"Downbound Train" Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band-Born in the USA

Well from the previous post in case you were wondering what I was referring to here is the answer and at the end the video. I listen, think and write (well attempt) music on a constant basis and in doing so I think gives gravitas to me saying this is one of the best songs ever written in this genre.

Born in the USA was released right after his Nebraska album which was a toned down, four track collection of songs that he never really intended to release. I challenge you to listen to this album and not become choked up while doing so. Personally there are two songs on the album that I only listen to alone because I will start crying. The album created a stir among Springsteen fans, it polarized those who grouped him in with that Mellencamp heartland music (Mellencamp is and always will be a joke, perhaps I could deal with his music sans that personality. Go ahead and listen to an interview with him, his self love is the most inflated I have ever experienced) and those who thought that he was much more than just a rocker. Not a lot of people who say they are Springsteen fans can even stand this album, for me it is what I use to change someone's mind about Springsteen being some red-neck hero.

For the true believers after Nebraska there were rumours about an "electric" Nebraska constantly, to this day people are asking for it when in reality it already exists with the title "Born in the USA" probably the most misunderstood record of all time and certainly the most of Springsteen's. It is true that Bruce and his management propagated this in a way with massive concerts being played behind American flags, the music videos that were produced along with the album and all of the hype. However the story of Nebraska still carries on in this album even in songs such as "Dancing in the Dark" which if you never heard before and just read the lyrics would change your entire opinion, how about this line for understated misery: "You sit around getting older, there's a joke here somewhere and its on me" Take away the beat, the 80's synthesizers and it is a totally different line. "Born in the USA", "My Hometown", "I'm on Fire" ("...sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby edgy and dull and cut a six in valley through the middle of my skull"), "No Surrender" and "Bobby Jean"; sing those songs on an acoustic and it is right there on Nebraska with all its heartbreak.

And this song belongs on this list as well, it belongs on the top of the list and at the top of any list of any songs of greatness.

It starts off simply like all great pieces of literature, poetry and music, real simple almost as if it was not written by someone of his skill. But to me when the line: "Now I work down at the car wash where all it ever does is rain." comes in I am smacked in the face by the fact that I and very few people could ever write such a meaningful and succinct line that translates so much so simply.

This continues for the remainder of the song, "Joe I have to go, we had it once we ain't got it any more." It doesn't matter how much you explain the shatters of a relationship it always comes down to this fact, nothing more needs to be said. But even more than the words are the tempo in which he sings them and in all honesty I can't put my finger exactly on what makes it so appealing. However it is difficult to actually sing this song as there are too many syllables in certain parts which ensures that one will need to strain words together as if there were all one to begin with.

The bridge might be the most heartbreaking ever written, it is also the most universal. How many nights have you woke up in a sweat after a dream of an ex you were still in love with right after it was all over? If you haven't you never were in love, don't kid yourself. The halting of most of the music in the bridge invokes a dream like state, one of which you along with the narrator's heart is stopping. Could this be the break in the story when the reconcile? Is she going to be there?

"Last night I heard your voice
You were crying, crying, you were so alone
You said your love had never died
You were waiting for me at home
Put on my jacket, I ran through the woods
I ran till I thought my chest would explode
There in the clearing, beyond the highway
In the moonlight, our wedding house shone
I rushed through the yard, I burst through the front door
My head pounding hard, up the stairs I climbed
The room was dark, our bed was empty
Then I heard that long whistle whine
And I dropped to my knees, hung my head and cried"

She won't be, there's just that same whistle which is that same device used earlier, the whistle of loneliness.

Throughout the song there is the building up of steam to some resolution, to an end and in the final verse it comes to judgement. Just as the train is barrelling down the track the song is heading almost out of control, he awakes from the dream in the refrain and things have gotten progressively worse. No more car wash, no more dreams of her, only the nightmare of working a chain gang all hours of the day.

"Now I swing a sledge Hammer onaHARAILroaDGAng

Knockingdown themcrossties working in the rain
Now don't it feel like you're a riiiider on a doOOHOUNDWNbound train"

He could have killed her, he could have knocked off a liquor store (as in "Johnny 99"), he could have done anything but the fact remains that there is no happy ending nor even an ending at all here. This man's life is still barrelling forward while staying in the same place and it will be, by his current actions he is both literally and figuratively building the track for his downbound train to continue onward.

