Springsteen’s America vs. Reagan’s America (or, Still More on Exceptionalism)
I quoted Jeff MacGregor the other day on Bruce Springsteen and Ronald Reagan:
Maybe the most interesting thing you can say about American art and culture over the past 30 years is that at the same moment in our history, Ronald Reagan and Bruce Springsteen were both pining for some lost America. Both mourned for lost youth and lost greatness, but from opposite ends of the same table, from opposing points along the same timeline of our desires.
I still like that he nestled two paragraphs on the Gipper and the Boss in the middle of an article on Derek Jeter, but I left them without comment because I couldn’t figure out at the time what seemed off. But it’s this: neither Reagan nor Springsteen are figures particularly caught in nostalgia. Reagan was decidedly forward-looking: he brought a new morning to America, and even his rhetoric looked back to the original founding, constantly borrowing Winthrop’s “shining city on a hill.” As Andrew Bacevich summarized, nothing could have been farther from a Reagan who “mourned for lost youth and lost greatness”:
In a jab at Carter, he alluded to those “who would have us believe that the United States, like other great civilizations of the past, has reached the zenith of its power” and who “tell us that we must learn to live with less.” Reagan rejected these propositions. He envisioned a future in which the United States would gain even more power while Americans would enjoy ever greater prosperity, the one reinforcing the other. (The Limits of Power, pp. 36-7)
The exceptionalism to which Reagan subscribed would not allow him to mourn for America. America was destined for greatness, and Reagan’s role was to right the course after Carter attempted to force the nation to abdicate its inherent character.
But Springsteen’s songs aren’t, for the most part, nostalgic—especially those from the Carter and Reagan years. “Glory Days” is about nostalgia, and while it doesn’t condemn it, there’s no praise. The narrator’s high school classmates bore him by talking about their glory days; “I hope when I get old I don’t sit around thinking about it / but I probably will.” The difference, aside from his reluctance, is that he’ll be some old fart boring children with his stories, not sad, drunk 30 year-olds who can’t get over the fact that life isn’t just like high school. No, the central figures of Springsteen’s songs aren’t nostalgic. If they have a problem, it’s that they’re a little too wise a little too early. If Reagan channeled Winthrop, these men seem to channel Koheleth of Ecclesiastes: “If dreams came true, oh, wouldn’t that be nice.”
Poor man wanna be rich,
rich man wanna be king
And a king ain’t satisfied
till he rules everything
And yet, I can’t help but think there is a strain of American exceptionalism that runs through Springsteen’s lyrics. Maybe it’s because the album he released during my formative years was The Rising. Maybe it’s because, for a long time, my mental image of Springsteen was not of him, but of the seat of his jeans and bottom of his undershirt standing in front of an American flag on the cover of Born in the U.S.A and the large foamboard poster my father hung in our basement. And you can’t write “Land of Hope and Dreams” unless you believe in something special about America. You can’t write “American Skin”—or even (especially) “Born in the U.S.A.” unless you believe that America is supposed to be something more than it is.
Springsteen’s figures are, in their situations and their attitudes, American. Even the rebels are rebelling out of America into America. “Independence Day” is a son describing his decision to leave his father’s house. It is an “independence day,” but, as Springsteen and the speaker say it, it is also, “Independence Day.” He leaves his father’s house drawing a parallel to the founding rebellion against a fatherland. Rebellion for its own sake, or out of restlessness only, isn’t the rebellion that features in Springsteen’s songs. Rebellion has consequences; hopes and dreams have consequences—they don’t come true (“The River”) or the fulfillment is something less than you hoped for (“Brilliant Disguise”). In the lyrics of the Carter-Reagan years, the best outcome is simply the ability to keep hoping—to keep faith. For the rebels, this is the key to their rebellion: they rebel in order to seize their birthright: what America ought to be, what it promised them but what it won’t give them. For the others—the ones just caught up in this midnight world of lost birthrights—they have to keep faith in order to keep themselves alive.
