by Jeff Burger
My dad had a different experience. His work was involved with pain. He lost a lot of his hearing when he worked in a plastics factory. He struggled to find work and to go to work. The regulation of behavior that work provides wasn’t a big part of his life, and that was painful for everybody involved. That [regulation that work provides] is central to the way we live and think about ourselves and who we are and the place we live in.
So I saw both sides of it. I saw what happens when there is pain and anger and work’s a destructive force—you waste away. You don’t know where you’re going or who you are. And you take that out on the people that you care about, which is something you don’t want to do. But it happens.
So that was what I wrote about. That was really, really important. It’s the single thing I’ve written about my entire life. The importance of that idea in society. The cost of not providing that—whether people are able to take care of their families, have productive jobs, the debasement of ourselves in not having a society where that’s provided to all our citizens. It all grew from there. It grew from trying to sort out my experience. I didn’t grow up in a political household, I didn’t have a particular ideology and wasn’t a particularly political person. But I needed and wanted to write about those things because I felt they were essential. So a lot of my music has grown out of that place.
CR: And that is in part, I assume, connected to the reason that you were affronted when the Reagan campaign used “Born in the U.S.A.”
BS: I thought he was hurting working people. Actually it wasn’t “Born in the U.S.A.” He just included me in a speech.
CR: Right. He mentioned you.
BS: And Republicans at that time co-opted anything that was American. And my music has been American music. But I thought the policies were destructive. They contributed to the disparity in wealth that continues to this day. And it made me angry and made me think a lot harder about what I was doing and communicating.
CR: Do you still have the same connection to those ideas when your life is so different today than it was then? You now have great joy—wife, children, financial resources. Is the depth of that connection to those ideas any different?
BS: I understand what you’re saying. I think, basically, you write from the entirety of your experience. I’ve been fortunate and I’ve been able to make a real life for myself and my family and to have productive work. But I’ve had too long a history … already by the time I was sixteen, I was steeped in it. And I think that anybody that’s really been kicked around in some fashion or seen people be kicked around … hey, you don’t forget it.
CR: Do you write every day? I mean, do you write frequently?
BS: I wish I did. Sometimes I’ve gone for long periods of time without writing.
CR: Because you didn’t feel it?
BS: Because I don’t have an idea.
CR: No idea, no emotion, that drives you to sit down and write?
BS: I don’t have an idea or whatever’s in there is sort of gestating. I’ve gone through long periods of time without doing much writing. I’ve gone through difficult periods of forcing myself to write. You know, you’re a miner. And you hit a vein and that goes with you for a very long time and then it may dry up and you move on to something else. I’ve written about a lot of different things. Initially, my work had the social implications through ’85, say, and then I wrote a lot about domestic life and relationships and then I’ve gone back to doing the other thing with Tom Joad and I’ve rediscovered that place in myself.
CR: What was the impetus for Tom Joad?
BS: It began probably with “Streets of Philadelphia,” where Jonathan Demme called me up and said there was a movie that he was making and he wanted a song for it. And I knew what the movie was about. I’d read a little bit about it and I told him I’d give it a shot. He drew me into that kind of work again just by asking.
CR: “That work” meaning writing songs for movies or—
BS: No, songs that probably were [about] non-relationship [subjects] and basically had some sort of social theme. That call drew me into it again and once I did it, I found a great satisfaction in it. Also, it had been about a decade since I’d written directly about those things and I think that I felt refreshed. And I’d been living in California for a while and reading a lot of different kinds of stories in the newspaper and traveling up through the Central Valley to visit my folks who lived up north, and I saw a lot of the same stories being acted out in different ways. And all of a sudden, it was something I really wanted to write about.
And it was about re-finding that place in myself. That’s really how the song “Tom Joad” came about. I was interested in reconnecting to those things and reconnecting to the part of myself that had written about them.
CR: Where are you now in terms of what you want to do? I mean, this [Tracks box set] is in a sense an alternative to what we have seen, and we see the things that were in your head when you wrote other things and what was not included for whatever reason. What do you want to write about now?
BS: At the moment, I’ve had some acoustic music going that’s an extension of the music I wrote for Tom Joad.
CR: You like that [kind of material], don’t you?
BS: It’s just things that fascinate me. There’s stories to tell. But at the same time, I’ve been working on electric music. I’ve been doing a lot of different things. I haven’t really settled on what I’m going to do next. I’m waiting to see what presents itself and then I try to do what I do best. The past six or seven months has been kind of reflective with the book [Songs]—
CR: This is a book of all the songs that you’ve ever written.
BS: Yeah, all the released songs, not including these [on Tracks]. I spent a lot of time recently doing that. Previous to that, I’ve been working on some new stuff that I’ve just gone back to. But I don’t know what it’s going to be yet.
CR: Doing a retrospective must fuel some new ideas about where you came from and where you want to go. And it puts you back in touch with roots, and sometimes you get on the road and you’re moving so fast you forget where you’ve been.
