Bruce on the box

I'm hoping Bruce Springsteen's half-time show pops up on Hulu at some point; meanwhile, I was able to piece it together with a YouTube search. I don't hold out much hope for his new album, but he and the band were terrific last night. Bruce still has the moves, even if it seemed like he needed to borrow James Harrison's oxygen mask toward the end.

The president and the Boss

A radio station needn't obtain advance permission before playing a particular song by a particular musician. Same with a nightclub. Under copyright law, you're free to play copyrighted music as long as you pay a fee.

That goes for politicians, too. In today's Washington Post, Christopher Sprigman and Siva Vaidhyanathan explain why musicians such as Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart, the Foo Fighters and others have no legal basis in objecting to the McCain campaign's use of their songs. The campaign, they note, has paid its licensing fees, and that should be the end of it. (Via Altercation.)

It's a free-speech issue, and, as such, we should be just as vigilant against Jackson Browne's attempt to censor the Republicans as we are about, say, Sarah Palin's redefinition of freedom of the press as a "privilege."

The man who wrote the book on how to respond to an unwanted political embrace was Bruce Springsteen. In 1984, Ronald Reagan, running for re-election, gave a shoutout to Springsteen, whose "Born in the U.S.A." had set off a boomlet of patriotic fervor. Though in actuality it was a bitter antiwar anthem, the upbeat music had confused more than a few conservatives into thinking Bruce had cast his lot with the "Morning in America" crowd.

Shortly thereafter, Springsteen, at a concert in Pittsburgh, introduced his song "Johnny 99" — about an unemployed auto worker-turned-murderer — with this:

The president was mentioning my name the other day, and I kinda got to wondering what his favorite album musta been. I don't think it was the 'Nebraska' album. I don't think he's been listening to this one.

And that was the end of that. (Wikipedia reference verified by my steel-trap memory.)

Update: Looks like some news organizations are pushing an overly restrictive interpretation of copyright law, too — even going so far as to demand that YouTube delete some McCain ads that use news clips.

Photo (cc) by Music Master and republished here under a Creative Commons license. Some rights reserved. And in case you were wondering, yes, that's a wax figure, not the real Bruce.

Welcome back, Bruce

A couple of months ago I wrote an exceedingly unkind commentary for the Guardian about Bruce Springsteen's then-forthcoming album, "Magic." I thought the single released in advance of the album, "Radio Nowhere," sounded generic enough to have been recorded by a Springsteen imitator. Given that his last two albums of original material were the loathsome "The Rising" (2003) and the instantly forgettable "Devils & Dust" (2005), I didn't hold out much hope for "Magic."

Well, now. I've been listening to "Magic" for a month, and I'm both chagrined at my earlier haste and pleasantly surprised. I still don't like "Radio Nowhere," but it's not so bad when it kicks off his best album in many years. I realize I'm late to the party here, but I have to buy my CDs like everyone else. I figured I'd at least have my say before Springsteen hits Boston later this week.

What gives "Magic" its strength is that Springsteen has abandoned the strained attempts at profundity that marred "The Rising" and "Devils." I'm hardly the first to say this (Springsteen himself says it here), but "Magic" is a pop album — the closest he's come to such an achievement since "Tunnel of Love" (1987). "Tunnel," in turn, might be his last completely satisfying album, depending on how you feel about "The Ghost of Tom Joad" (1995). I like "Tom Joad," but I realize that a lot of people don't.

Smack dab in the middle of "Magic" is "Girls in Their Summer Clothes," perhaps the most perfect little pop song Springsteen has ever written. The underlying melancholy in the chorus — "The girls in their summer clothes, pass me by" — befits someone in his late 50s.

It's not all confection by any means. There's a current of antiwar sentiment here, stated most explicitly on "Last to Die." The album is full of highlights, but right now I'm loving "You'll Be Coming Down" and "Your Own Worst Enemy," two relaxed, mid-tempo rockers. Bruce's confidence in his material shines through in his singing, too — he's dropped some the annoying tics that had crept in over the years, such as swallowing the ends of his lines.

A word, though, about Brendan O'Brien's production: terrible. I don't understand what Springsteen sees in this guy. I understand that Springsteen wants to update his sound, and some of O'Brien's little flourishes, like the strings that open "Girls," are nice. But the sound is muddy and distorted throughout. "Magic" is almost OK on my iPod, but it's nearly unlistenable in my car. It's as if I'm listening to a radio station that's not quite tuned in.

Maybe recording last year's fine album of old folk songs, "We Shall Overcome," re-energized Springsteen's writing. Other than "Girls in Their Summer Clothes," I don't know if we'll be humming any of these 10 years from now. But this is a genuine comeback.

"Magic" is coming; magic is gone

In my latest for The Guardian, I explain why I'm not looking forward to "Magic," the forthcoming album by Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band.

Update: You can't take on Bruce without having to fend off his hordes of fans. I have more to say here, complete with ratings for every one of his albums.