It’s strange to think that, without a catastrophe the size of the 9/11 attacks, a musical statement such as this might have gone unrealized.
True, Bruce Springsteen had already made plans to record a new album with the E Street Band for the first time in 18 years. True, some of the songs they likely would have recorded had already been shown in Bruce’s live show to be as powerful and articulate as anything he’d ever written.
True, the band (finally sporting the twin lead guitars of Steven Van Zandt and Nils Lofgren) had never sounded better. But then came 9/11, and there’s little to suggest that The Rising would have come into existence if not for the soul-shaking reckoning with which the terrorist attacks confronted us all.
Thankfully, Springsteen, one of the great documenters of the American condition, was around to comment on it. The album that has emerged as that comment, The Rising, is an unqualified masterpiece, a towering examination of mortality, the eternal and the spirit of which we must not lose sight.
Odd as it may seem, The Rising is filled with dark imagery. Even a good portion of the song titles (“Lonesome Day,” “Into The Fire,” “Waitin’ On A Sunny Day,” “Empty Sky,” “You’re Missing,” “My City of Ruins”) express the tangled web of blues out of which “The Boss” is trying to find his way.
Even “Mary’s Place,” which, on first glance, seems to be the latest in Bruce’s long line of great party rockers, is actually celebrating life through the context of a wake being held for a recently departed friend. It is a testament to Springsteen’s understanding of the linked nature of blues and gospel (perhaps influenced by his acknowledged exposure to the writing of University of Wisconsin professor Craig Werner) that he can then attack those blues with gospel conviction, attempting to bring us all to a higher ground, both in this dark time and in the overall.
The fact that the album is titled The Rising is by no means incidental. “The Rising” is also the name of the album’s truly anthemic (a term to which all attached cliché is destroyed in this performance) title song, a song that stands as a spiritual rebirth, complete with gospel call-and-response and the hardest-driving, loudest-rocking backbeat of Springsteen’s (and of drummer Max Weinberg’s) career.
It’s the church of rock ‘n’ roll that Springsteen has so often spoken of, but it stands in tandem with the darkest depths of real human existence. “You’re Missing,” a simply constructed and endlessly poignant depiction of loss, is just as enduring a statement as “The Rising” and “My City Of Ruins,” here presented in a straight-up soul arrangement eerily reminiscent of fellow preacher Curtis Mayfield’s “People Get Ready.”
The song ends the album with both catharsis and ambiguity, wishing us the best as it sends us along the road where, as Springsteen puts it, “the miles are marked in blood and gold” (That lyric comes from “Further On (Up The Road),” which is another seamless blending of blues reality and gospel hope, as well as the album’s fiercest rocker).
Although the lyrical/thematic content would cement The Rising as an instant classic, the album also stands as one of Springsteen’s most musically solid. Brendan O’Brien, who has previously shared his talents with artists ranging from Soundgarden to Neil Young (who apparently tipped off occasional cohort Nils Lofgren to O’Brien’s abilities), gives The Rising a fat rock and soul sound that allows every give-and-take that each individual instrument required, as well as Bruce’s never-better vocals.
Unlike earlier albums, which suffered from thin and keyboard-heavy production (not that keys players Danny Federici and Roy Bittan have been erased from these songs, but their talents are used far more subtlely and effectively this time around), The Rising is driven by guitar (coming from the three-axe attack of Lofgren, Springsteen and Van Zandt), Garry Tallent’s rumbling bass and Weinberg’s drums, along with some nice string surprises.
Along with Lofgren’s dobro and Van Zandt’s mandolin, waves of new band member Soozie Tyrell’s violin sweep over nearly every track, arguably best on “You’re Missing.” As perfect as the chemistry between the members of the E Street Band is, Tyrell’s addition is an absolute positive.
In addition, on “Worlds Apart,” the album’s least-typically “Springsteen” song, Qawwali shouters led by Asif Ali Khan add an all-important international dimension to Springsteen’s vision of suffering and redemption.
Also contributing to the mix throughout the entire album are the brittle, angelic background vocals of Patti Scialfa (nearly all the other band members join her in the choir) and Clarence Clemons’ wise and measured saxophone-playing. Clemons has always been Bruce’s best weapon against the darkness, and “The Big Man” continues to blow the devil down.
National unity was something of an illusion to begin with, and it’s only gotten worse since the immediate sting of Sept. 11 has worn off.
Still, what the best preachers and poets have always done is shown us our common humanity, a humanity which is neither perfect nor deserving of condemnation.
Springsteen does not wave the flag, nor does he burn it. It is the people who he loves most.
In “Into The Fire,” Springsteen offers what is nothing else than a prayer, a blessing for the future as we all walk into it together, hand-in-hand or otherwise.
So, paraphrasing that blessing, I offer this: May his strength give us strength, may his faith give us faith, may his hope give us hope, may his love give us love. Thanks Boss.
Peace.
