Darkness on the Edge of Town - Springsteen, Bruce (CD 1990)

It happens to the best of us: life reaches a sort of crossroads, a tumultuous sort of catalyst where you can sit back and cry about it, or you can do your best to make it better. I'm going to assume, for the benefit of this review, that anyone bothering to read the opinion of a writer of minor popularity dissecting, essay-by-essay, the discography of Bruce Springsteen, MUST be an avid (perhaps downright rabid) music lover; either that, or you're just a huge fan of my writing. I'm going to assume it's the former, because I'm relatively certain that the only person truly amused by my writing is, well, me; while music, unlike Andrew-prose, is universal and almost impossible not to be addicted to.

And I can only assume, then, that anyone who has spent any length of time living has spent at least some of that time wondering why shiit's so messed up. And, because music is the universal language, I'm going to also assume that, at some point, you made the decision to self-medicate with music. Music's long, rich healing tradition takes hold when you're a kid, when you're going through your first break-up or the fateful love note comes back with the box next to "no" checked or you got a D on your spelling test; we start going through shiit that actually matters to us, and music that was previously background noise that you miiiight dance to if the moment hits you starts to actually mean something. If it's sad music, the artists "know what I'm going through." If it's happy music, they "get my mind off things."

Allow me to get autobiographical in herre for a sec. Anyone who's looked at my record collection inevitably says one thing (that is, after "wow, you call CDs records?"), and that's something alluding to the relative disparity from artist to artist. A lot of it stems from my desire for variety, sure, and I'm sure there's a little something in there about wanting to prove to chicks how diverse and open-minded I am (although I must clarify that I'd NEVER stoop to owning an album I didn't want to prove this); but, more importantly, I grew up in an atmosphere that practically demanded to birth a grown-up with a taste for variety, and different music was prescribed for different forms of healing. Rock and roll dad, gospel mom, pop sister, country radio in the car, hip-hop with friends and at school. The influences came from all over, really, and perhaps inevitably converged in the form of a young adult not even close to being well-adjusted, but with a really cool record collection containing albums suited towards every mood imaginable: wistful, sad, angry, romantic, exuberant, pious, mischevious, mellow, horny, pensive.

I'm not gonna lie to you: stuff's been difficult lately. That's not so you-all can feel sorry for me and tell me it'll be okay; everyone else has already done that, and quite frankly, I think they're full of shiit. But my bouts with stress and seismic mood shifts have served as the catalyst for just why I've been listening to so much Bruce Springsteen music lately. Reactions to the difficulties of life take different forms, and Bruce Springsteen has always been a rocker keenly tapped into the emotions of his audience, and is also a diverse artist with a vast discography (much like the celebrated diversity of the catalogues of Prince and Madonna and Neil Young), so there's a Springsteen album for every mood. My Springsteen listening of late has also served the purpose of fueling this series I'm writing-- it's one of the only things in life right now I'm truly excited about, since these Springsteen reviews have yielded a mild creative rebirth for me (and if you don't see it that way, do me a favor and NOT tell me; I'm too excited about it to have it torn down)-- and, naturally, having finished with my reviews of the first three Springsteen albums, it's on to Darkness on the Edge of Town and The River, two albums that have been spinning mercilessly in my CD player.

This has served a practical purpose, of course: to reaquaint myself with these two albums, to really get to know the ins and outs of 'em, so's I can write the best reviews I can write about em. But, in doing so, they've served a coincidental purpose: music as self-medication. I've been in a funk lately, yeah; but my demeanor still remains varied. My reaction to circumstance involves one or two responses to crisis nowadays:

1. "Life is kicking me in the pants. I am disheartened, restless, and stuck in a situation that I'd love to see untangled; I want to listen to The River, specifically the cool up-tempo r&b tracks and exuberant stuff like 'Sherry Darling,' and 'I'm a Rocker,' because who can feel bad when presented with such feel-good music?"
2. "Life is kicking me in the pants. I am disheartened, restless, and stuck in a situation that I'd love to see untangled; I want to listen to Darkness on the Edge of Town, to take solace in the fact that others can have hope in the face of difficulty, and momentarily wallow in my situation but feel relief that I'm not alone in it."

**

Now, when Darkness on the Edge of Town was released in 1978, it's safe to say that it was Jersey rock revivalist Bruce Springsteen's darkest record. That's not to say that it's as bleak and unflinching as everyone seems to think it is-- but just look at the titles alone. Springsteen's first album, Greetings From Asbury Park, New Jersey, implies a salutory, inviting tone by virtue of the title alone; the Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle implies that the rock and roll contained within, as well as the characters described in it, is as naive as it is primal; and Born to Run suggests a certain innate right. So, right away, a fourth album entitled Darkness on the Edge of Town immediately hints at something different, and, it's impossible to avoid, darker; where the individuals on the fringe of society could previously, in Springsteen's idealized rock and roll universe of girls and dancings and guitars and cars, exist in their own happy, hermetically sealed biosphere, Darkness implies a vast dimming of that sense of idealism and possibility. The characters on Darkness on the Edge of Town would still love to realize their dreams, but they're trapped in their stagnant small-town life, and need now, more than ever, to escape.