BS: That was one of the things that I liked about doing this. I came out of a pretty quiet period—this acoustic music was quiet—and so much of my work life was physical in the sense that the music was physical and you were playing loud and probably what people remember most is the intense concerts. Part of why I did [Tracks and Songs] was I thought it would reconnect me to that particular feeling, which is something I’m interested in doing right now. I’d like to do something that’s a little louder now and more physical.
CR: A tour?
BS: I don’t know. I’m gonna dodge that one for you. I’ve been asked that a few times. I don’t have any plans to tour at this particular moment.
CR: But you want to. Somewhere deep inside, you want to. Because you’d want to be loud again. You’ve been silent. You’d like to be loud again.
BS: I like to play. I’ve always enjoyed that and the immediacy of it, so it’s something I’d enjoy doing.
CR: Do you have the E Street Band sitting and waiting for you?
BS: I don’t know if they’re sitting and waiting. They’ve all got lives of their own. Garry [Tallent] has produced a lot of great records out of Nashville. Clarence [Clemons] is in Florida. I saw him a couple weeks ago. And Steve [Van Zandt] has been working on a television show [The Sopranos]. He’s been doing some acting. And Nils [Lofgren] has been doing his own touring and Roy [Bittan] produces in California. And they’ve all got kids now. It’s a pretty different situation than even ten years ago. Ten years ago, none of us had small children and so people have really gone out and made different lives for themselves.
CR: You’re gonna do it [a reunion tour]! The E Street Band would be together in a second. I mean, you pick up the phone tonight and call Florida. And Stevie is where? He’s in Hollywood?
BS: He’s right around here somewhere. He’s blocks away, I’m sure. I don’t know
what he’s doing.
CR: He can hear the sound of your voice. Come! You could put this together. I’m sure he’ll be watching tonight.
BS: He told me he’d be watching.
CR: He told you he’d be watching? So what do you say to him? They’d love this, wouldn’t they?
BS: I think so.
CR: Why are you hesitant to announce a new tour on my show? I mean, come on.
BS: Oh you rascal you! You rascal.
CR: It’s a perfect night for you, coming here to use my platform. It’s an opportunity to say yes.
BS: Well, we’ve talked about it over the years and if something was committed, I would say. But I’d hate to commit to doing something and it doesn’t happen and then everybody’s disappointed, including yourself.
CR: Exactly including me.
BS: And myself.
CR: What has the E Street Band meant to you?
BS: They allowed me to communicate. I say in the book that they expanded the boundaries and the power of my music. And by their presence and by their intensity, they allowed me at night to call up a sense of community and friendship. So when people came in [to the concerts], I think that they invested themselves because they saw themselves—their friends and best pal and the guy next door. And that was something important that I wanted to create. I wanted to create that community onstage. That was an essential part of what I communicated. And I could not have done it without their consistency and dedication and presence. They just fueled me on a nightly basis.
Clarence was always a source of positive energy and spirit and some missing connection. When we hit one another in Asbury Park that first night and we played together, something felt different.
And also, how many people do you know still that you knew from when you were eighteen or nineteen and that you have sustained relationships with through good times and rough times and they’re an essential part of your soul and what you do? They took my music and made it present and real on a nightly basis and they stood in for all the people in my songs that I wrote about. Outside of my family, they’re the most essential relationships of my life. Very important.
CR: Should they have been included in the [Rock and Roll] Hall of Fame?
BS: I think they need to be inducted into the Hall of Fame. The Hall of Fame needs to come up with a mechanism that somehow honors [backing] musicians. There’s Crazy Horse—Neil Young did some of his greatest work with them. Bill Black and Scotty Moore and D.J. Fontana were there at the Sun sessions.
I was very proud of being signed as a solo artist and I was very proud of the independence. I shaped my career very personally, and that singular voice has given my music consistency through twenty-five years. It’s what’s allowed me to play that story out. But I couldn’t have realized what I did without my band. They were the living realization of many of those ideas, and I think the Hall of Fame needs to come up with a mechanism of some sort that’s going to honor musicians. [The Hall of Fame began inducting more backing musicians in 2012, when it added Gene Vincent’s Blue Caps, Bill Haley’s Comets, James Brown’s Famous Flames, Smokey Robinson’s Miracles, and Buddy Holly’s Crickets. It’s likely only a matter of time before the E Street Band joins the list. —Ed.]
CR: I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re here.
BS: Thank you. I had a great time. I’ve seen the show very often. It’s interesting to finally see this table up close [laughs].
CR: You’re more interested in seeing the table than you are in me!
BS: [Laughs.] You’re all right, too.
PART V
“BETTER DAYS”
Springsteen enters the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and reunites the E Street Band as politics moves to the fore.
“I think we got to a place where everybody realizes this is a very unique thing, this group of people playing together in this fashion, and that we created something together that was a big, big part of our own lives and a big part of our audiences’ lives.”
—BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN, 2001
ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME INDUCTION ACCEPTANCE SPEECH
BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN | March 15, 1999, New York
Springsteen was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame four months after he met with Charlie Rose. Early in his acceptance speech, which he gave with his mother in the audience, he again recalled how she had bought him his first guitar and how much that had meant to him.
The speech offers a rare public instance of the singer talking primarily not to his fans or reporters but to his bandmates, his family, and the music industry. He addressed some subjects that he doesn’t often discuss and he managed to be variously funny and touching. —Ed.
