Miss Piggy Lunchbox

Dear Bruce,

Oh boy. Believe me, this hurts me more than it hurts you. After all, you’ve got your millions of dollars and your sycophantic fans and journalists who think you have the Midas touch. I’m sure it’s all very fulfilling.

But between us, Bruce, between you and me, the magic just isn’t there anymore. I’m sorry, Bruce, but I’m leaving you.

I tried to put this off as long as I could, but you and I have both known it was coming for a long time. Things started going downhill at The Rising, and for a long time I thought that our problems had only been going on for the last seven years. I thought you would turn it around again, like you did after 1992’s unfortunate Human Touch, but shit, Bruce, once I really sat down and thought about it, that turnaround, as far as contemporary material was concerned, was basically just The Ghost Of Tom Joad. That’s one great studio album in the last 20 years. You had me fooled during that turnaround by showering me with greatest hits albums, box sets of old, unreleased stuff, and fantastic live performances, but the other day I realized I’ve been living a lie for over two decades now. I even largely overlooked a mediocre CD of Pete Seeger covers. Christ, Bruce, how do you screw up Pete Seeger?

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to attack you. I’m just trying to point out that the signs have been there for a long time…we just have to wake up and see them. I’m finally admitting to myself how empty it is for me. Only you can do the same for you.

Believe me, this is just as sudden for me as it is for you. Like I said, I really did think a turnaround was right around the corner. But when I was in the record store picking this album off the shelf, I originally had the version with the DVD in it in my hand (you know me and my rules, right?). Anyway…the thought of watching you narcissistically discuss this album for 40 minutes made me sick…literally nauseous. I put it down and saved myself the extra five bucks and 40 minutes. That’s when I knew that this was your last chance. If this album wasn’t great, or even just unequivocally good (say, Lucky Town or Tunnel Of Love good), then I would move on, no matter how hard it was.

And then you go and name the album Working On A Dream. Come on…did you let the neighbor kids name it? See, this is the problem, man. You’ve been over this ground again and again and again. It’s all trite garbage you used to leave on the cutting room floor. Your unreleased throwaways, as the masterful Tracks demonstrates, used to be better than this, but now you’re making it the centerpiece of your Super Bowl halftime show. The lyrics, which were the only extravagantly good thing about Devils & Dust, are now just leftover, generic, hard-luck blue-collar imagery about “love shining down” that even Mellencamp wouldn’t touch, and the tunes are plain-Jane forgettable.

No, you’re right, you’re right…. You did tone down that snarly, hick vocalization thing that drove me so nuts on Devils And Dust and, less so, on Magic like I asked you to. You’re a sweet guy (remember that time you couldn’t make it to my birthday but you sent a card with J-mez?…that was awesome), and I believe you’re trying your best, but…jeez, this album makes those last few sound pretty damned good.

I don’t know. Maybe the money and the fame changed you. You kept it going longer than any mortal should have been able to, but now when you sing about outlaws, your weary hands swinging a hammer down, and what love can do…there’s nothing true in it anymore…you have no connection to those lives you sing about other than some saccharine caricature in your head. The spark is gone, Bruce. No amount of glossy liner notes can hide the fact that you’re compensating. Not even an entire choir of gospel singers in front of the world’s largest television audience can mask this inadequacy.

We’ll always have 1973 – 1987. Nothing can take that away from us, and know I’ll always treasure those moments. I’ll still be rooting for you to find that magic again, but the days of me buying your album shortly after its release are over. I’ll be there listening to the old stuff, loving the old Bruce. I still love that Boss…I just don’t know what happened to him. I feel like he still might be there…like I caught a glimpse of him when reading the excerpt from Danny Federici’s eulogy. If you see him, send him my love. If you don’t, I beg you to ride off nobly into the sunset like so many of your characters.

Sincerely,

KEN

P.S. It’s not even about Brendan anymore. It’s just you, Bruce. It’s just you.

Rating:

Mixers: “Good Eye,” “The Wrestler”
Keepers: “My Lucky Day,” “Life Itself,” “Surprise, Surprise,” “The Last Carnival”
Filed Between: Magic and Stanley, Son of Theodore: Yet Another Alternative Music Sampler

Tags: 2 lunchboxes, 2009, CD reviews, music

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 17th, 2009 at 5:39 pm and is filed under CD reviews, music. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.