But where Born to Run illustrated that escape through breathless bombast and highway anthems, Darkness tones it down considerably. Musically, the E Street band just gets tighter and tighter with each album, and Darkness has the benefit of second guitarist and vocalist "Miami" Steve Van Zandt to double Springsteen's one-man guitar blitz (and contribute some great harmonies); and it's not that Springsteen has totally eschewed his penchant for anthems, but Darkness also contains some somber balladry. "Something in the Night" believes in the same sense of nocturnal possibility that Born to Run's "Night" did, but cites it as something we superficially chase to escape the pressures of the daytime; "Racing in the Street" shows us vivid snapshots of wasted youth, faded glory, the empty streets of a ghost town, adults turning to the same stuff that made their adolescent selves artificially happy and finding that there's an emptiness in it now, even paraphrasing Martha and the Vandellas' "Dancing in the Street," recasting that classic high-energy plea for unity as a subdued suggestion: "summer's here and the time is right for racing in the street." Pianist Roy Bittan is all over this record, contributing beautiful piano melodies and virtuosic fills at every turn.

"Adam Raised a Cain" is all about an adult misunderstood by his bitter father as a child, eager to ignore his father's advice since, after all, where did all his father's ideologies get him? "Now he walks these empty rooms, looking for something to blame/ you inherit the sins, you inherit the flames: Adam raised a Cain." Musically it's insistent, almost snarling, much closer to the burgeoning hard rock/metal scene than Springsteen's early influences of roots-rock, folk, and r&b. "Candy's Room" somberly explores longing; "Factory" accurately describes the futility and monotony of stifling, blue-collar, working-class life, slowly and thoughtfully resigning men with "death in their eyes" as unfortunate, hollow-eyed casualties of their surroundings: "it's the working, the working, just the working life."

And so, yeah; in a certain sense Darkness on the Edge of Town is a fatalistic and depressing record, and certainly the most pessimistic in Springsteen's catalogue at the time of its release-- although it would later be trumped by the mucho-moody Nebraska-- but the album is at its best when it's reconciling pain and hope, acknowledging the unfortunateness of the situation, but easing the pain with musical therapy; these characters don't necessarily believe rock and roll can save their lives anymore, but they at least see how it can help. "Badlands" is as insistent, grand, and inspiring as anything-- as everything, really-- on Born to Run, and might be Springsteen's best tune. It's certain his tightest, the drums insistent and militant, the harmonies rich and defiant, the vocals confident, strained at times, but without the hoarse confusion of the adolescent masterpiece the Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle. Springsteen realized that the audience to whom he sold dreams were now falling short of their dreams, and encouraged them to do something. I'd reprint the whole thing here; it seems that now, Bruce's characters are feeling the need to assert themselves more than ever. "Here's one thing I know for sure, girl," he spits, "I don't give a damn about the same played-out scenes/ I don't give a damn for just the in-betweens." Elsewhere, he condenses the nature of humanity into one couplet: "poor man wanna be rich, rich man wanna be king/ and a king ain't satisfied till he rules everything." "The Promised Land," rich with harmonica and the grand mid-tempo flavor of much of Born to Run, states its purpose right there in the chorus; the companion piece to "Badlands," especially that song's "keep pushin' till it's understood and these badlands start treating us good," it says "mister I ain't a boy, no, I'm a man/ and I believe in a promised land." And at the end, like the euphoric release of the codas to some of Springsteen's best songs-- "Incident on 57th Street," "Thunder Road," etc.-- a simple guitar line floats above it all and raises everyone ABOVE it all, these badlands be damned, right to the promised land. And it's followed by the instrumental release of a sax solo and a harmonica solo, and then the last verse, urging you to "blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and brokenhearted," it's peppered by angelic backing vocals, as if to say: "damn right, we'll take you there." Third anthem "Prove It All Night" offers neither earnestness or frivolity in its romantic invitation, but tells the girl of the chorus, "I'll prove it all night for you," implying something so much more at stake than ever before: redemption through romantic love.

Where Darkness on the Edge of Town falters is its relative musical stagnance; again, Springsteen's stagnant songs are other artist's masterpieces to me, so this is all entirely relevant in the spectrum of a rabid fan, but, while songs like "Badlands," "The Promised Land," and "Prove It All Night" easily trump anything from Born to Run, it's just not consistent enough, in my mind, to warrant calling it his best, as a not-so-small faction of his fans tend to do. Still, it's the realism and relatability-- and the sheer perfection of the lyrics-- that have evolved. Darkness IS a great album: it's sometimes more rigid than other Springsteen albums because, simply, that reflects life for Springsteen's characters circa '78. Ruminations on the constrictions of small-town working-class life can't deliver the kind of grandeur of a "Born to Run" or a "Rosalita," because that would present a false air of freedom and possibility.

And so, Darkness on the Edge of Town is one of Springsteen's most enduring albums because, simply, it posits one of his most enduring themes: one of hope and blind faith in the face of injustice, because that's all that's gonna get you through. And so today, as I'm quickly approaching a decision that will find me either furthering my education or resigning myself to the lifelong, stifling work of the "Badlands," Darkness on the Edge of Town rings as true to me as an adult as the Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle resonates as an idealization of my adolescence.

And so, congrats, Bruce. You've done it again. You've captured the feelings of a people on wax and said it back to them in terms that are accessible and, simultaneously, articulated better than anyone else could possibly have done it. That's why everybody screams "Bruuuuuuce!" at live shows and not "Spring-STEEEEEN!": as you've shown us, you know us waaaay too well to cheapen the audience-performer relationship by being on anything other than a first-name basis.

**

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