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Rating:
Everything and the opposite of everything. Anticipation violated by the internet. Enthusiasms suppressed and then exploded. Suspected, awaited, and feared disappointments, then exploded even more strongly.
People waiting for him at the Milan Forum as if expecting the messiah, and people who believe he's over and not what he used to be.
For some, the intimate albums are much more beautiful, for others "there's no one like the E Street."
Undoubtedly, the only thing that cannot be denied is that Bruce Springsteen, the Boss, cannot help but be talked about. But again, certainly there is someone willing to spew sophisms to prove that he is a modest character, fluff inflated by the very bad market (the bogeyman that serves to dumb down the young and reassure the hysterics with his objective ultra-presence), and that he doesn't have the fresh appeal of the Franz Ferdinand (just to name a name in the very youthful and meteoric current landscape...).
The fact remains that this story that began in the early seventies has today written another chapter, a chapter difficult to read, easy to label, in short, challenging to definitively evaluate. Yes, because the album is apparently similar to many others, with the "stadium" track, the committed and the carefree ballad, the interesting string arrangement and the thrilling guitar part, the scratched tenor riff, the protagonist's scream and whisper.
In short: the Boss is back, and moreover with the E Street, in one of those periodic comebacks that excite, annoy, bore, outrage, making people shout about both miracles and scandals.
The album, because after all it has to be talked about, is rock, provided that rock still means distorted guitars, Hammond organs, decisive drums, and ancient and solid walls of sound.
It is therefore a record "from the old days", always assuming that one convinces oneself that rock is dead (and I am quite convinced of this... or fear that, at least, it's not doing well...).
Non-trivial lyrics, catchy and singable music, diversity, and great professionalism.
Trivial things...? Perhaps. But I am convinced that, just as in jazz, it's difficult to say something with a tenor sax after Trane, in rock and songwriting it's incredibly difficult to say something new, or at least good, after the Stones, Dylan, and the few other greats who didn't just write great pages, but turned the pages, accomplishing that event today completely unknown and unprecedented which is the "step forward."
And the Boss, who has turned a few pages, says nothing new here, but what he does say, he says very well. This is the effort of honesty that should be allowed, without shame and not succumbing to pseudo-musical progressivism which often hides nothing other than the inability to accept the passage of time and the obstinacy to consider one's own era worthy of memories it can neither have nor sow.
Impossible to deny value to these tracks written by someone over fifty and played (always very well) by another handful of oldies or almost (Clemmons is heading for seventy and rumors have it this will be his last tour, Federici seems not in the best of health, etc...).
Impossible to deny that, here as elsewhere, old masters shine more, saying very well the nothing new that they say, rather than the too many young shooting stars sold to us as geniuses (understood or not understood, it doesn’t matter...), clean-shaven and warbling, academic and useless. Absolutely indistinguishable for the simple reason that distinguishing them is an activity as unnecessary as it is destined to be outdated from one week to the next.
Here there is an old house, an old couch, familiar and very comfortable. But, as often happens, if you throw it away, you immediately regret the seemingly perfect replacement from Ikea.
In America, they wrote that "rock is dead but they forgot to tell Bruce Springsteen."
A nice phrase, also interpretable in two ways, like everything concerning the Boss: rock is dead and he pathetically hasn't noticed, or it's dead, and he, rightly, doesn't give a damn?
Tracklist Lyrics Samples and Videos
01 Radio Nowhere (03:19)
I was trying to find my way home
But all I heard was a drone
Bouncin' off a satellite
Crushing the last long American night
This is radio nowhere
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere
Is there anybody alive out there?
I was staring at a dead dial
Just another lost number in a file
Dancin' down a dark hole
Just searching for a world with some soul
This is radio nowhere
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere
Is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm
I want a thousand guitars
I want pounding drums
I want a million different voices speaking in tongues
This is radio nowhere
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere
Is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?
I was driving through the misty rain
And just searching for a mystery train
Bopping through the wild blue
Trying to make a connection with you
This is radio nowhere
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere
Is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?
