsteen lost two members of his band: a problem that wouldn’t come out in the wash; consequently, the band folded.

From there, Springsteen would go on to form Steel Mill, a seed that would eventually germinate into the world-renowned E Street Band. Until then, the magician toiled. He felt that he had mastered the tricks, yet he didn’t have the audience to perform them to. Up and down, across east and west of America, Springsteen went seeking discovery. The road that he would go on to mythologise as signifying freedom, nearly broke him: his band gained kudos but no contract. His dream of being a rock star left him destitute and, by today’s definition, homeless. That house of cards he’d built in his head- money, adulation, girls, fame, glory, freedom, art and joy – was in danger of falling in.

When you’re good enough though you can’t be ignored. It doesn’t matter about the trends, patterns, the prevailing wind; talent will always out. Springsteen wrote the songs that would become Greetings from Asbury Park; the magic dust ensured a contract, yet it didn’t realise his ambitions. The album recorded with his E Street Band sold copy, yet never really captured the consciousness of America. Was the parochial album title the sign of a parochial man: a local artist that could appeal to his people, but never appeal to The People?

The first album.

Then, came 'Born to Run.' The song took six months to come together. Steeped in the history of rock n’ roll - women, cars and the road – Springsteen set about re-casting this old story for a modern world. Like a rabbit at a dog track, it comes haring out of the traps. Its pace is supercharged and relentless, an autobahn put to music. Just when you feel this giant pinball of a song is over, the piano flips the ball back into play and it's bouncing yet again. The song is pure exhilaration, an endorphin head-rush that takes your brain from your body, allowing you to experience the full visceral sensation of music. The album that included the aforementioned was a huge hit, ensuring Springsteen went stratospheric – his life would never be the same again.

The autobiography, therefore, is named after Springsteen’s hit song and album. It’s also some damning wordplay on the man he once was. In 1985 he married Julianne Phillips, an actress and a model. The pebble that he threw in his 1980 album, The River, finally created a ripple. That record spoke of his preoccupation with stability and contentment – was it possible? His sister’s marriage hadn’t worked out. His mother and father were hardly adverts for marital bliss. Despite this, Bruce wanted a partner. Throwing your life to the road seems free and liberating, but there comes a time when it can feel empty, meaningless and selfish. His marriage to Phillips was meant to tether his restless spirit, instead the opposite happened. The love that Phillips gave him wasn’t reciprocated. By his own admission, he behaved appallingly, beginning a relationship with Patti Scialfa whilst wed. His enduring marriage to Scialfa does not vindicate his treatment of his first wife and he's honest about that.

Causing a storm.

Throughout Springsteen’s autobiography, he confesses to running when he sometimes needed to stay still. In the later part of his story, he speaks about his battle with mental health, and how it took him far too long to seek professional help, relying instead on the road for ballast. At the height of his fame, he reveals that it was his band and the shows they played that stopped him ‘launching into the ozone layer.’ This darkening mood is seen in records like Nebraska and Tunnel of Love, proving that The Boss can do close-up introspection as well as jump-cut car scenes. As fame and love hit harder, Springsteen became a different artist, maybe a less commercial one, but a better one, able to excavate his soul for public display.

These quiet, somber records were often done in isolation without the big, vibrant sound of The E Street Band. This band of brothers had to accept an extended period of gardening leave whilst their boss pursued his own interests. The fact that the group would reform after ten years apart and enjoy universal acclaim for their subsequent tours shows the power of their union. One of the fascinating parts of the book is seeing how Springsteen squares being a Democrat in politics and a dictator in music. Corralling a group of big personalities into a unified whole requires an excellent herder. If you pull the rope too taut, the horse will baulk. This balancing act between being boss and friend was something Springsteen undertook in his early twenties: his ability to see it through demonstrates the strength of his vision and charisma.

Bruce's managerial responsibilities didn't extend to the band's wardrobe.

Another fascinating part of his story is seeing how his songs have been misunderstood. Springsteen is one of the great lyricists: he uses his characters to explore thematic and social concerns – that’s not something you can say about many songwriters. He writes with nuance, exploring different perspectives in different verses; the inattentive ear might misinterpret what he’s doing. So it’s has proved with 'Born in The USA': a swipe at the administration’s poor treatment of returning Vietnam vets; some have instead seen this as paean to America. Ronald Reagan even had it as his walk on music – until someone told him that a song was more than a chorus. Another tune, 'American Skin', written in response to the police shooting of a black male was roundly booed by some of his fans, believing Springsteen had turned his back on emergency workers he allegedly supported. Look at the lyrics though and you’ll see a journalist's rigour: both police and victim are represented. Again, the chorus of ’41 shots cut through the night’ is the one people hear, and not the police officer ‘kneeling over his body in the vestibule praying for his life.’ Again, his song is more than the chorus.

I really loved Springsteen’s autobiography. In the penultimate chapter, he concedes that he may not have given the whole story – people’s feelings need to be protected after all. To me, it doesn’t matter. A little bit of mystery is a good thing. We don’t want the whole trick explained. Just seeing it, appreciating it, is enough.

Born to Run is available from all good bookshops.