Do you believe in Magic?

Bruce Springsteen returns to the E Street Band
By JEFF TAMARKIN  |  October 1, 2007


VIDEO: Bruce Springsteen, "Radio Nowhere"

On Magic (Columbia), Bruce Springsteen’s first album with the E Street Band in five years, not everything is what it seems. As with the sleight of hand described in the title track, there’s what you think you’re getting and what you really get. If you think that the album is just a collection of random new Springsteen songs tailored for the returning E Street Band, or that its title is generic (All Music Guide lists more than 70 albums called Magic), you’re not paying enough attention to the magician.

There are layers to each of Magic’s songs, and the trick is to uncover them. The exuberant “Livin’ in the Future,” it turns out, is about livin’ in the present, even as Clarence Clemons’s “10th Avenue Freeze-Out”–ditto sax solo points to the past. “Girls in Their Summer Clothes,” with its Spectorian production and Wilsonian melody, may suggest an idyllic world fit for a spinning 45, but “My jacket’s on, I’m out the door/And tonight I’m gonna burn this town down” offers anything but. On “Magic,” a sucker is still born every minute: “I got a shiny saw blade, all I need’s a volunteer/I’ll cut you in half while you’re smiling ear to ear,” Springsteen proposes, but before you can even raise your hand, he warns, “Trust none of what you hear and less of what you see.”

Magic is less strident than 2002’s The Rising, the previous album featuring the E Street Band, but in many ways it’s a sequel — words like “fear” and “dead” and “blood” still tarnish Springsteen’s landscape, and now they’re joined by “mistake” and “crumbled” and “lies.” “You can’t sleep at night, you can’t dream your dream” opens “Your Own Worst Enemy,” sung in a Roy Orbison croon against a brooding string section, and “Your flag it flew so high, it drifted into the sky” closes the song. The hope and pride and oneness of 9/12 have given way to paranoia, distrust, and disgruntlement; the shattering sense of loss reflected in The Rising is palpable, but there’s been no resolution, only polarization and sullenness. “There’s bodies hangin’ in the trees,” Springsteen sings as “Magic” fades, but he’s accepting, not outraged: “This is what will be, this is what will be,” he repeats. The darkness on the edge of town now shrouds Main Street, too.

Magic’s characters aren’t defeated, they’re just tired. Tired of being lied to, tired of feeling helpless and insignificant and tossed away. In the new America, it’s business as usual — except we’re embittered now, defenseless, cynical, and not nearly as angry as we should be. We’re handcuffed and bound, locked inside a box and tossed overboard with no idea how to get out.

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