I have been listening to this version for almost a week now and have been while writing this (as an aside the best format to read these posts are while that particular song is playing, that is what I intend for the reader to do with all of them) and I can barely contain myself. My head is swimming around with so much emotion and visuals I don't even know if what I am writing is making sense. If in watching this video you are doing so as well then my idea is coming through, and if not give it some time.

"If I Should Fall Behind" Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band-Live in New York City

It should come as no surprise to readers of this blog what I think about this band and its leader. I can say that almost every time I sit down to bang out a post I have the urge to make it about Springsteen. To date I think I have only done one out of eighty something so I haven't beaten it to death.

I was raised Catholic but as the years progressed I never felt that relationship or connection, at times I worked at it, perhaps not hard enough, but still it never came about. That blissful revelation and connection people describe receiving through religion comes to me with his music. I learn, see life and have grown for the past fifteen years under his preachings.

Right now it is the early evening. I am sitting on my bed on the 20th floor of a hotel overlooking the Las Vegas skyline. I sit here waiting for a friend who, like most good friends, I met by pure luck and accident. That was four years ago and we have never lived remotely close to each other. However we get together a few times a year, as much as we can with our hectic, erratic schedules and it is always an awakening experience.

While doing cardio this song came on at random. Years ago while living on Perdido Key this was the song that came on after my six mile job, on the playlist it was just timed perfectly to come on at 51 minutes which was constantly my pace. I'd cool down with a walk along the azure waters of the Gulf and feel the sand between my toes before I went back to the house to study all night with the breezes wafting through the open windows until I passed out with a NATOPS on my chest.

The two connections above as well as others not mentioned, lovers, family and myriad of meanings that could be drawn on the existential level from this song carries gravitas and makes the song (which is usually just sung by Springsteen himself only) another little known classic by this legend. And forgive me for making this post a little more didactic.

The beauty of this version is that all members of the band sing a verse, in doing so we see five different singing styles, all unique and sublime. And when I listen to music I listen for the very small things: a chord here and there, a trail off of the voice, a hint of pain in the tone...many aspects which usually go unnoticed. In this selection it is easy to hear these things near the end when each member sings the same line:

"I'll wait for you, and should I fall behind, wait for me"

The Boss starts his in a very a matter of fact manner "Should we loose each other in the shadow of the evening's trees..". as if it is a foregone conclusion that it will happen.

Clarence sings as if he still has a sax in his mouth, you can hear the air moving in and out of his mouth in a deep, blowing gust of baritone.

Patti comes in at a high soprano which is her trademark singing style but then as she trails off a tiny bit of fragility and sexuality arises in the last "wait" like a sex kitten purring snuggled up in the sheets.

Stevie's voice is two six shooters drawn in rock and roll defiance, throwing in baby and drawing out the long "A" the first time, you can picture the blood dripping from his nails as he grapples and tears at her as she slides out of his grasp.

Nils's voice sounds like a mix between Tracy Chapman and Natalie Merchant with testosterone thrown in for measure, it is one of the strongest, subtle voices I have ever heard. I just get gitty when he starts with "Darling".

Finally they all come together and end with the same verse, and in doing so it is evident how they change and leave off a bit of their own styles when the quintet is joined. Listen to it time and time again and see how different aspects come to light.

I know not many people know of this song and even if they do I challenge them to listen to this version and concentrate on each note and breath, then apply that to every song you hear from this point on. In this song it is easy to point out the differences, others are significantly more difficult. Jazz and Classical is the final frontier in this matter and the scales are so much more complex that to the untrained ear it all blends together. It is out there though and I guarantee your musical life will be enhanced when it becomes natural.

"Djobi Djoba" Gipsy Kings-Gipsy Kings Live

The man in this picture is named Carlos O'Connor. With a last name like that I am pretty sure Carlos is not his first name but rather one that was given or taken later on in his life. He owns a Mexican restaurant in Red Bank and the place is cluttered with souvenirs from his travels. It is a small establishment and when I make the statement that one can barely move it is not hyperbole. It is cramped with surfboards, paintings, Christmas lights, old doors and windows and probably just about any other type of junk he picked up in his travels through Mexico, Central and South America.