This kind of faith first appears on Born to Run—“Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night”—and is the key to the final stanza of the title track. It appears more prominently on 1978’s Darkness on the Edge of Town. In the midst of the cynical, beat-down world of “Badlands,” the speaker suddenly proclaims:
I believe in the love that you gave me
I believe in the faith that could save me
I believe in the hope
and I pray that some day
It may raise me above these Badlands
“The Promised Land” ends on a semi-apocalyptic vision:
Gonna be a twister to blow everything down
That ain’t got the faith to stand its ground
Blow away the dreams that tear you apart
Blow away the dreams that break your heart
Blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and brokenhearted
Faith leads to salvation; it saves him from the world where one lives in fear of broken hopes and dreams that one day might keep him from hoping or dreaming. This faith continues to appear throughout Springsteen’s works, in songs such as “The Ghost of Tom Joad,” “Land of Hope and Dreams,” “Devils and Dust,” and throughout The Rising.
Its object is also a Springsteen trope: “the promised land.” In the song of the same name, it is deliberately Biblical. The song takes place in “the Utah desert” and ends with the speaker “packing his bags” and following a cloud in search of a promised land. Darkness as an album is, like this song, deliberately Biblical. It opens with a proclamation of a “faith that can save me,” moves into “Adam Raised a Cain,” explicitly seeks a “promised land” in “Racing in the Street” and “The Promised Land,” finds a man who “walks with angels that have no place” and ends with a man saying he can be “easily found” at “a spot ‘neath Abram’s Bridge.”
Suddenly, then, it is no surprise that when Springsteen’s scenery changed from New Jersey it settled on the desert Southwest. (This also allows him to examine what happened in the place people once went to find America, or fulfill their/its destiny.) “The Promised Land” features explicitly in “Johnny Bye-Bye” (1998), “The Price You Pay” (1980), “Goin’ Cali” (1998), “The Ghost of Tom Joad” (1995), “From Small Things (Big Things Someday Come)” (2003), “Thunder Road” (1975), “Galveston Bay” (1995), and implicitly in many others—“This Hard Land,” “Land of Hope and Dreams,” etc.
I highly doubt any of this is a religious motif: it is, rather, about holding a faith when, by all means, one should have lost it, and wandering a desert in search of the promised land. Springsteen’s losers are really wanderers, but they are not aimless, and this is his point: they’re searching after “something in the night”: their birthright, their Promised Land of milk and honey, the America that was promised to them once upon a time, that they still in their heart of hearts believe is—or can be made to be—real.
Springsteen, like Reagan, is forward-looking and exceptionalist. But there is a distinction that makes all the difference. It is morning in Reagan’s America, but in Springsteen’s, it is perpetually the middle of the night. Daylight only lets you see the grit on your fingers. Springsteen’s America is an America that may believe it is exceptional, but holds no illusions about its nature or its present reality. America’s greatness rests, for Springsteen, in the continuing faith of its wanderer-losers. And what a faith it is:
The highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybody’s out on the run tonight
but there’s no place left to hide
Together Wendy we’ll live with the sadness
I’ll love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday girl I don’t know when
we’re gonna get to that place
Where we really want to go
and we’ll walk in the sun
But till then tramps like us
baby we were born to run
He promises this, but you can almost hear in the voice the knowledge that it won’t come true. Theirs is a faith despite knowledge: they search for a place that may not exist, but they must keep faith. To lose faith is to stop moving; for these characters, to do that is to die. “That place / Where we really want to go” is the goal that gives them direction. They believe in it, but they are not there; its world is not yet their world. The American Dream has become a “runaway,” “a death trap, a suicide rap”—yet they still believe in the promised land, and in America.
Great post. I do think that Springsteen’s later work takes a turn towards nostalgia. His best original song from the past decade – “Girls in Their Summer Clothes” – is tinged with regret, Tunnel of Love definitely idealizes a more immature, romantic view of personal relationships, and of course there’s “The Wrestler”:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-6DM6iWKKoReport
I do agree that there’s more nostalgia in his more recent work — of course, I haven’t really listened to either MAGIC or WORKING ON A DREAM that carefully (I don’t think I even own the former!) so I was in no position to talk about them. (You’ll also note I don’t mention TUNNEL here — it wasn’t deliberate, but it also wasn’t an accident. Strange album, that — it’s grown on me as I’ve gotten older. Not that I’m old, but still.) And, in conjunction with that, there’s a growing optimism on the part of his songs — think “Land of Hope and Dreams” or large parts of DEVILS AND DUST (minus the title track, of course). But I think this, in part, has to do with talking about Springsteen at 60 rather than at 25 or 30: he still talks about wanderers, losers, and wanderer-losers, but the rebels have mostly fallen away; and the way he talks about them has changed, too. There’s still a lot of nighttime in his songs, but it’s less overwhelming than it once was. I’ve got this strange notion that “It’s a sad funny ending to find yourself pretending /A rich man in a poor man’s shirt” is at least a slightly personal reflection: he’s spoken about trying to make “honest albums,” so it makes sense that as he changed, his approach would shift somewhat, too.
