What the boss is trying to tell us

I am a die-hard, lifelong Bruce Springsteen fan.

The first Bruce song I ever heard was Born in the USA. But the one that shook my world was Born to Run. That song is a powder keg, an incredible storehouse of raw, undiluted energy. Not just the stone and gravel in Bruce’s voice, but the euphoric feeling it evoked — of freedom, the wide open road. It is a song built for the big stage — with stadiums full of screaming fans hanging on every word, every guitar riff.

Billboard described it as the best rock anthem to individual freedom ever created. To me, it screamed — you are alive! No matter what life, society, the world throws at you, take all of it in your stride. Power on.

Oh, baby, this town rips the bones from your back. It’s a death trap; it’s a suicide rap.

There is a genre that this song is the king of — pseudotragic beautiful loser fatalism.

That is spot on. The philosopher sage of New Jersey is unlike your average rockstar. He rose from humble beginnings — like many other rockstars. He fought depression, tragedy and suffering early in his life, made mistakes, drove friends away, disappointed those who loved him. But he admitted to his failings. He exposed his vulnerability to the world and talked about his pain and his demons — through his songs.

Ultimately Bruce’s music is about the human condition — wrapped in power chords and searing vocals.

Most greats artists have a theme. It’s a broad underlying philosophy. It underpins their life experiences. It anchors their voice, their body of work, their way of thinking, believing and feeling.

Bruce’s theme is deeply intellectual. Hauntingly poetic.

His music connects with me at a deeply personal level — as it does with many of his fans. When he sings, it seems like he is talking directly to you. With that intense steely gaze, he is peering into your soul.

My family thinks my relationship with Bruce and his music is troubling — borderline obsessive devotion. They are probably right.

I have been piecing through all of Bruce’s work to create for myself, a semblance of order, purpose and meaning from his enormous and varied catalogue of songs. And what a rich tapestry of music it is.

This is my interpretation of what he is trying to say to us.

You are never too old to dream a new dream

Talk about a dream; try to make it real. Badlands

While some of Bruce’s songs might seem sorrowful and borderline depressing, I see them as hopeful and optimistic. I see him imploring us not to give up. To keep going against all odds.

But you need to start with a vision — a dream. Visualize that possibility and try your darnedest to make it real. No dream is too big or too small. But your dreams are not just wishful thinking. They are a clear, uncluttered pathway to your destination.

Between our dreams and actions, lies this world. Dead man walking

We can build our world with the material of our dreams only if we don’t fear failing. Each failure is a lesson on how to take the next step forward. But all your energy, effort, sacrifices are in vain if the vision is empty and shallow — like a river that’s dry.

Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true, or is it something worse that sends me down to the river, though I know the river is dry. The River

Struggle shapes character

Daddy worked his whole life, for nothing but the pain. Now he walks these empty rooms, looking for something to blame. You inherit the sins, you inherit the flames, Adam raised a Cain.

Bruce’s songs are often about the common man — the construction worker, the factory worker, the truck driver. The songs have a strong working man ethos. A struggle to survive, a commitment to family and perseverance to keep trucking ahead into the storm. They are also about flawed character, virtues and deep imperfections. About how circumstances force people to change. He describes his songs as talking about the “blood and grit of real life”.

There is real pain and agony in these songs.

But your eyes go blind and your blood runs cold. Sometimes I feel so weak I just want to explode. Explode and tear this old town apart. Take a knife and cut this pain from my heart. Promised Land

I remember feeling a tinge of sadness when I heard these lyrics for the first time. These are sad words — but oddly, they also seemed to set you free. The struggles Bruce speaks about — many that are a reflection of his own life — are also the crucibles of a new life. In a way, it’s the struggle, the pain and despair that has the power to liberate you.

You’ve got to learn with what you can’t rise above. Tunnel of love.

While the struggles are real, there are also limits to what you can accomplish. That might sound demotivating. But there is absolute honesty here. Nothing lasts forever. Life is a journey. Keep walking.

Roots bind you

It’s a town full of losers. And I’m pulling out of here to win. Thunder Road

Bruce is speaking about his hometown — Freehold New Jersey. The lyrics are bleak. He also had a frayed relationship with his father — something that took years to heal. But Bruce has always had a love-hate relationship with his roots. “I made my living writing about moving out of Jersey,” he once quipped.

I was eight years old and running with a dime in my hand. Into the bus stop to pick up a paper for my old man. I’d sit on his lap in that big old Buick. And steer as we drove through town. He’d tousle my hair and say “Son, take a good look around. This is your hometown.” My Hometown

His songs talk about a deep restlessness — to escape, to leave his past behind. An unease with where he found himself. But after all those years he is back where he started. Today he still lives in New Jersey — a 10-minute drive from Asbury Park — the town he tried so hard to escape. Perhaps the boss wasn’t really trying to escape a physical place. He was escaping his own mental model of who he thought he was or was becoming.

As someone who has lived in many countries and many cities, it’s sometimes hard for me to establish what I would consider my hometown. But then, does that really matter? Your origins, your hometown are part of the process of your evolution. They don’t define you — but they add immeasurably to who you are, what you have become and what you are becoming.

What you are looking for from life is not out there in the world you live in. It’s in here — in your life. The life you are living, have lived and will live. It’s in the thoughts, the feelings, the hopes and dreams that fashioned you.

You leave places. Those farewells are painful. But you never leave a place that lives on in your hearts.

Everything dies baby that’s a fact. But maybe everything that dies someday comes back. Atlantic City

Who you are is non-negotiable

I hid in the clouded wrath of the crowd but when they said “Sit down” I stood up. Ooh-ooh growin’ up. Growin’ Up

Rock n roll has always been about rebellion, about standing out, about dissent, about stickin’ it to the man. Bruce’s music is no different. Born in the USA is perhaps the perfect protest song.

But his music is also discovering your true self, warts and all. It’s about being unapologetic about who you are. That’s what I have learnt from his music. To not be ashamed of who I am (and who I’m not and can’t or won’t become).

That has not meant that I have not tried to be better; it just has meant that I have always strived to become a better version of who I already am.

God have mercy on the man. Who doubts what he’s sure of. Brilliant Disguise

The road ahead is dark. But the light that can show you the path is inside you.

It’s just your ghost moving through the night. Spirit filled with light. Ghost

Ultimately Bruce’s songs are about striving. It about being given an invaluable gift — the gift of life. A life that is fleeting — but rich. Rich in meaning, in relationships, in learning and growth. And struggle and striving are part and parcel of life. In fact, they are essential to a life well lived.

I thought I knew just who I was, And what I’d do but I was wrong, One minute you’re here. Next minute you’re gone. One Minute You’re Here

You can either live that life by following a mould — that defines who you are or what can or cannot do. Or you can fill your life with meaning and purpose. Importantly, that is not for others to tell you. Life is too short for that. It is for you to shape — with the material of your strengths, beliefs, aspirations and hopes.

Somewhere hidden in those lyrics, there there is a calling. A calling that appeals to our deepest desire and innermost longing. Escaping the confines of our self-imposed limitations.

To run away from regret, sorrow, guilt, pain — and to run towards hope, understanding and redemption. And we must.

Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run.