I spent a great deal of time in this place as a teenager and the first few years of my 20's, funny thing is I hate Mexican food. Nonetheless, in high school myself, Bobby, Clancy, and MJ used to take the twenty minute trek southbound for very long dinners after a stressful day of high school, (trying to keep a straight face typing that line). The main reason why we went was not for the great atmosphere (which was second) but rather it was BYOB and Carlos being the laid back man that he was would let us drink away our sixteen year old troubles whenever we felt the need.

And that need arose quite frequently. We'd stop at the liquor store that served us on the way and grab two cases: One of Corona and the second, New Castle. Walking through the door we were always greeted by the six foot four frame, encased in black with a black hat of Carlos, always with a smile and a few kind words asking us how the sports teams were doing and more importantly how were those teenage girls treating us. He would have two large tin buckets of ice brought out in which to stuff our beers and we'd sit down usually at the same table with the post card of Springsteen tacked to the wall (this was mere miles away from his home) next to a pinata glowing with the red, green and orange lights that permeated the air.

We'd bullshit and be politely loud, never causing trouble while the other patrons looked on with delight rather than disdain. We'd laugh at each other and rarely at anyone else. It was pure and wholesome regardless of what the drinking laws stated. It was beautiful in the summer when we would pile in through the hot kitchen in the back with sand on our bare feet and salt in our hair, the boards on the roof of Bobby's CRX still dripping from the surf. We'd bring chicks and laugh harder while eying their tan legs void of any veins or cellulite and wonder what lied beneath their short jean shorts and tight t shirts. All the while The Gipsy Kings serenaded us in the background under the watchful eye of Carlos who, when engaged with a glance would smile and then look back down at the table he was sitting at and reach for a nacho (Carlos never drank).

I remember our waitress was usually this jet black haired exotic woman who resembled Al Pacino's character's wife in "Heat". Yea that one that is not particularly beautiful but possessed something that made her so terribly sexy. It was usually her who brought us our check for $45 dollars no matter how long we stayed to which we usually tipped 300% for her troubles and taking up the table for so long. It got to a point where we didn't even pay for food anymore and they stopped bringing us checks but rather knew we'd lay enough cash on the table to cover the night.

A few months ago I went back to Carlo's. It didn't have the same feel and was disappointing. It took a while for to register what the problem was until I discovered it was twofold. Bobby I hadn't seen in years even though he lives five miles away, MJ has a wife and kid, while Clancy was just gone. They all had their fall outs with each other and when I left (as I was the only one who was friends with all of them still) it just fell apart. After contemplating the trials of growing up and the separation I also realized that there was no salt and sand in my hair because I was balding and while the woman I was with was only three years older than the ones we brought in high school I knew what was under her short skirt and under all the short skirts in the world. It wasn't a score to know just as it wasn't a score to walk into the liquor store and get served. I had an Amex now, two cars, a career, fought in two wars, countless lovers, an ex-wife, a niece, a brother in law, a close call with addiction and over fifty countries that I've set foot in. I am not sure that corrupted the evening as much as not seeing a group of four sixteen year olds there laughing and drinking with the promise of the world ahead of them. I am not sure if it was corrupted because I desperately wished the boys were here with me, or that girl I saw in high school who is now eight months pregnant and slept on my lap the whole drive home one summer afternoon before I left for college. I guess it was all of it and because of that every time the Gipsy Kings come on I am torn between a smile and a tear. Maybe I should give them all a call.

"Gypsy" Fleetwood Mac-Mirage

I always feel as though most of these songs I write about pertain to women...

...however it always struck me that most all of the songs in the cannon that are about love were written by men. Are women just not the song writers that men are? Or as much as we think of them being beings that are more concerned about love and matters of the heart while men are more engaged in sex; could that possible be wrong?

As a man I can't answer that objectively.

The facts speak for themselves. In the old days there was Ida and George Gershwin, Rodgers and Hart. Then there came the slow, heartbreakingly sad country boys of the southern United States: George Jones, Hank Williams. Followed by Lou Reed, Bob Dylan, hell even Jimmy Buffett dedicated most of his albums to a woman he spent decades trying to land. The Stones, Beatles, Clapton, the amount of men who write about women leaving them, being by them, smelling them. It is epic in scope.

