One of the more memorable running sketches from Ben Stiller's early '90s comedy series is "Tales of Springsteen," a satiric take on the Boss' status as a larger-than-life heroic figure. It features Stiller as a rugged, buffed-up Springsteen who turns up to, variously, battle space aliens, coach Janeane Garofalo through childbirth and help out Abe Lincoln with the Gettysburg Address. In one particularly amusing bit, the Boss sticks around to help clean up the bar after one of his signature surprise nightclub appearances, mopping up and refilling empty ketchup bottles. "And the next morning when I woke up, I had been freshly shaved, manicured, and my boots had been polished!" notes a stunned Andy Dick.
The sketches were intended to be a light-hearted homage, but in those days one could have been forgiven for detecting an undercurrent of mockery. Springsteen has always had his share of detractors, particularly in the younger hipster fringes of the rock audience, where his penchant for sprawling romanticism and melodrama has been so often perceived as calculated, overbearing posturing. And in the early '90s, the fringes were taking over.
When the grunge age, with all its attendant irony and dour self-absorption, came to dominate the rock landscape, Springsteen's brand of earnest positivity seemed passé. He remained a huge star with an obsessively devoted fan base, but his cachet as a cultural touchstone would remain diminished for roughly the next decade.
Then in 2002, after the harsh sting of national tragedy made his tough-minded sense of optimism seem so very necessary, Springsteen would re-emerge on the mass culture radar with The Rising. But even that album, with its ominous tone and well-worn themes of loss, hope and redemption, might have sounded like so much hot air to younger ears then more attuned to the raw garage-rock of The Strokes and White Stripes.
How then to explain the recent embrace of Springsteen as a hero in the youth-centric indie rock community, where hordes of listeners, many too young to remember Courtney Cox's showbiz debut in the "Dancing in the Dark" video, now view him as not only a legend worth space on their iPod, but also, somehow, cool?
Springsteen played on the 2004 Vote for Change tour, where he mingled easily with younger artists like Conor Oberst, and assuredly brought his music to a new audience. But lending gravitas to an idealistic crusade is one thing; mixing musically with artists a couple of generations younger is another. So in late 2007, when video surfaced of Springsteen singing with members of Canadian indie act Arcade Fire, it felt as though the thaw on Springsteen's hipster freeze was in full effect. To top it off, the video was widely circulated through a link on that bastion of indie über-coolness, Pitchfork, which lately reports on the Boss' doings with the same regularity and enthusiasm that devotes to reportage on younger, cultish bands like Blitzen Trapper or current World's Greatest Rock 'n' Roll Band contenders The Hold Steady, whose frontman Craig Finn readily acknowledges the influence Springsteen has had on his band. (Granted, Finn is 36 and actually remembers 1984.)
So what does this say about Springsteen himself? Not much, as it turns out. Through the years, the central thrust of Springsteen's music and message has remained essentially the same: Whether in a meditative or arena-rock mode, he has always aimed to shine a probing light on the complexities and contradictions at the heart of American life. Last year's Magic may have updated the Jersey boardwalk sound of the E-Street band with Brendan O'Brien's production muscle, but the songs themselves fit seamlessly into the Springsteen canon. The lush, sweeping pop gem "Girls in Their Summer Clothes" harks back to the Spector-ized halcyon days of Born to Run, while "Gypsy Biker" echoes old favorites both musically, with its haunting harmonica motif recalling "The River," and lyrically, as another unsentimental tale of a returning war veteran—a theme in Springsteen's work that he no doubt wishes he didn't have to revisit so often.
As any true believer knows, though, the place to best appreciate the remarkable breadth and impact of Springsteen's music, and convert nonbelievers, is at one of his justifiably legendary live shows. And lately he hasn't been hard to catch: One thing he shares with today's younger rockers is a serious (and these days, necessary) dedication to the road.
The keyword at Springsteen's shows lately has been spontaneity, with the Boss keeping the E-Street band fresh by drastically altering the set list from night to night, peppering in covers—"Summertime Blues" has been a recent favorite—with any number of classics and fan-pleasing rarities—hey, "Point Blank!"—from across the back catalog. Fans who used to be happy if they got either "Jungleland" or "Rosalita" may now very well get both within the same encore.
Maybe the presence of so many newer young fans in Springsteen's audience can be put down to the fact that they weren't around to suffer media saturation burnout during the Born in the USA era. But more likely they're just discovering that beneath the veneer of rugged heroism lurks a songwriter of rare acuity, whose work resonates with the same stirring force as that of forebears like Hank Williams, Woody Guthrie or John Fogerty.
In or out of fashion, the Boss can be depended on to ask the tough questions, then joyfully strike a power chord when he doesn't get any answers. And while Springsteen probably won't be found mopping up at the Exit/In in the wee hours Friday morning, that kind of dependability is heroic enough.
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