I just want to feel some rhythm
I just want to feel some rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
(fade)
03 Livin' in the Future (03:56)
A letter come blowin' in on an ill wind
Somethin' 'bout me and you
Never seein' one another again
Yeah, well I knew it'd come
Still I was struck deaf and dumb
Like when we kissed, that taste of blood on your tongue
Don't worry Darlin', now baby don't you fret
We're livin' in the future and none of this has happened yet
Don't worry Darlin', now baby don't you fret
We're livin' in the future and none of this has happened yet
Woke up Election Day, skies gunpowder and shades of gray
Beneath a dirty sun, I whistled my time away
Then just about sundown
You come walkin' through town
Your boot heels clickin'
Like the barrel of a pistol spinnin' 'round
Don't worry Darlin', now baby don't you fret
We're livin' in the future and none of this has happened yet
Don't worry Darlin', now baby don't you fret
We're livin' in the future and none of this has happened yet
The earth it gave away, the sea rose toward the sun
I opened up my heart to you it got all damaged and undone
My ship Liberty sailed away on a bloody red horizon
The groundskeeper opened the gates and let the wild dogs run
I'm rollin' through town, a lost cowboy at sundown
Got my monkey on a leash, got my ear tuned to the ground
My faith's been torn asunder, tell me is that rollin' thunder
Or just the sinkin' sound of somethin' righteous goin' under?
Don't worry Darlin', now baby don't you fret
We're livin' in the future and none of this has happened yet
Don't worry Darlin', now baby don't you fret
We're livin' in the future and none of this has happened yet
Don't worry Darlin', now baby don't you fret
We're livin' in the future and none of this has happened yet
None of this has happened yet
None of this has happened yet
None of this has happened yet
None of this has happened yet
Na na na na. . .
05 Gypsy Biker (04:31)
The speculators made their money on the blood you shed
Your momma's pulled the sheets up off your bed
Profiteers on Jhames Street sold your shoes and clothes
Ain't nobody talkin' because everybody knows
We pulled your cycle up back the garage and polished up the chrome*
Our gypsy biker coming home
Sister Mary sits with your colors, but Johnny's drunk and gone
This old town's been rousted, which side you on?
They would march up over the hill, this old fools parade
Shouting victory for the righteous for you must hear the grace
Ain't nobody talkin', but just waiting on the phone
Gypsy biker coming home
Whoa!
[Guitar solo]
We rode into the foothills, Bobby brought the gasoline
We stood around the circle as she lit up the ravine
The spring hot desert wind rushed down on us all the way back home
[Harmonica bridge]
To the dead, well it don't matter much 'bout who's wrong or right
You asked me that question, I didn't get it right
You slipped into your darkness, now all that remains
Is my love for you brother, life's still unchanged
To him that threw you away, you ain't nothing but gone
My gypsy biker's coming home
And now I'm out countin' white lines
Countin' white lines and getting stoned
My gypsy biker's coming home
Whoa!
[Guitar solo]
La la la la
La la la la
La la la la
La la la la
La la la la
La la la la
La la la la
La la la la
[fades]
08 Magic (02:45)
I got a coin in my palm
I can make it disappear
I got a card up my sleeve
Name it and I’ll pull it out your ear
I got a rabbit in my hat
If you wanna come and see
This is what we’ll be
This is what we’ll be
I got shackles on my wrists
Soon I’ll slip 'em and be gone
Chain me in a box in the river
And I'll rise singin' this song
Trust none of what you hear
And less of what you see
This is what we’ll be
This is what we’ll be
I got a shiny saw blade
All I need’s a volunteer
I’ll cut you in half
While you're smilin’ ear to ear
And the freedom that you sought's
Drifting like a ghost amongst the trees
This is what we’ll be
This is what we’ll be
Now there’s a fire down below
But it’s coming up here
So leave everything you know
Carry only what you fear
On the road the sun is sinkin’ low
There’s bodies hangin' in the trees
This is what we’ll be
This is what we’ll be
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Other reviews
By jackpizzello
Expectations are thus rewarded by this 'Magic', which brings back to our ears the fantastic sax solos of Clarence Clemons.
An album that maintains a certain mediocrity from start to finish, pleasant, but not extraordinary, without peaks high or severe drops in style.
By Sacerdozio
Magic is therefore part of the lineage that connects Born in the U.S.A. to the underrated Tunnel of Love and Human Touch.
No one doubts that the album will be a success. For me, however, an 'owed' and transitional album.
By KillerJoe
"Magic is an album I listened to every single day of my life for two consecutive years."
"Girls In Their Summer Clothes is Bruce Springsteen’s pop masterpiece... everything here flows perfectly."
