Tunnel of Love - Springsteen, Bruce (CD 1987)

A good friend and i had a conversation the other day. This wasn't just a generic conversation about which films deserve Oscars this year, the spiteful quality of college cafeteria food, the proliferance of terribly mismatched couples on-campus, why our advisors suck, our ongoing debate about feeling vs. skill as it pertains to popular and classical music, why she is eternally doomed to romantic advances from socially awkward types prone to overeating and discussing Tolkien and why i am eternally doomed never to consummate my yearlong flirtation with that cute bartender I've had my eye on .. no, this was a deep conversation, about life and love, about presents and futures and how one affects the other, about the long-term, about hopes and dreams and fears, about .. about life, really.

"I'm not saying," I told her, "that I'm looking for a committed relationship, or a wife. I'm just saying that maybe, just maybe, it's time for me to start _thinking_ about those things. Not necessarily seeking them, mind you, but finally knuckling down and not being scared of love."

"That's a beautiful thought," she said, with that certain eyebrow raise that she has that always signals a "however" moment. "But - correct me if I'm wrong - when was the last time you were able to have the hots for a girl without hooking up with her one minute and then averting your gaze the next?"

"Right! Right. That's what I mean. Should I do things that way? Wait, before you answer that, answer this: should I _not_ do things that way? Aren't I a college student? Aren't I supposed to be young and carefree? Am I just thinking about all of these things because I've reached that problematic age where I reflect and realize that, by the time they were at this point in their lives, my parents were embarking on the second year of a successful 25-year marriage, and I'm still skirt-chasing?"

"Well--"

"Here, let's put it in this way. Let's put it in Springsteen terms."

"Springsteen terms?"

"Springsteen terms. They help me understand everything. I am at that the Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle stage in life: lusty, optimistic, soulful. But I am _thinking_ in Tunnel of Love terms! I am becoming increasingly worrisome, future-minded. I'm thinking about relationships; serious ones, not puppy-love ones or ones based on the shape and voluminousness of her posterior or how she looks in a bathing suit."

"Um--"

"But, see, my life _should_ be the Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle! Get it? It should be sweaty, satisfying, sexual. You should be able to dance to my life. My life should be full of indulgent saxophone solos and hammond-organ breakdowns just because I feel like it. Wild and Innocent was an early record, see, but not too early: it wasn't naive, per se, but willfully and blissfully postponed the inevitable metaphorical morning after. And my life follows that pattern to some extent, see, but then there's more: there's that Tunnel of Love shadow, the reflection, the regret, the... the seriousness! Bruce Springsteen on the front of E Street Shuffle is unkept, unshaven, mildly reflective but also charmingly mischevious. And that's what I feel I _should_ be, but instead sometimes I feel like the Bruce that's on the front of Tunnel of Love, dressed in a suit, ready to give up these pipe dreams of musicianship and starving artistdom and go work downtown at some office, wearing a skinny-ass tie--"

"Andrew!"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

**

The analogy may have been lost on my good friend (for one thing, she falls on the "technical musical perfection" side of things, and is unable to appreciate or be moved by Springsteen's voice-- too throaty), but as a young man shaken to the core by what is obviously Bruce Springsteen's most adult album, I feel it's my obligation to inform potential buyers of Tunnel of Love that, although this may be at least semi-obvious, this isn't '70s Springsteen. This isn't even early-'80s Springsteen, really: in the chronology of Springsteen studio albums, only Born in the U.S.A. predates Tunnel of Love, and the later album is the direct antithesis of the earlier one. Born in the U.S.A. was a streamlined, pop-friendly version of those first five perfect (or at least charmingly and excitingly imperfect) Springsteen albums, buoyant and containing certain passages of pure pop poetry so undeniable they're to be immediately absorbed, canonized, ingrained, and hummed into oblivion later on. (Retaining, of course, that sense of everyman, blue-collar alienation and indignance that permeated his earlier albums, notably Darkness on the Edge of Town and The River.)

