…And, geez, I’m back to liking this version again. Maybe it’s the time of the year that’s the trigger?
So, this morning I’m drinking my brunch in an Irish bar waiting for the rest of the family to finish up going to church…
IT WAS A GLORIOUS MOMENT OF PURE, CRYSTALLINE AWESOME, ACTUALLY. THANKS FOR ASKING.
…anyway, so this comes up on the jukebox.
And I think to myself, Yup. That tears it. Next time, go with the Ploughman’s Platter.
Well, that and Dammit, this bar needs Wi-fi so that I can watch that Lawrence Welk thing.
Note that the Amazon link is to the considerably more hard-rocking version. Not voluntarily, mind you: it’s heresy of me to even hint at this, but I kind of like this one when it’s done low and slow.
…which is entertaining, because two years ago I had the exact opposite opinion. And two years from now I will probably flip-flop again.
The odd paradox of Bruce Springsteen is that he got ahead in this world by singing legitimately powerful and heartfelt songs about… how people like Bruce Springsteen can’t get ahead in this world.
Oops. On the other hand, what is he supposed to do? Give back the money and awards? I wouldn’t.
You could write a doctoral dissertation – or, at least a masters’ dissertation – on the multilayers of irony that are represented by this song, how it was entertainingly subverted by the Right, and how its history is in itself a humorous subversion of said song’s underlying message. In fact, probably somebody already has; I only hope that it’s vaguely readable. I get the impression that many aren’t.
Dag, but we all got older, huh?
PS: Don’t think of it as a week-long revisiting of Springsteen; think of it as a long-term plot to convince Gov. Chris Christie’s staff that they want to have him do an phone interview with me for RedState. Which he totally should: all the cool governors do phone interviews with us…