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"The important thing is to exaggerate, both for better or worse," sang the old Jannacci, crazy and wacky but often enlightened.
Well, this double live album by Bruce Springsteen takes that quite literally: it is exaggerated in every sense. In total duration, like a Wagnerian opera (two and a half hours), and in the length of the individual tracks, extended live versions up to more than twice the original. And above all in the energy, the incredible fervor that a Boss who has now passed his fifties puts into it.
To tell the truth, his roar is rarely heard: more often, a raspy voice emerges, but it is that of a "combat crow" (a variant of De André's "fighting robin"). At every moment of the album, there is the fear he might have a heart attack, and a malicious suspicion arises that he might have taken who knows what kind of drug. But then, as you listen, you realize it is merely a solemn intoxication of America, of the American dream, of patriotism in the noblest sense of the word, that sense now trampled and offended by those who mouth it for dirty interests.
Springsteen seems to sense that his America is now on the brink (we are in the early months of 2001, Bush is already in power, and the decisive blow of September 11th is about to arrive) and for one night he wants to exalt himself, shouting like a madman between songs "New York City!" and eagerly awaiting the roar of the crowd in response. Yes, New York City is present, America is still there, but it is a step away from taking another direction, from going back centuries, toward the most complete obtuseness, toward talks about the kingdom of Good at war (preventive, however) against that of Evil, in short toward the current desert of ideas.
Before all this comes, Springsteen seems to tell himself (and us), let's have the last fireworks. And he throws himself into it without holding back, especially since he has recently regained the support of the E Street Band, which is no small feat. His historic band is precisely to whom the only unnecessary exaggeration is dedicated: a pompous 15-minute introduction on the notes of Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out, transfigured for the occasion. As Born In The USA is completely unrecognizable, immersed in a buzz of acoustic guitars that gives it a vaguely Middle Eastern tone: what it loses in rock power, it gains in suggestion.
The beauty of this live album is that it doesn't just contain big hits, but surprisingly re-evaluates songs that in the original albums were relegated to the role of mere fillers, if not outright fillers, such as Murder Incorporated. The most impressive transformation of all is that of The River, based on what was already a masterpiece, here extended and enhanced by an introduction of Clarence Clemons' sax and keyboards to be listened to in absolute silence (something the New York crowd does not do) and then enjoyed again in the finale. But the rock adaptations of country songs taken from "Nebraska" are also very successful: in particular, Atlantic City seems already born like this, in a "hard" version.
It's compulsory to mention the two most melodic moments of this live: a sumptuous Jungleland, faithful to the beautiful original, and a semi-unknown gem retrieved from the debut album, Lost In The Flood, where the Boss proves capable of making us shed a few tears, not just of exciting us.
The unreleased tracks could not be missing: Springsteen is very prolific and places them just about everywhere. American Skin, with its obsessive repetition of "41 shots" is a denunciation of the sometimes too quick methods of the American police; for Land Of Hope And Dreams the title speaks for itself: "Land of hope and dreams." What America is no longer.
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