Happy 39th Birthday...

...Born to Run:

I've always said the title track is THE greatest single of the last 30 years - shambolic Phil Spector sounds falling down the stairwell, with words that should mean everything to a small town boy like me. Why every band in the world hasn't tried to reproduce this sound is a mystery to me, but fuck em. The piano echo on Backstreets, the anguished singing taking me back home, and Jungleland unfolding piece by piece until you're in the middle of the street in the middle of the night in the middle of who the fuck knows what. Overblown? Yes. Dramatic? Certainly. Over the top? Isn't fucking everything when you're young, when you're running free, when you've found something to believe in? And really, shouldn't it be? You got your whole fucking life to be bored to death; anyone can be boring at any moment. It'd sure be nice to reach for something so great and unattainable these days; its all we can seem to do to get thru the day while hoping we "get" the White Stripes coolness, or Modest Mouse's emo-ness, or Wilco's...well, whatever it is that makes people like Wilco. On Born to Run, Bruce threw it all the table - love, youth, hope, at least HOPING for excitement if nothing else. You can almost picture Bruce picking you up in a '70 Chevelle and hitting the Dairy Queen, trying to to talk to chicks, getting ignored, driving up and down the only road in town, no money, no friends, but fuck, there's gotta be something else out there better than this. I felt the same way back in high school, standing round in French's parking lot, sipping a Big Gulp while dudes 10 years older tried to get girls to take them to the prom. Yeesh. Christ, look at me blathering about Bruce. I don’t want no lovefest here, but hey, sit in your room tonight, turn all the lights off, and put on Born to Run. Born to Run will never, ever let you down.