Let me warn you. The records took two years, the show’s three hours, so the speech may take a little while.
I stood on this stage and I inducted Roy Orbison and Creedence Clearwater Revival and Bob Dylan—artists whose music was a critical part of my own life—and tonight I hope that my music served my audience half as well. And if I’ve succeeded in doing that, it’s been with the help of many, many kindred spirits along the way.
I’d like to thank my mother, Adele, for that slushy Christmas Eve … a night like the one outside, when we stood outside the music store and I pointed to that Sunburst guitar and she had that sixty bucks and I said, “I need that one, Ma.” She got me … what I needed, and she protected me and provided for me on a thousand other days and nights. As importantly, she gave me a sense of work as something that was joyous and that filled you with pride and self-regard, and that committed you to your world. Thanks, Mom. This is yours tonight. Take it home as a small return on the investment you made in your son …
Now my dad, he passed away this year, but I’ve gotta thank him because what would I conceivably have written about without him? I mean, you can imagine that if everything had gone great between us, we would have had disaster. I would have written just happy songs—and I tried it in the early nineties and it didn’t work; the public didn’t like it. He never said much about my music, except that his favorite songs were the ones about him. And that was enough, you know? Anyway, I put on his work clothes and I went to work. It was the way that I honored him. My parents’ experience forged my own. They shaped my politics, and they alerted me to what is at stake when you’re born in the U.S.A. I miss you, Dad.
A lot of other people: Marion and Tex Vinyard. They took me under their wing when I was fifteen. They opened up their home to a bunch of rock-and-roll misfits and let us make a lot of noise and practice all night long. Thanks, Marion.
Carl “Tinker” West, another one of my early managers, whose support I couldn’t have done without. He introduced me to Mike Appel, and Mike kicked the doors down when they needed kicking. And I consider him my friend; I want to say, Mike, thanks for everything—mostly everything—and thanks for being my guest here tonight. I’m glad you’re here with me. Mike introduced me to the world of Columbia Records, which has been my home for the past twenty-five years—from the early days of John Hammond and Clive Davis to the high-rollin’ years of Walter Yetnikoff and Al Teller, to the present with my friends Tommy Mottola and Donny Ienner. They created a conduit for a lifetime of thoughts and ideas, a place where I … felt safe and supported and encouraged to do my best and my truest work. And I’ve heard enough record company horror stories right from this stage to realize, to appreciate the fact that I don’t have one. And for that I’ve gotta thank all the men and women at Columbia Records around the world, past and present. Thank you very much for your efforts.
I’ve gotta thank my coproducer, Chuck Plotkin, [and] engineer Toby Scott for their sustained contributions to my recorded work. They remained in the saddle as often years went by, wondering if we’d ever get the music or if they’d ever get a royalty check. They kept their cool and their creativity—of course, they’re basket cases now—but we remain friends and great working partners. And no mention of my records would be complete without Bob Clearmountain, a great mixer who h
elped me bring my music to a wider audience. I want to thank my tour director, George Travis, and the great crews he’s assembled on the road over the years. Thank you, George. I want to thank my agents, Barry Bell and Frank Barsalona, for a great job …
Now the lawyers—gotta thank them. Peter Parcher and Steve Hayes. They protected me and my music for twenty-two years. I appreciate it.
This next one’s a little tough. Allen Grubman and Artie Indursky, names familiar to many in this room. They’re the money men. How can I put this? These are great and complicated and misunderstood Americans. They’re men that are entrusted with a very, very important task. For the folks that don’t know, the money man goes to the record company, and he’s in charge of bringing back the pink Cadillac. Well, when Allen and Artie go, they bring back the pink Cadillac … and the blue Cadillac … and the yellow Cadillac … and the red Cadillac … and the pink Cadillac with the whitewalls … but then they take the blue Cadillac … and they take the hubcaps off the yellow Cadillac … but that still leaves you with a few Cadillacs. And they make sure that neither you nor themselves, of course, are gonna be broke when you’re riding in the black Cadillac …
I’ve gotta thank Barbara Carr for her love and loyalty and dedication. Couldn’t get along without you, Barb. My friend Dave Marsh: thank you so much. And oh, the next guy … Jon Landau, or as I sometimes call him, Jon “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” Landau. I’ve seen the future of rock-and-roll management, and its name is Jon Landau. I had to return the favor there. But that … quote was … a mite burdensome for me. But as he often said, “That’s your job.”
But Jon’s given me something beyond friendship and beyond guidance: his intelligence, his sense of the truth, his recognition of my intelligence. His creative ability as a producer and editor—speechwriter earlier this evening—his ability to see through to the heart of matters, both professional and personal, and the love that he’s given me has altered my life forever. What I hope to give to my fans with my music—a greater sense of themselves and greater freedom—he with his talents and his abilities has done that for me. There’s no thank-you tonight that’s gonna do the job, and it’s a debt that I can’t repay and one I treasure always. Thank you, Jon. I love you. I also want to thank Barbara Landau, and Kate and Charlie, for sharing Jon with me over the years. I know it hasn’t been easy.
