Bruce Springsteen – Working On a Dream

Should have spent time working on a better album cover

Everything about Working On a Dream feels rushed. Part of that may be due to the fact that Bruce Springsteen hasn’t released back-to-back albums so rapidly in over thirty years. And part of it may be the political opportunism — the titular song was debuted live at a support rally for President Obama a few months ago — but, truth be told, the majority of these tracks were conceived during the Magic sessions in 2007, which renders such observations moot.

I think the primary reason this Dream seems so uncommitted is that the songs just aren’t up to par — Magic had production flaws, but the songs themselves were solid, and some of the best work he’d done in years. On WoaD, sadly, this is not the case. In fact, the album’s best song, “The Wrestler,” isn’t even an official part of the tracklisting — it was a bonus cut written for Darren Aronofsky’s film, thrown in for good measure.

The album’s opener, Outlaw Pete, is an eight-minute rollicking rocker that harkens back to the days of Born to Run, showcasing The Boss at his most unhinged. The narrative of the song, too, feels like classic Springsteen; whereas Magic and The Rising concerned themselves with political overtones (even Magic’s lead single, Radio Nowhere, had an air of pessimism), it’s somewhat ironic that an album so heavily tied to a presidential campaign is mostly devoid of such material. The KISS riff on Pete is just as recycled as Radio Nowhere’s Tommy Tutone jangle, but it works about as well.

Sadly, the album peaks early. My Lucky Day is standard fare, something kinda catchy that gets stuck in your head but isn’t necessarily very good. The title track is similarly empty, but just as enjoyable. The fourth track, however — named Queen of the Supermarket — is just embarrassing. As if the title alone weren’t a clear indication, it sounds like 2009 Bruce Springsteen doing a self-parody of his 1979 incarnation. Back then, The Boss’ romanticizing of the working class had a naive idealism at its core, and it seemed honest; his characters felt real; the music sounded experienced, like it had been lived in. Now, it just feels hokey; you can picture Bruce winking at you from his recording studio as he talks about dreams awaiting you in aisle two and fantasizes about lifting his groceries to his car. Oh, and the curious use of a rare Springsteen f-bomb at the end of the song doesn’t just seem distracting and misplaced — it almost seems exploitative, like he’s trying to shock you into feeling something poignant after such a gimmicky trip. It doesn’t work. The cash register sound effects during the outro certainly don’t help much, either.

Which brings me to my biggest criticism of the album, and the same criticism I lobbed against Magic: Brendan O’Brien. Rarely has a producer left such a distinct mess on his albums. Once a titan of ’90s alternative rock, he refused to die with Pearl Jam and Stone Temple Pilots (it must be said, his sound worked for them, but as with those bands, the time has come and gone). The glossy sheen he employs on Springsteen’s music doesn’t just undermine and mishandle the E-Street boys; it transforms something that should sound real and tangible and down-to-earth into a perfect, superficial mess. His faux-wall-of-sound works on certain tracks, to be sure — on Magic it certainly aided the Brian Wilson-esque “Girls In Their Summer Clothes,” and here it benefits “Pete” and “What Love Can Do” — but ultimately you’re left feeling like this music should retain more imperfect rock n’ roll swagger. The Boss’ charm has always been his Average Joe working man approachability; he made the type of songs that appealed equally to union workers pulling 8 – 5′s and the Wall Street yuppies. But now the production just forms an empty shell around what could otherwise be fairly passable tracks. And while the swirling symphonic fragments and ’60s-style vocals on select tracks may be interepreted (rightly) as a nod to Bruce’s old soda shop influences, they just don’t work especially well. They feel sterile and experimental rather than honest or affecting, as they should be.

And yet the end of the album finds itself back on track, with a nice little number called “The Last Carnival” (a tribute to the late E-Streeter Danny Federici), and the aforementioned “Wrestler,” the best track on the album and probably one of the best of his “sadder” songs since he wrote “Streets of Philadelphia” for Jonathan Demme’s Philadelphia way back in 1993. (Man, time flies.)

Overall, then, this isn’t by any means a bad album and is certainly an enjoyable listen, particularly for Bruce fans. It just doesn’t hold up as well as Magic did, and doesn’t contain the political relevancy or directness of The Rising, which means it feels, as a Springsteen record, unusually pointless. By typically spacing his albums apart and finding time to develop worthwhile material, even Springsteen’s worst albums of the past two decades have seemed to serve a purpose or fill a void. This one comes off more like a placeholder — something to tie in to his next tour — which might leave some listeners frustratingly unaffected.

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Tagged as: bruce springsteen, music reviews, working on a dream