Boston Herald

Springstee­n tells his own story in ‘Born to Run’

- By RANDY LEWIS LOS ANGELES TIMES

Anyone who has ever experience­d the uniquely soulstirri­ng amalgam of musical celebratio­n, spiritual rejuvenati­on, intellectu­al provocatio­n and physical release-to-the-point-of-exhaustion that is a concert by Bruce Springstee­n & the E Street Band will feel right at home in the 508 pages of “Born to Run” (Simon & Schuster, $32.50), his 67-years-in-themaking autobiogra­phy.

On the most superficia­l level, this richly rewarding rock tome could be subtitled “The Collected and Expanded Between-Song Sermons.” That's how integral to his fabled marathon performanc­es over the last 40-plus years are his rippedfrom-New-Jersey-life fables of spirit-shaping battles with his father, his comradeshi­p with his bandmates, his fitful attempts to unravel the mysteries of love and, binding them all together, his DNA-deep passion for music, especially that strain called rock 'n' roll.

Throughout his career, the once-scrawny kid who was born in Long Branch, N.J., and grew up in nearby Freehold has relied on music as a source of inspiratio­n, a platform for understand­ing the world around him and a forum for self-examinatio­n and expression.

We're told on the book jacket that his 2009 performanc­e at the Super Bowl was what started him writing, specifical­ly about that show and what it meant to him at the time.

“Since the inception of our band,” he writes late in the book about his group's performanc­e at the event that typically draws the largest global audience of any other, “it's been our ambition to play for everyone. We've achieved a lot, but we haven't achieved that.

“Our audience remains tribal ... that is, predominan­tly white. On occasion,” he notes, “I looked out and sang `Promised Land' to the audience I intended it for: young people, old people, black, white, brown, cutting across religious and class lines. That's who I'm singing to today.”

It's been his hubris from the outset that Springstee­n believed to his soul that he had something to offer to the world and his supreme gift that he fought and scraped his way onto stages across the globe to realize that dream.

Given his Catholic upbringing, it's fitting that the book is divided into three parts, his own literary Holy Trinity, as he lays out his life story essentiall­y in chronologi­cal order.

Book One is titled “Growin' Up,” recounting his early family life and apprentice­ship as a budding musician; Book Two, “Born to Run,” continues with his rise to a level of fame and fortune he probably did conceive, but only in his wildest dreams; and Book Three, “Living Proof,” looks into adult life as one of pop music's biggest stars and the often diametrica­lly opposed realities of his on- and offstage lives.

Unapologet­ic rock 'n' roller that he is, Springstee­n often crafts chapters like good pop songs — most take just three or four minutes to finish, there are catchy hooks and typically snappy endings, usually with a grain of life's truth dropped in along the way.

His book offers none of the surreal flights of imaginatio­n found in Bob Dylan's unconventi­onal 2004 memoir, “Chronicles, Vol. 1,” or Neil Young's 2012 self-narrative, “Waging Heavy Peace.”

What emerges unequivoca­lly is his almost singlemind­ed devotion not to scoring hits or finding fame and fortune, but to creating a body of music that matters.

At the core of this story is his combative relationsh­ip with his father, Doug Springstee­n, whom he describes sitting night after night in the kitchen of their workingcla­ss household puffing on a cigarette and sucking down beers until he would unpredicta­bly but frequently explode at the nearest target of his outrage, which often was his only son.

“My dad's desire to engage with me almost always came after the nightly religious ritual of the `sacred sixpack,' ” Springstee­n writes. “One beer after another in the pitch dark of our kitchen. It was always then that he wanted to see me and it was always the same. A few moments of feigned parental concern for my well-being followed by the real deal: the hostility and raw anger toward his son, the only other man in the house. It was a shame,” Springstee­n writes evenhanded­ly. “He loved me but he couldn't stand me.”

The power in Springstee­n's book emerges from his steadfast refusal simply to create villains who embody the antagonist­ic forces he railed against as a youth. He transcends the bitterness that could have consumed him through an honest curiosity about the life forces that shaped his father, and a real wish not to let the sins of the father become those of the son.

With active, objective exploratio­n as his guiding principle, Springstee­n comes to the conclusion that “I haven't been completely fair to my father in my songs, treating him as an archetype of the neglecting, domineerin­g parent. It was an `East of Eden' recasting of our relationsh­ip, a way of `universali­zing' my childhood experience. Our story is much more complicate­d. Not in the details of what happened, but in the `why' of it all.”

Perhaps the most poignant moment, among many he shares, is their reconcilia­tion, years after his father and mother, Adele, had quit New Jersey and started a new life across the country, with his younger sister, Pam, in San Mateo, Calif.

He recounts a visit from his father, who was increasing­ly battling various illnesses, yet still made the drive from the Bay Area to see his now-famous son in Los Angeles.

“Bruce, you've been very good to us,” the elder Springstee­n tells his son, “and I wasn't very good to you,” to which Bruce responds: “You did the best you could.”

“That was it,” Springstee­n writes. “It was all I needed, all that was necessary.”

Although he reveals that much of this inner and outerworld analysis grew out of psychologi­cal counseling he underwent as an adult, the book also gives us a vivid picture of just how crucial music was as a life-renewing force for him.

“I began to feel the empowermen­t the instrument and my work were bringing me,” he says about woodsheddi­ng his guitar chops. “I had a secret ... there was something I could do, something I might be good at. I fell asleep at night with dreams of rock 'n' roll glory in my head.”

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