But then there is Stevie Nicks and my obsession with her. Possibly the reason for my obsession for her and this song is that this song is "The Song" that I lost my virginity to. While for a man not a sacred as a woman and more of something to get out of the way and from what I heard certainly not as painful or scary, I guess it is a big event to say the least. How did it happen? Well like many things in my fortunate life it was a great story. Not just a great story to me because of "losing it" but rather because it was a great story.

I was barely eighteen. I went to a small little strip club called "Hot 22" on route 22 in New Jersey. I went with friends as we usually did. I had sixty dollars in my pocket that my father had given me for the weekend. I went with two other friends who actually had jobs in high school and always had cash. We paid the fifteen dollar cover and sat down next to the stage. There was no booze and it was full nude.

At the time I had about zero experience with women so whenever we went what I was viewing in front of my face was a total revelation to me. I had seen it in magazines and on video but for the most part, actually not for the most part but outside of a strip club I have never seen those parts before in my entire life. So we sat there with out singles folded in half, length-wise on the bar and watched as women picked them up in strange and exotic ways. As usual one of them came up to me and asked me for a dance. Having only forty five dollars in my pocket I always had to be selective but made the decision that this one was worth the twenty.

We went in the back room and did what you do.

I came back to my seat after tucking a certain body part under my belt with a rouge face and a little embarrassment, sat down in the chair next to my two boys who asked me how it was with a smile on their faces when another woman came by, put her hand on my shoulder and spoke.

"You are cheating on me."
"Uh, really? What are you talking about?"
"I wanted to have a dance with you."
"Well I am sorry but..."
"Let's have a dance."
"Well, I only, I mean I, just let me sit for a while..."
"No, let's go now."

One of my boys slipped me two twenties before I left and we headed back into the room together.

When we got there I assumed the position: hands under the seat, legs somewhat spread and watched her take off her thong. She straddled me and told me I was the cutest thing she had ever seen. We made small talk, well, she made small talk as I was always terribly shy and with little to say. I was intimidated constantly in that back room and felt more ashamed by the fact that at this point I have never even gotten to third base.

She asked me if I had an older brother, which I felt was terribly strange. She asked me if I had ever made love to a woman. I said no. She asked if I had ever, ahem, been down there on a woman. I said no. She told me that this was something I should certainly learn as no woman would want to be with a man who had no idea what he was doing. In stuttering speech I somehow had the presence of mind to say "Well would you like to teach me?" wondering just how she would react and how embarrassing it was going to be when she laughed it off. This was about four songs into the dance and beyond the amount of money I had in my pocket. She came back as she had her back to me, with it arched and threw her long, dirty blond hair over her should and said: "Of course I can show you sweetie." At that point I was frozen, I had no idea what the hell just happened and what the words both her and I just said meant. She turned around and straddled me again, whispered in my ear and said: "When you leave here I'll be on stage again, write your phone number on a dollar and tip me, I'll give you a call."

And I did it as stunned as I was. A week later I received the call. She said to meet her at her place which was in the next town over from where I lived with my parents. She answered the door in sweat pants and a tight wife beater. She smiled. I was very nervous, I was more nervous than I have ever been in my life. She undressed me and took me under her wing. From that second on I felt entirely comfortable for the rest of the night. There was no nervousness, no strange feelings or awkwardness. It was natural and pure. She was sweet, loving and understanding. And when it all started this song was playing.

I wouldn't say I left as a changed man. Certainly I had a new insight into the world and finally felt like a man. However I had a story no one would believe so it was impossible to tell most of the friends I had. It also was a little terrifying to know that this 29 year old woman took her clothes off and showed what I just had first hand, free looks and feels at for a living.

Many years later I moved to San Diego. One of the first weeks I was there a buddy and I met these two women in a bar in the Gaslamp district. They had the same name actually and they were about as much fun as women could be with their clothes on. We met them on a Friday and while they didn't give in that first night they did (or at least mine did) on the second. It was on the floor of one of her friend's place in Pacific Beach.

The next day I remember driving on the five back to Coronado and as I passed the airport on the right with the harbour shining in the Cali sun in all its splendor this song came on the radio. I was in my old Range Rover with the sunroof open. I was still a little drunk and high from the night before and with that warm sun beating on my head and shoulders I turned up the volume and started singing. Life was amazing and there was no way it could get any better. I rode this song onto the Coronado bridge back to my room at the BOQ at NAB Coronado with the SEALs running and getting the shit kicked out of them as I passed through the gate.

