Springsteen’s Sleight Of Hand

Magic
Bruce Springsteen
(Columbia)

Unlike some Bruce Springsteen fans, I’ve enjoyed listening to The Boss embrace his inner folk singer on 2003’s “Devils & Dust” and last year’s “We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions.” But I didn’t realize how much I missed the E Street Band until I heard the first few notes of “Radio Nowhere,” the first single from Springsteen’s latest disc, “Magic.” The band, last heard on 2002’s post-9/11 catharsis “The Rising,” returns in full force with the crunching guitar rock of “Radio Nowhere.”

“Radio Nowhere” is a blast from the past, and a reminder that in the past two decades Springsteen has made relatively few of the grandiose rock records that made him famous. “Magic” is only the second studio record he’s made with the E Street Band since 1984’s gazillion-selling “Born in the U.S.A.” And while they occasionally recapture their glory days on the new disc, “Magic” presents a much darker vision than the sound of its leadoff track suggests. It’s a modern, largely metaphorical record made for modern, troubling times. It isn’t always as well-written as Springsteen’s best work, and the songs aren’t always as catchy as the songs this group of musicians recorded during their previous peaks. It is an album that invites repeated listens and reveals multiple layers. It asks many questions. It offers few easy answers.

“Radio Nowhere,” which was first released as a free track on iTunes, has generated a lot of buzz. Strangely, much of the buzz is over the song’s supposed resemblance to the 1982 Tommy Tutone hit “867-5309/Jenny.” It makes a good story to suggest that Springsteen is out of ideas and now cribbing off one-hit wonders (and it got a great quote from Tommy Heath about how his kids needed braces in the news), but the tunes aren’t nearly as similar as the media outlets that have run with the story would have you believe. Lots of songs have similar chord progressions, but the melodies of these two songs are nothing alike. Any similarity would appear to be an honest coincidence.

There’s one thing “Radio Nowhere” definitely has in common with “867-5309/Jenny”: It’s a catchy rock song, destined to be on radio somewhere, or everywhere, on a dial near you. Like a lot of Springsteen’s best work, though, there’s more than meets the ear. In this regard, it’s got much more in common with “Born in the U.S.A.” than with the work of any other songwriter. Once you get past the music, you realize that Springsteen is bemoaning more than the shortage of great songs on the radio:

I want a thousand guitars
I want pounding drums
I want a million different voices speaking in tongues

This is radio nowhere
Is there anybody alive out there?

He’s out on the highway again, searching for that runaway American Dream, but from the sounds of it he’s going to be driving for a while. The gas will not be cheap. Where “The Rising” celebrated a country coming together in the wake of a national tragedy, the singer of the songs on “Magic” is disillusioned. Five years later, he sees isolation as perhaps the least of our problems.

“Radio Nowhere” is not the only track on “Magic” that is self-referential, and others are in a much more direct way. “Long Walk Home” is an up-tempo update of “Born in the U.S.A.’s” “My Hometown.” In 1984, the singer’s look around the town was nostalgic. In 2007, his hometown (and, collectively, all of our homes) is a shambles. The flag still flies high, as a reminder of how long the climb back could be before normalcy is restored.

Whether metaphorical or direct, many of the statements on “Magic” take aim at the president and the war in Iraq. Springsteen campaigned doggedly on the “Vote for Change” tour in 2004. People voted, but little changed. His disbelief spills wishfully into “Livin’ in the Future,” the one song on “Magic” that really seems to capture the vintage “E Street” sound. Over a track reminiscent of “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out,” Springsteen sings, “Don’t worry Darlin’ / Now baby don’t you fret / We’re livin’ in the future and / None of this has happened yet.”

On the next track, Springsteen bemoans that “Your Own Worst Enemy” has come to town. He’s kind of vague about what form that enemy has taken, but the last line, “Your flag it flew so high, It drifted into the sky,” suggests that the erosion of civil liberties might be the culprit.

“Gypsy Biker” references the title track from “Born in the U.S.A.” in that it is about a veteran coming home. This time, though, the soldier isn’t coming home to unemployment and misunderstanding. He’s coming home in a coffin. And the outrage now comes from those who must bury him, those who are unwilling to accept that he’s being forgotten. “To them that threw you away / You ain’t nothin’ but gone.”

“Magic’s” title track could have been more directly titled “Con Man,” whose shell games leave “bodies hangin’ in the trees.” Any guesses as to who the snake-oil salesman might be? “Last to Die” asks a question a lot of citizens would like to pose to said salesman: “Who’ll be the last to die for a mistake?” “Devil’s Arcade” also paints soldiers as pawns in a dangerous, profitable game from which they earn none of the spoils.

Springsteen doesn’t spend the entire album venting his spleen. “Girls in their Summer Clothes” captures a nostalgic, ’60s sound and takes a wistful look back at youth. “I Will Work for Your Love” comes from a similar place as the “Born to Run” classic “Thunder Road,” but love and salvation are going to have be found right here and now, not out on the open road.

The hidden closing track, “Terry’s Song,” brings “Magic” to a poignant close. Written as a tribute to the late Terry Magovern, Springsteen’s friend and personal assistant of many years, the genuine affection for the man shines through. It’s simple but it’s solid. Much the same could be said of “Magic.” Springsteen has written better albums, but this one is thoroughly honest.