Quote:
Originally posted by sebastian_dangerfield
It ain't Clarence that ruins the Boss for me... The hornist label doesn't stick, BTW. I have been a Traffic lover since I first stumbled upon my uncle's copy of Low Spark back in fourth grade.
The Boss is considered a poet, so you judge him on the standard set by the Dead, Dylan, classic Stones, Beatles, Hank Williams, etc... The best rock poets wrote about characters who could have existed in any time or place. There's no figuring what time or location most of Robert Hunter or Dylan or Mick and Keith's (classic Mick and Keith) subjects lived. Bruce's heaviest stuff, OTOH, seems to come out of 70s Jersey. His characters are limited. He's obviously insanely talented, but like the Clash or early U2, a lot of his catalogue doesn't resonate with the listener all that well unless you know or have seen what he's singing about.
I also dislike his voice a lot.
|
No question about it. Bruce sucks. His biggest fan base was ugly teenaged girls who shouted his lyrics in the school hallways, who couldn't wait till Friday when they could pile in the car borrowed from Mommy/Daddy to go "down the shore" so they could get tan (a painful looking sunburn with terrible white strap marks), drink too many beers, hook up with athletic white bread boys and then pretend they were still virgins come Monday morning. For their boring lives, declaring they were "born to run" was about as exciting as things got. But then, their idol played life just as safe and didn't exactly push the envelope. And his lyrics weren't inspiring any consciousness raising neither. Never heard of anyone inspired to improve life or change the world by a Tenth Avenue Freeze Out, which is what exactly?
Now that we've got THAT out of the way, I'm disappointed you listed rock poets and left out:
Unforgiveable.
Before you slip into unconsciousness
I'd like to have another kiss
Another flashing chance at bliss
Another kiss, another kiss
The days are bright and filled with pain
Enclose me in your gentle rain
The time you ran was too insane
We'll meet again, we'll meet again
Oh tell me where your freedom lies
The streets are fields that never die
Deliver me from reasons why
You'd rather cry, I'd rather fly
And with the exception of some commercial dribble, I consider Townsend a poet as well.
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool
And If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
And If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat
That is all.
ETA: Oh and I'd give Tracy Chapman poet status too.
