Bruce Springsteen

By Don Henry Ford Jr.

While some say an artist of Springsteen’s stature doesn’t belong in our

world, I beg to differ. Just because an artist achieves success in the

larger arena of popular music doesn’t mean he can’t or isn’t part of

the Americana movement.

 

Are we to throw out Johnny Cash, Waylon and Willie, Robert Earl Keen

and Pat Green because they too found success—make an exclusive club of

only those that fail to be accepted by traditional circles? Or are we

to invite them in where they belong and raise the standard—achieve the

credibility we desire? In my book all of these get included. Along with

the Johns—people like Mellencamp, Prine, Hiatt, and Fogerty. And maybe

a few others that don’t come to mind right now.

For my money there is no other artist that better represents what it is

to be an American. In Bruce Springsteen’s music you will find the roots

and branches and the soul of Americana music. A man that sees and feels

and breathes the spirit of our country; chronicles our fears, doubts,

triumphs and passions like no other.

The man may have been born in Jersey but I proclaim him an honorary

Texan, if he’ll have us. (I think he will too—a couple of the songs on

his latest speak of Texas.)

As I write this, Bruce’s latest, Devils and Dust, plays in the

background. The only word that comes to mind right now is great. This

one’s acoustical and has both a CD and a DVD on the same disc. It’s

soft, introspective and spiritual—the kind of album I suspect won’t

sell.

People looking for more of the hard driving sound he’s famous for.

Money isn’t everything.

Bruce Springsteen took me through some tough times. I don’t think I’d

be the man I am absent his contribution. In fact, I know I wouldn’t be.

I listened to him while I struggled with wild and destructive desires

of youth. I learned of love and hate and trust and deception and greed

and sharing while he strummed and shouted his way through life in the

background. He struggled alongside me and shared his experience with

his words and his music. Sounds like he still struggles a bit and he

still shares.

Bruce sees. The things most ignore. And then he raises the mirror and

forces us to do the same—to see what this country really is—a wonderful

country made of diverse peoples—but a country with flaws. Bruce teaches

of love and life and tears and joy and sorrow and pain, of doubts and

fear and balls-to-the-wall ears-laid-back plunges into life with

abandon. How nothing good comes without risk, and that to truly

experience the greatest blessings one must also risk tasting loss and

defeat, sometimes even destruction.

Bruce is not of the elite class. His songs speak to the common man—the

workers, the bikers, the cowboys, the soldiers, and the single moms,

women of the night, young lovers, even an outlaw in a stolen car.

Preachers, priests, homosexual lovers, saints and sinners—sometimes in

the same skin.

Bruce Springsteen is a model for what I hope the Americana movement should be about. Let’s welcome him in with open arms.

We have everything to gain if we do and a hell of a lot to lose if we don’t.

I am not going to waste a lot of time telling you about Bruce for we

all know the story. I just want to say thanks. You have been a big

brother to me.