Pop Geek

I currently have 1,884 albums on my 160GB iPod. I will listen to them all, in a random order, and write about them.

I recall 1995 for Bruce Springsteen mostly as the height of his "dirt-road troubador" phase, where he grew his hair long, wore it in a ponytail, and favored flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up. He had just released The Ghost of Tom Joad and was touring solo with his acoustic guitar, his voice transformed to a Guthrie-esque mumble. He'd launch every show with a half-joking speech to invite his audiences to "shut the fuck up." If you were lucky, he'd strip down one of his classic rockers and give it the folkie treatment in the encores.

For the occasion of the opening of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in Cleveland, a gigantic concert was held, and on the bill was Bruce Springsteen...and the E-Street Band. This was no small moment for Bruceheads; he hadn't played with the full band live in a very long time, and some had given up hope that he'd ever reunite with the boys (and girl) for any further music. 

I don't really know what the situation was surrounding the show; knowing Springsteen, it seems unlikely that the gang wouldn't have met up at least briefly a few days before the show to rehearse. But what I love about this opening tune especially, a cover of Big Joe Turner's "Shake Rattle & Roll," is that you can hear the band learning to play together again, chomping at the bit to unload, slipping riffs into whatever opening they can find and stepping over each other occasionally in the process. Not in a sloppy way; this group couldn't put on a sloppy show if their lives depended on it. It's more of an unhinged exuberance. 

Springsteen himself uncorks with a killer solo, but of course, only after giving Clarence "Big Man" Clemons a chance to skronk up the joint. Drummer Max Weinberg sounds like he's trying particularly hard to maintain his composure through a fairly restrained blues shuffle beat; in fact, I'm almost certain you can hear him slowing the tempo down a bit about a minute into the tune. 

The rest of the set would feature Springsteen and his band backing Jerry Lee Lewis and ending with a fiery if bleak take on "Darkness on the Edge of Town." The only true nod to Springsteen's own rock history is a version of "She's the One" from Born to Run. 

I was at this show, and just coming into my own as a Broooce nutjob; even this small taste of the righteous firepower of the legendary E Street Band was enough to drive me bonkers with excitement. I was practically in the last row of the since-demolished Municipal Stadium, some shithole of a dump where the Browns used to play, and it was one of the finest musical moments of my life, like a family reunion you never imagined you'd be able to attend. 

(No, that doesn't make Clarence Clemons my grandpa. LET ME HAVE MY MOMENT.)

I currently have 1,884 albums on my 160GB iPod. I will listen to them all, in a random order, and write about them.

This seems as good a place as any to admit that there are scores of albums in my music collection that I have never listened to, not even once.

There was a period of time several years ago when one of my favorite pastimes was surfing usenet for random, obscure, and interesting music. I hope I'm not incriminating myself by admitting that. It was the closest my internet content stealing experience has ever come to the joy of browsing a well-stocked indie record store, except I was broke so I couldn't afford that, and anyway, would I really have taken a chance on half the stuff I swiped for free? Or would I have even found most of it at all? I've got 200MB or so of 1930's era singles sold at newsstands as Hits of the Week; are those on iTunes yet?

Anyway, now I spend far less time exploring for music and engage in strategic acquisitions. A favorite artist has a new record, I hit Amazon for the download; nine bucks and five minutes later, it's on my computer.

Which is a roundabout way of saying that Bowie is a pretty massive blind spot in my musical appreciation, including "Heroes," which I realize I have owned for a few years now and have NEVER EVEN LISTENED TO IT. In general, I like what I know, but I don't know enough. Man, that should be on my tombstone.

I am doubly ashamed to admit that my first exposure to "Heroes" was as part of a medley in the Baz Luhrmann musical vehicle Moulin Rouge, which is the kind of film you really love minutes after seeing it, but a few years later feel kinda embarassed about. I once owned it on DVD, so it was like embarassment I could carry around with me in a clamshell case.

Being a Bowie ignoramus, it's hard for me to jump in here and get anything together on his second collaboration with Eno. Especially because of the Eno part. He's...well, he's ENO, you know? It's a bit difficult to stumble along and pretend I can speak to his work cause I don't know squat about it yet.

I will say that the long "instrumental" sequence on "side two" of "Heroes" was one of those listening experiences that seems to require packing a doob on the album sleeve to really appreciate. It's a soundtrack for being stoned, or for some kind of werid tantric sex, and a bit of a hard listen. I did like the skronking saxophone near the end, devoid of any warmth whatsoever.

What's always surprising to me about Bowie's songs is his bittersweet chord changess. The chorus of "Sons of the Silent Age" is full of relative minor changes that just typify regret and wistfulness for me. It's all over the place in pop music but Bowie seems especially fond of them. I think Paul McCartney was too.

When Bowie's bittersweet chords are lathered in Eno's clinical, dark production, you have a recipie for ambivalence, and I mean that in a good way. You don't know whether to approach the songs or keep them at arm's length; you're not sure whether you'll understand them or not, and even if you do, they may try to hurt you in the end. Or have some weird tantric sex. Either way.

Rekkids is posted alternately at Pop Geek and Alert Nerd. Catch up with the Alert Nerd entries here.