Columbia
A couple of months back, thousands of people marched on Zuccotti Park in New York City. People were fed up with a lot of things, but most of an angry nation's furor was derived from corporate greed. Bailouts had been given to companies "too big to fail," ousted CEOs were taking billions of dollars in leaving bonuses — all while millions of blue-collars and white-collars alike were laid off in a panic that dubbed the last four years of malaise dubbed "The Great Recession." Everyone in America now knows at least one person that has been affected by this.
Bruce Springsteen used to be the man that many knew as the working-class songwriter, but 2009's "Working on a Dream" was hopeful, but wishy-washy. Those that praised it probably hadn't seen the brunt of The Great Recession.
But "Wrecking Ball" isn't about Bruce Springsteen. It's not even about the E Street Band, which makes very few, sporadic appearances alongside the Boss on this record.
Let's be frank: "Wrecking Ball" is pissed off, and it does America's anger some actual justice. Some will think the songs are for the Occupiers, and they may be. But the Occupiers, in the minds of the working man, were people that had given up on work and had taken to complaining. "Wreking Ball," on the contrary, is not a complainer; it's a struggler.
Consider the highlight "Jack of All Trades." Bruce portrays the everyman who will "hammer the nails," "set the stone," and "pull that engine apart, and patch 'er up till she's alright." Here, Bruce takes shots at the "fat cats" that reaped a hard time's benefits, going as far to say, "If I had me a gun, I'd shoot the bastards on sight."
Is it violent? Yes, more so than Springsteen ever has been. He's cruder, meaner and more frustrated than ever before, rivaling the off-centers and topping the good ole boys he portrayed on "Nebraska."
But are these portrayals accurate? This question brings us to another question that is on the minds of several Boss fans: Why should we, the down-trotted, care what Bruce Springsteen, a rich rock star, thinks and writes?
Maybe we should review. Album opener "We Take Care of Our Own" makes implicit references to the Gulf Coast's disenfranchisement after Hurricane Katrina and the BP oil spill. "Shackled and Drawn" describes the continuing dichotomy between the rich and the working-class, because "it's still fat and easy up on Banker's Hill."
This transitions into "Death of My Hometown," a foot-stomping, gospel-grabbing anthem for small-town America with echoes of urban Michigan's near-degeneration. It's the most expansive-sounding track on the album, and potentially the most divisive because of its high level of production. Over the top? Maybe, but it's hard for the subject to not stir up some high emotions.
The answer to the listener's question, albeit difficult to swallow for many, is that his lyrics still capture what many of us are thinking. Do country fans care how much Zac Brown makes? Not really. He's writing about sitting his ass in the Georgia clay, drinking a PBR with another on the way. Springsteen is that rare breed of rock star that doesn't forget where he comes from, and we shouldn't either.
Musically, however, the album can get very top-heavy. "You Got It" just sounds like a sixth-grader's lame attempt at getting laid, and "Land of Hope and Dreams" is a longwinded throwaway. There are musical elements that don't gel quite that much, either. "Rocky Ground"'s hip-hop interlude is scattershot, and Tom Morello's guitar solos don't add much breadth, either.
But folksy Mumford-esque "We Are Alive" is the hopeful ending that we desperately want from this recession. When an album so pivotally juxtaposes today's unease with aggressive motivation, it's hard not to feel represented again.
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