Walk Like a Man Coming of Age with the Music of Bruce Springsteen

by Wiersema, Robert J.

• ISBN13: 9781553658450
• ISBN10: 1553658450
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2011-10-11
• Publisher: Greystone Books

Summary

A frank, funny, and inventive blend of biography, music criticism, and memoir told in thirteen tracks. As he enters his sixties, Bruce Springsteen remains a paragon of all that is cool in the world of rock. He's a genuine voice of the people, the bastard child of Woody Guthrie and James Brown, and an elder statesman who has inspired generations of bands. He's won twenty Grammy Awards, an Oscar, two Golden Globes, and is a member of two Halls of Fame. There are dozens of books about Springsteen. What's left to say? Nothing objective, perhaps. But when it comes to music, objectivity is highly overrated. Robert Wiersemahas been a Springsteen fan since he was a teenager, following tours to see multiple shows in a row, watching set lists develop in real time via the Internet, ordering bootlegs from shady vendors in Italy. His attachment is deeper than fandom, though: he's grown up with Springsteen's songs as the soundtrack to his life, beginning with his youth in rural British Columbia and continuing on through dreams of escape, falling in love, and becoming a father. Walk Like a Manis the liner notes for a mix tape, a blend of biography, music criticism, and memoir. Like the best mix tapes, it balances joy and sorrow, laughter seasoning the dark-night-of-the-soul questions that haunt us all. Wiersema's book is the story of a man becoming a man (despite getting a little lost along the way), and of Springsteen's songs and life that have accompanied him on his journey.

Author Biography

Robert J. Wiersema is an independent bookseller, a reviewer who contributes regularly to several national newspapers, and the best-selling author of two novels: Before I Wake and Bedtime Story. He lives in Victoria, British Columbia, with his wife, Cori Dusmann, and their son, Xander.

Excerpts

10. Brilliant Disguise On April 4, 2005, Bruce Springsteen took the stage of the Two River Theater in Red Bank, New Jersey, for a performance unlike any he had ever given. As part of VH1's "Storytellers" series, he appeared on a bare stage, with only his songbook, a harmonica, a piano and a guitar. Springsteen had performed solo and acoustic previously - for the Ghost of Tom Joad tour, for example, which took him around the world. And he had done an audience question-and-answer period before, at the two concerts he performed in support of Double Take magazine in Somerville, Massachussetts, in early 2003.But the "Storytellers" performance was different by design. It wasn't just a concert, it was an inquiry into process, inspiration, and creation. As the series title suggests, it was to be an evening's worth of stories, and Springsteen delivered. Over the course of almost two hours, he dissected eight songs spanning his career, discussing his songwriting process and laying bare both his craft and his soul. As he takes the stage, Springsteen is clearly uncomfortable. He cops to the strangeness of discussing his creative process by describing it as "an iffy proposition," then continues, "Talking about music is like talking about sex. Can you describe it? Are you supposed to?" His opening comments on "Devils and Dust" are stilted and clearly scripted. As the show progresses, however, he seems to find his groove, and he makes some stunning disclosures. Most significant among these is his discussion of how his public and private faces interact, during his introduction to "Brilliant Disguise." "We all have multiple selves," he says. "That's just the way we're built. We've got sort of this public self, this public face we show to others. I'm wearing mine right now." He recounts his fondness for strip clubs and mentions the two people who object to his going: his wife and "that holier-than-thou bastard Bruce Springsteen." He goes on to describe a meeting with fans as he leaves a strip club, one of whom remarks, "Bruce, you're not supposed to be here." His response - that he's a figment of Springsteen's self and that "Bruce doesn't even know I'm missing" is surreal, with the ring of truth. He then remarks on how "Brilliant Disguise" has changed for him over time, from a song about the separation of identities to a hymn of communion. "When you sing the song with somebody you love it turns into something else, I think. It becomes a song of a reaffirmation of the world's mysteries, its shadows, our frailties and the acceptance of those frailties, without which there is no love."The version of the song which follows, which he sings with Patti Scialfa, is haunting. There are still secrets, still questions, it says, but there always will be. That's the nature of the world. Public faces, private lives. It's true for all of us.# # #It's about four hours' drive from the Peace Arch border crossing to Portland, Oregon, on a good day. Add in the drive time from the ferry, and the wait at the border, and you're looking at five plus. Greg was waiting for me when I walked out of the ferry terminal. It was late afternoon, August. High summer, and the heat felt like a wall coming out of the air- conditioned building. It was less than two weeks into the tour for "The Rising," and we were doing back-to-back shows, Portland and Tacoma. Springsteen Inc. was trying something new with this tour: a general admission floor, with a fenced-off area in front of the stage for the first 300 or so fans in line. We were determined to be in the pit, and that meant taking a day off work to wait in line. Sometimes it's hard to tell how things begin. Was it going out for pie at the Lakeview Diner when I was home for weekends during university? Was it those afternoons on the beach, with our broken hearts and our woman-hating music? Was it before that, back in Home Ec, talking about heavy metal and jerking off? Where did the Circle of Men begin? The Circle of Men is a term Greg thought of, years ago, and it comes with its own rules. Chief among them is that nothing leaves the Circle: what is talked about over pie, or in the dark, stays there. (I'm adhering to that, by the way. Greg will read these pages first, and anything you read here has been released willingly from the Circle.) I've discovered, over the years, that I don't really do casual acquaintances. I don't have so-so friends. I gravitate toward intense, frank friendships. Greg and Peter and me? Nothing is off the table. No truth too hard, no secret too deep. It started off casually enough that evening, talking about the live Springsteen show we were listening on the drive. But when we got to "All That Heaven Will Allow," one of the sweetest, most nakedly romantic songs from "Tunnel of Love," the conversation turned personal."So what are your five biggest regrets?" Greg asked me. I thought for a moment. "I don't regret anything I've done," I said, staring out at the lights and the darkness. "The things I didn't do ""Jenn," he said, correctly, with the certainty reserved for old friends."What about you?"He had a list. When he was done, it was my turn to ask a question. "What are the best things you've done?"He talked about going to grad school, moving into the hinterland to get teaching experience. He talked about his daughters.The night continued like that, swapping questions back and forth. What's the worst thing you've ever done?If you could do one thing over?What was your worst moment?We talked about everything. Nothing was off the table. We talked about the frustrations of the day-to-day, about being fathers, what had surprised us and what hadn't. We talked about our sex lives, how things were different now that there were babies in the house, how things were after pregnancy and childbirth. We were completely candid, completely open.Except I wasn't.It's strange. Greg knows more about me than just about anyone in the world, but I froze. He knows every dirty thing I've ever done, every shame, every failing, and he has never, not once, judged or scorned.But I couldn't tell him how I was feeling.I couldn't tell him how scared I was, how uncertain. My wife, Cori, seemed to do everything so naturally, and the new fathers we knew seemed to take to it so effortlessly, while I stumbled at every turn. It wasn't just the practicalities: I had no idea how to be. How did I get out of my own head enough to really connect with the little boy who was looking to me? How did I put myself aside in favour of someone else?"So when you look at me you better look hard and look twice Is that me baby or just a brilliant disguise?"