Of course this album is supposed to matter. It’s Bruce Springsteen. And Brendan O’Brien. So as a starting point it is at least decent. Add to all that the fact that these songs are taken from the same sessions as 2007’s Magic, and Springsteen’s got himself a winning formula. On paper, anyway. You see, it is all well and good that Springsteen and O’Brien came together for another album’s worth of material, especially for cynics of popular music (like myself). The problem is simply this: a songwriter has to write songs, not just excuses to put a record out. And one of the main jobs of the producer is to make damn sure that happens.
But, oh dear, both seem to commit a half-fail on this one. It’s odd, really: There’s a great half of a record here, and a half that is one giant stutter-step. As Springsteen notes on his official site, “All the songs [on Dream] were written quickly, we usually used one of our first few takes, and we all had a blast making this one from beginning to end.” Considering Springsteen was once known as a studio perfectionist, the above quote should prove as a shock to fans. Perhaps that chicken was not quite done, sir. Hell, it’s bleeding into the pan.
It is as if Springsteen ran out of ideas halfway through recording and just wrote a series of quasi-songs in an attempt to reach 45 minutes because, damn it, this album is an essential addition to his catalogue!
That is to say, if, by essential, you mean footnote. Working on a Dream is basically a glorified B-sides record. But, on the plus side, it is not a total loss.
When Springsteen does not try so hard, he is at his best. The bluegrass-y tune “Tomorrow Never Knows” (no, not that one) chugs along over a sparse arrangement, while album closer (not counting the bonus track) “The Last Carnival,” a tribute to the late Danny Federici, is a gentle, acoustic ballad that ranks among his best.
However, when “The Boss” does try to rock out, it is pathetic — like watching your sexagenarian father try to crossover Kevin Garnett. “Surprise, Surprise” limps along an anemic beat and even weaker riff, and “This Life” just goes nowhere.
What comes close to salvaging this mess is the carefully optimistic songwriting. Even the titles suggest a sunny, if partly cloudy, demeanor: “My Lucky Day,” “What Love Can Do” and the title track all have that life-forward quality to them. But the lyrics to “Surprise, Surprise” tell the story best: “So let’s blow out the candles on your cake/ And we’ll raise a glass or two/ And when the sun comes out tomorrow, it’ll be the start of a brand new day.” Apart from the Dylan-like opener, “Outlaw Pete,” and “Carnival,” this album finds Springsteen on an endorphin high.
But optimism can’t save stale songwriting — just ask John Rzeznik. Yes, it is nice to see that Springsteen has not reverted to flooding his fans with a second album’s worth of venomous anger this late in his career. On that level, Working on a Dream is a joy. But in terms of structure, execution and pacing it is barely passable. A nightmare it isn’t, but this ain’t no dream I’d like to have, either.
2 ? stars out of 5.