Tunnel of Love, however-- and it's important to say this straightaway-- doesn't have any of these moments. That's arguable, of course: you may hum the hell out of this album in its entirely, and very frequently too, but I think it's pretty safe to say that nothing here is as exuberantly catchy as the "whoa oh oh"s of "No Surrender" or the last bittersweet verse of "Bobby Jean". Still, I can say this: Tunnel of Love is the mature, wisened, and reflective version of Springsteen that, listening to his albums chronologically, was inevitable. And it's different, sure, but it's moving; moving in a different way, perhaps, than "Sandy (4th of July, Asbury Park)" or "Drive All Night," but moving nonetheless. And maybe, after a few more years, with more of _life_ behind me, Tunnel of Love will be that moving for me.

Hell, I'm looking forward to it. Something tells me once I hit that point, I'll need an album like this for comfort.

**

Along with the newly adult point-of-view adopted by Springsteen on Tunnel of Love, the musical vibes have shifted. Tunnel of Love, first of all, is a Bruce Springsteen record, not a Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band record. It's important to note this, because there's a certain dimension that the E Street Band seems to bring to most proceedings: it's one that remains optimistic, exuberant even, all in the face of impossible odds. Tunnel of Love isn't necessarily pessimistic or downbeat or depressing, but there are undertones of all three; plus it's extremely personal, so it makes sense to forego the use of the E Streeters for this one.

And so Tunnel of Love sounds different; the sound is arguably "adult contemporary," with production reminiscent of, say, a Sting record from the same period, or even a more grounded Peter Gabriel one.* There are synths, yes; they're usually pushed to the background, but some songs (I'm thinking "Tougher Than the Rest," "Walk Like a Man," and the title track in particular) bring them to prominence. There's a lot of acoustic guitar, and it's prominent but not domineering: it can carry entire songs like "Ain't Got You," or color others, like "Valentine's Day". But Bruce's voice and words are at the forefront of Tunnel of Love. It's not an album that particularly banks on its musicality, and that's okay: it would be distracting, anyhow. Which means that Tunnel of Love is the true fulfillment of those "new Dylan" comparisons young Brucey was saddled with at the beginning of his career, and I don't say that because of the numerous parallels this album draws to Blood on the Tracks (romantic tumult colors this album's backstory-- an idea that seems to produce great art on a regular basis, from Rumours to Achtung Baby to Sea Change); I say that because Dylan's albums don't hinge on his ability to arrange a great piece of musical art, they hinge on his ability to write a great lyric. WHICH means that, while Tunnel of Love is a great album-- you'll hear no argument from me, and any arguments otherwise best be equipped with damn good supporting evidence-- I don't listen to it anywhere as frequently as any of the others**.

"Ain't Got You" starts out the album a cappella. Bruce brings in a faint acoustic guitar a few lines in, but it's mostly used for rhythm, and it's a tongue-in-cheek take on a downer of a topic: the search for love amidst the trappings of celebrity (fitting for an album directly following a pop culture epoch like Born in the U.S.A.). Bruce sings,

"I got a pound of caviar sittin' home on ice,
I got a fancy foreign car rides like paradise...
I been around the world and all across the seven seas,
Been paid a king's ransom for doin' what comes naturally,
But I'm still the biggest fool, honey, this world's ever knew,
'cause the only thing I ain't got, baby, I... ain't got you."