But since I was talking about Reagan, the Springsteen I was predominately interested in was the one from the mid/late-70s through the mid-80s. (I know, it doesn’t match up quite right, but Springsteen had the luxury of being able to respond to the late 70s as they happened rather than being limited to the next presidential campaign.)Report
Yeah, I think that’s totally appropriate. My comment was intended as a quick observation, not a criticism, although I do think Springsteen’s later iterations are interesting. Have you listened to We Shall Overcome? It’s arguably the most optimistic album Springsteen’s ever recorded, but I think the songs are all second-hand.Report
I didn’t think you were being particularly critical, so I hope I didn’t come across as defensive — I just thought I should explain why I focused on what I did.
As for We Shall Overcome — I agree about the optimism. But it’s also kind of a singularity, almost more of a tribute album to Pete Seeger and Springsteen’s debt to the American folk tradition. (And it also strikes me as a, “Hey, let’s all get together and do something FUN” kind of album — sort of along the lines of The Travelling Wilburys. It was recorded in Springsteen’s living room, after all — though I’m pretty sure I remember hearing/reading that the horn section had to stand in the hallway from lack of space.) He did folk stuff before — Nebraska and Tom Joad — but those were really more “contemporary folk,” while this was traditional folk with Springsteen (and, I assume, Little Steven) putting their own twist on the arrangements.Report
“It’s a sad funny ending to find yourself pretending /A rich man in a poor man’s shirt” is at least a slightly personal reflection: he’s spoken about trying to make “honest albums,” so it makes sense that as he changed, his approach would shift somewhat, too.
I suppose he’s trying, but as a mere epigone of Steinbeck and Guthrie when not singing about cars, his sentiments are derivative, his appeal limited largely to those of his own demography.
On the Dylan or Guthrie scale of cultural impact, Springsteen rates a shade higher than Tom Petty or John Mellencamp, I suppose. But although Dylan and Guthrie can be reasonably mentioned in the same sentence as Ronald Reagan in this context, Bruce Springsteen’s view of America doesn’t even rate with Sarah Palin’s.
[And she too will pass.]Report
Them’s fightin’ words, Tom. Three points: First, Reagan linked himself to Springsteen when he tried to co-opt “Born in the U.S.A.” as a campaign song; the contrast was of his making. Second, maybe Springsteen is no Dylan or Guthrie, but he does have a talent for capturing a moment in America: Darkness on the Edge of Town, Born in the U.S.A., and The Rising come to mind. Third: Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town are two of the great American rock albums. They’re not Highway 61 or Blood on the Tracks — but they’re not trying to be.Report
Heh heh. Yeah, I knew them’s fightin’ words, JL.
I enjoy his records [the anthem stuff, anyway], but I’ve been seeing a lot of Springsteen-as-cultural-icon stuff of late on intellectually-minded blogs. This goes a bit too far, in my view, for reasons given, and says more about the authors of such stuff than the artist himself.
The first test of any cultural icon/influence is whether he or she transcends their demographic and/or genre, which Springsteen simply does not.
As for Reagan [or his advisers], clearly he/they didn’t know what “Born in the USA” was about beyond its anthemic one-line chorus, or they never would have gone near it. That they didn’t know sort of reinforces the point.
“In the words of one New York Times reviewer, ‘Born in the USA’ had become “a holler of impotent desperation.”
That may be true for a Springsteen fan, but hardly holds for the greater culture. According to the same source, Lee Iaccoca reputedly offered $12 million to put it in a Chrysler commercial. What a white boy of a certain age at the NYT heard as a primal scream of existential American angst sounded like a rockin’ Star-Spangled Banner to the rest of America.