Later that day I was jogging on the beach back when I could do so with no shirt on and people would stare in awe rather than disgust. The cold currents of the Cortez Bank were washing ashore and under my bare feet, there were planes landing on 29 across the beach and over the Dell and Springsteen was keeping me company on my CD player (shows you how times have changed).

I thought at the time how beautiful life was, how that woman from last night was willing to give herself to me and how she looked in the shadows reflecting into that window of that street off of Garnett. How eight years earlier that woman gave herself and an education to me and how everyone sitting on that beach I was running on had some type of similar story.

I have no idea where either of those two woman are to this day. But I know at least a little bit of them are always with me just as all of the rest. Some more than others, and I hope that they in some way remember the nights I had with them because I certainly do. Some may think it is sleazy or dirty to have so many but I believe the opposite. They were all beautiful and I was madly in love with all of them at that time in which we consummated our night together. In a world with so much hatred and meanness, well, all we can ask for is such kindness and love. I know Stevie would agree and I would love to show her my appreciation.

"La Vie en Rose" Marlene Dietrich-Marlene Dietrich Live in London

For the past few nights I've been spending after midnight at a small bistro after hours, when the chairs are on the table, the light are on and the door is locked. There's two women I've spent my time with drinking Bordeaux and smoking strong cigarettes infused with conversation in a tongue not my own. One woman was born in Brasil, lived in LA via Miami and is now here in New York, the other is straight up French, born in Burgundy and moved here after years and years of travel throughout the hotspots of the globe. Just two nights ago we were talking about Carla Bruni and how she used to spend hours in the corner table at said restaurant, how she was a known party girl and had been with everyone from musicians to financiers, and actors. I sat there at the corner table smoking Reds, drinking wine and discussing all the important ant things in life, well, to the French the only important thing in life; love.

There's something terribly entrancing to an American man listening to such women speak with such beautiful accents. There's something entrancing dealing with such women who are not concerned with what the Kardashians are doing, nor how tan The Situation is and just how absurd his life and persona actually is, whether it be on screen or in Belmar.

So we sat there like characters in a film noir speaking about our lives and our loves without pretense, without jealously, for in the end that is simply the way love and lovers live there life. An idea so foreign to American men and women who find themselves caught up in the grind and superficiality of what this county and its pop culture has become. Beautiful nights they have been, beautiful nights speaking about menage a trois with lovers while never implying such an event would ever transpire between the three of us seated at the peasant like table cleaned of and ready with pure white linens for the next day of new patrons.

And for that there is the cliche of that lifestyle, of a people who really don't care what the next day holds, because why would one live for tomorrow when there is so much living to be done today. You want a drink; drink it. Your want a cigarette; smoke it. What could be holding you back from enjoying the pleasures that life could bring at this very moment?

Marlene Dietrich is probably the sexiest woman who ever roamed the planet. Born in Germany, witch a penchant for those not only of the opposite sex but of the same, a woman who was steadfast in her principles and revolted against her motherland of Germany during the Nazi era. In short a woman who not only had the female assets to ensure her place in society but the balls to run up against any takers who came into combat against her beliefs. In a word the perfect iconoclast.

And whether it was that iconoclastic beliefs, her sexuality or those terribly red lips in a black dress busting out into the world letting all know she was for real, whatever the reason why she maintains the title of perfect femininity in a world that at this current time lacks it in great measure; whatever the reasons that may be she has carved out a niche in the world that can never be replaced.

A wold that has fallen by the wayside, a world that loves to hold said persons as legends but not for the right reasons, in short she was the female version of Sinatra. She did what she did and never asked questions, and on nights such as these when I am drunk on martinis and red wine, nights such as these when I am searching for someone to come home to be tender with, to drink wine until the sun comes up and listen to everything she has to say...I wonder whether or not there are such amazing women out there ready to lay down with me and tell me their dreams. It might be an unrealistic dream but I am confident there are a multitude of Marlenes out there wandering around the cold streets of New York searching for a man. I only hope I run into their lives somewhere along the road.