"Tougher Than the Rest" and "All That Heaven Will Allow" revisit earlier lyrical conceits; they both petition a potential paramour to take a chance on a scruffy, rough-around-the-edges young troubador. But they both offer the potential of long-term committment, something Bruce never even alluded to until The River, his fifth album and the first one to even make mention of marriage; the sprightly, pleasant "All That Heaven Will Allow" makes this proposition: "so c'mon mister trouble, we'll make it through you somehow/ we'll fill this house with all the love, all that heaven will allow." And it's right around this point that Tunnel of Love also becomes a vague concept album: it's clear that it tells a semi-linear story, a relationship cycle narrated from conception to crumbling point to aftermath. "Heaven" is followed by "Spare Parts," which opens on these words: "Bobby said he'd pull out, Bobby stayed in/ Janie had a baby, wasn't any sin/ they were set to marry on a summer day/ Bobby got scared and he ran away." Ominous and urgent, "Spare Parts" is an album turning point: gone is the naivete, in is the hard-won realism. "Spare Parts" is at least mildly angry, if vocal and musican undertones are to be believed; much of the rest of the album is regretful, cautionary, wistful. "Cautious Man" is a Nebraska story-song; "Walk Like a Man" another in a line of desperate treaties to Bruce's estranged father (see: "Adam Raised a Cain," "Independence Day").

Tunnel of Love starts out strong, but its real wisdom unfolds in the second act, after the title track acts as intermission: "Two Faces" and "Brilliant Disguise" both address the issue of duality, within one's self and within others, and both are supremely wise and cogently-formed ruminations on the subject. Because, when discussing the more cynical aspects of love-- I am, of course, all for songs that dwell on the roses-and-sunshine side of love, but can allow for the cynicism of a man who I'm going to (safely, i think) wager has been through more failed relationships than me-- issues like honesty and compromise would be silly to ignore. To paraphrase Chris Rock, "when you meet someone, you're not actually meeting them; you're meeting their representative," and it's true: we're all guilty of sending the smarter, more caring, better-looking version of ourselves to make a first impression, and it's when someone falls for this version that problems arise. "I want to know if it's you I don't trust 'cause I damn sure don't trust myself": nobody's innocent. Welcome to love, dammit.

Of course, for me, the two best songs are near the end of the album, making album closer "Valentine's Day" pleasant but only remotely important in the grand scheme of things. "One Step Up" is easily the saddest song on an album of sad songs; truths like "when I look at myself I don't see the man I wanted to be/ somewhere along the line I slipped off track, movin' one step up and two steps back" are resigned and plaintive, and quite devastating to boot: "One Step Up" is this album's tearjerker. "When You're Alone" makes a universal ephiphany out of a chorus that consists of "when you're alone you ain't nothing but alone," a truth that should be fairly obvious, but sounds revelatory anyway; members of the E Street Band contribute vocals to this number, too, an unassailably sung reluctant anthem, culminating in all four voices (Bruce as well as Patti Scialfa, Nils Lofgren, and Clarence Clemons) converging like some sort of wise Greek chorus, their solemn chant of "when you're alone, you're alone" lingering in the night air... it's chilling, really, and beautiful, and heartbreaking, and when "Valentine's Day"'s languid acoustic waltz provides you a proper sendoff it's hard to shake those chills; chills hard-won but very palpable and duly earned.

And so I say with no trepidation or reluctance that Tunnel of Love is a great album. Which may not mean much as part of a review series that, so far, has only considered one album "average"; but there you have it. Honest, mature, and subtle, an appreciation of Tunnel of Love will be won upon repeat listens; if my series of Springsteen reviews is leading anybody to delve headlong into Springsteen's catalogue, I should stress that you shouldn't start here. But - and this is crucial - you should damn-sure end up here.

**

FOOTNOTES

* I almost said "Phil Collins," but then was hampered by and put off by the knowledge that Phil Collins sucks. Really, he does. Come on, "Sussudio?" "S-su-sudio," more like "s-s-shut the hell up. And go tend to your receding-ass hairline."
** The Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle, The River, Born in the U.S.A.-- once-a-week rotation, son. If not more.

**

GROWIN' UP SPRINGSTEEN REVIEWS:
- Greetings From Asbury Park, NJ
- The Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle
- Born To Run
- Darkness on the Edge of Town
- The River
- Nebraska
- Born in the U.S.A.
- Tunnel of Love
- Human Touch