[And yes, I appreciate that Springsteen probably intended that irony. But that doesn’t change the actual cultural impact, or lack of same.]Report
Not Springsteen, but the classic misappropriation to me will always be “Fortunate Son” being used as a patriotic ad for blue jeans.Report
Actually that one makes sense when you think about it. Wrangler is not marketed upscale. The prospective jeans buyer can identify with the protagonist in the song because he doesn’t identify himself as the son of wealth or privilege either.Report
Or the Janis Joplin sing being used unironically to sell Mercedes Benzes.Report
“The first test of any cultural icon/influence is whether he or she transcends their demographic and/or genre, which Springsteen simply does not. “
Au contraire, Springsteen doesn’t transcend his genre, he exemplifies it, he projects it into the cultural sphere. He functions perfectly well as a cultural icon, it’s as an artist and musician that he has limitations.Report
See, I think this is wrong. Most of the actual cultural influence of Springsteen’s music today is indeed in the same boat of “Dad Rock”, to be sure, but there are traces of it all over.
I mean, hell, here’s a 90s/00s punk band from Gainesville:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPS3P8t2Y3c
How is that not “outside Bruce’s demographic”?Report
Pretty good music, but if you’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing him interviewed and discuss the issues of the day, he’s pretty much a borderline imbecile. Even worse, why should we or anyone else for that matter, give a rat’s ass about anything he has to say? Do we ask a plumber about global warming? Or a mason, about AIDS relief in Africa? Why would Springsteen have any more valuable insights into these subjects as a plumber or a mason? He makes W sound like Churchill for God’s sakes!Report
I used to agree with this train of thought, but now I’m much less sympathetic to it, especially in Springsteen’s case.
Ultimately, I think Springsteen fails at a deeper level than you’re suggesting. Ie, Springsteen tried (with a fair bit of success) to sell American teenagers the snake oil that bourgeois America is a trap and if they can experience the life they want if they could just escape it.Report
Koz–I LIKE that— “Ie, Springsteen tried (with a fair bit of success) to sell American teenagers the snake oil that bourgeois America is a trap and if they can experience the life they want if they could just escape it.”
Good observation. Anyway you cut it, he’s the classic, epitome of the Limousine Liberal. Just shut up and sing-as Laura Ingraham said. I, personally find it painful to hear him wax “eloquent” on any subject under the sun. At best, he has a 5th graders knowledge of current events. Not bad when you consider this” man of the people” pulls in $250 million a year. I hear he even loves Castro! Not sure, but has he ever visited the political prisoners there?Report
“Just shut up and sing-as Laura Ingraham said.”
No, no, no. That’s just the point, he can’t. Other people in his position won’t (eg, Sean Penn), but Springsteen can’t.Report
Au contraire, Springsteen doesn’t transcend his genre, he exemplifies it, he projects it into the cultural sphere.
I don’t think he projects anything much into the cultural sphere beyond his demographic, like-minded yuppies [who happen to people the American press]. At least that’s my opinion and observation. Sort of like when David Lee Roth noted all the music critics fawned over Elvis Costello, because they all looked like him.
I read a little further in that link I posted, BTW. Springsteen apparently didn’t even intend the irony, he just thought he was misunderstood.Report
Wow, what?
Bourgeois life IS a trap, it’s chasing after bullshit and getting buried in debt trying and failing to buy happiness while the world collapses around you. I never liked Springsteen until I came to that conclusion on my own.Report
I don’t know if it has to be “exceptionalism”, so much as a topic he thinks worthy of returning to and exploring constantly. You can love something with all your heart and have that be a reflection of yourself instead of the beloved, if that makes sense. I just don’t know if I’d call Joyce an Irish exceptionalist. Anyway, great post, especially this line: “It is morning in Reagan’s America, but in Springsteen’s, it is perpetually the middle of the night.”Report
I guess I’d say that it’s the ideal America that gets depicted as a kind of promised land that makes me think of Springsteen’s idea of/love/longing for America as a strain of “exceptionalism.” There’s an acceptance that the promise of America isn’t actual (yet), but a continued belief in that promise. Maybe it all depends on how broadly we can draw the lines of what counts as “exceptionalism.”
Re: nighttime — I actually had never realized that THERE IS NEVER DAYLIGHT IN A SPRINGSTEEN SONG until I was writing this post. (Of course, I exaggerate. It’s part of that nostalgic mellowing as he gets older — but I swear, there are only glimpses of a non-nocturnal life up until around 1990.)Report
Maybe “utopian longing”?Report
NO offense to anyone, but I never like Bruce. I was always a Dylan fan and John Prine, of course, so I figured I’d be a paleo-conservative when …”all of my friends turned out to be insurance salesmen.”Report
What do you make of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lyHSjv9gxlEReport