Springsteen

There's an article in The New Republic about Springsteen. The main thrust is what a tired, fake old poser Springsteen has become.

I wanted to reply on the site, but you have to subscribe to TNR, and I'm not enthusiastic about sending them my money. So I'll satisfy myself here.

Springsteen was always a poser.

I was born in Trenton NJ and lived in NJ from 5th grade through high school (and breaks though college). I lived and hung out in the neighborhoods Springsteen writes about in his best songs. I was in high school in central Jersey from 78-82. Freehold High School, where he went, was in the same district as me. We played football against them. I hung out on the boardwalks of Asbury Park and Long Branch -- home of the Stone Pony. I lived not far from Highway 9 and I suppose I must have been "Sprung from cages out on highway 9" more times than I can count. For a loose enough definition of "cages."

Far from being "a death trap, a suicide rap," central Jersey was a pretty awesome place to be a teenager. There was so much that was fun and interesting to do. Beyond the boardwalks and other local amusements (even a cursory listing would soon get out of hand), you're sandwiched between two of the most interesting cities in the U.S: NYC and Philly. C'mon, if you couldn't find opportunities for yourself, you weren't trying. Springsteen sure managed to get filthy rich despite the soul-killing horror of central Jersey!

There was always something more than a little pretentious, more than a little fake about Springsteen to my ears then, and to my friends. He was at the height of his fame, living in a mansion, driving fancy cars, and pretending he had it so hard. It was all utter bullshit. Living there, it was fun to get all pumped up on "Born to Run" or "Badlands" but nobody with a drop of self-awareness could claim life as a teenager in central New Jersey was really some sort of ruthless purgatory of broken hopes and dreams that we needed to escape.

Sure, yeah, there are broken dreams and hard stories everywhere, but it they weren't the default, and Bruce sure wasn't living them. He was a fake then, and a fake now. He sings about the tribulations of soldiers and working men, but when he was up before the draft board he acted crazy and uncooperative enough -- refusing to take the tests, playing up an old concussion he'd had -- to get a 4F. Way to be the tough guy, Bruce.

One of the comments on the article asserts that "Death to My Hometown" is "the best protest song that's been written maybe in 40 years." Seriously?

Oscar Wilde once said: "One must have a heart of stone to read the death of Little Nell without laughing."

To paraphrase him, you'd have to be a fool to listen to Springsteen warbling about how "the robber barons ...  ate the flesh of everything they’ve found" without laughing. What overwrought, intellectually infantile tripe.