Nobody got past this record. Annie Leibovitz’s photo of Bruce Springsteen’s backside in Levi’s jeans, baseball cap in right pocket. The pathetic white and red stripes. The spelling “USA”. And that the name Bruce Springsteen comes after the record title and a slash.
Then the drums and synthesizer fanfares of “Born In The USA,” a harrowing song about a failed Vietnam vet that sounds like a call to arms. The E Street Band can hardly walk with strength. The reverberation on Springsteen’s voice. And why does he call out at the end: “I’m a cool rocking daddy from the USA”? He steps out of his song.
And then the longing and the piercing guitar in “Cover Me”. The buddy story of “Darlington County”. The proletarian rockabilly “Working On The Highway”. Desperation in “Downbound Train”: “Nights as I sleep, I hear that whistle whining/ I feel her kiss in the misty rain.” The knife that cuts right through the soul in “I’m On Fire”. The farewell song “Bobby Jean”, glockenspiel and Clarence Clemons’ saxophone solo: “We told each other that we were the wildest/ …/ Now, we went walking in the rain/ Talking about the pain that from the world we hid.” The anger in “I’m Going Down”. Contemplating futility in Glory Days. The bravado of “Dancing In The Dark”. The sentiment in “My Hometown”.
Of course, Bruce Springsteen has made better records before and since. But none with seven hit singles. Born In The USA is an elegiac yet uplifting record, an impossibility. Many years later, unlikely admirer Robert Forster wrote of the “mangy regret” in those songs, which he heard in 1984.
These songs are the ax to the feelings we hide from the world. They are pure rock ‘n’ roll. Jeans never looked this good again.
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