Posts Tagged ‘Wrecking Ball’

Making music is not akin to building a model, though sometimes it may seem that way. Prefabricated pieces aren’t stamped out at a factory in some far-off foreign land. Picture-laden directions aren’t included. There’s no inserting of staccato guitar solo A into steady rhythm B, and no slathering on glue and waiting for it to dry. Otherwise, the world would be awash in indistinguishable songs.

Oh wait. We are.

But such has been the case since the dawn of the entertainment industry. Hits beget blurry copies that smell of mimeograph ink – and if you don’t appreciate that reference, don’t worry. It only serves to point out my age and say, slyly, that much of modern pop music isn’t being made for me. (Nor should it be.) As Paul Simon summarized in “The Boy in the Bubble,” “every generation sends a hero up the pop charts.”

Anyway, although my much-ballyhooed “Album of the Year” is an honorific I’ve doled out every year since 1978, when I was 13, putting forth an “Album of the Decade” never occurred to me until a month ago, when the notion was mentioned in someone’s tweet; and then, this month, magazines, newspapers and online outlets began posting their lengthy and semi-lengthy lists. The ones I’ve seen basically weigh artistry and commercial impact, and inevitably mix in a handful of niche records while ignoring select popular hits.

Most are little more than clickbait exercises designed to boost ad impressions.

You’ll find no advertisements on this page. To borrow/adapt the lyrics from Neil Young’s “This Note’s for You,” I don’t write for Pepsi/I don’t write for Coke/I don’t write for nobody/Makes me look like a joke. Also, very few of those lists achieve what I love most about reading about music: a sense of the author. From where I sit, the best music reflects the listener(s) as much as it does the artist. It intertwines with our DNA. (And “best” in that sentence construct is a subjective thing.) 

With all that said, the reality of the past decade – which saw good times, bad times, and plenty of in-betweens for me and mine – is that a handful of albums turned my ear every year, and quite a few became constants. And of those, a select some have pretty much become one with my soul; they mean as much to me as the music of my youth.

One caveat: Your mileage may vary. One more caveat: It’s too early for my favorite albums of this year to be included here, as one never knows just how long they’ll stick with you (though I can’t imagine Allison Moorer’s Blood fading away). And one last caveat: I’m a middle-aged white guy with catholic tastes. (To quote Paul Simon again, “I know what I know.”) While I enjoy many different musical avenues, I generally find myself circling the same blocks of rock, pop and Americana/country.

And with that out of the way, here are my top seven albums for the 2010s.

1) Rumer – Seasons of My Soul (2010). In my first blog post on the Hatboro-Horsham Patch (which I’ve since moved to this site) in February 2012, I called it “an atmospheric song cycle that’s teeming with soulful, knowing lyrics and melodies that wrap themselves around the heart.” It spoke to me then and speaks to me now. It’s the definition of “essential.

2) Courtney Marie Andrews – Honest Life (2016). I cannot properly put into words the many ways this album affected me, other than to say this: From the moment I first heard it, it felt like it had been with me all my life. “Honest Life” is a song I want played at my funeral, whenever that may be. “Some things take a lifetime to fully understand.” (For my initial review of it, click here.)

3) Neil Young & Crazy Horse – Psychedelic Pill (2012). This may be a controversial pick for some, as not even all Neil fans appreciate its grandeur. Such is life. But as I wrote in this “essentials” essay, “it features sprawling songs that capture the messy essence of this thing called life.”

4) First Aid Kit – Stay Gold (2014). So, long about 2012, I had pretty much given up hope for the youth of the world. And then I heard “Emmylou” by the Swedish sister act known as First Aid Kit and realized that, indeed, I was wrong. As good as The Lion’s Den album was, however, nothing prepared me for this gem. The psychedelic folk of “Cedar Lane” remains as hypnotic to me now as it did then.

5) Juliana Hatfield – Juliana Hatfield Sings Olivia Newton-John (2018). I can hear some guffaws echoing through the interconnected tubes that make up this thing we call the “internet.” Whatever. This album saw two of my favorite worlds collide, and made a rough last half of the decade much sweeter. To rework a line from my initial review, it captures the spirit of the originals while adding a touch of Juliana’s heart.

6) Bruce Springsteen – Wrecking Ball (2012). From my original review (another first posted to the Patch but since relocated here): “[W]hat makes a song great isn’t that it conjures spirits from our youthful nights, but that it speaks to the present. Maybe the first blush of melody hurtles us into the past, but the bridge jerks us as fast into the here and now. And the lyrics ring true no matter the age – or our age, for that matter. The runaway American dream that drives Born to Run, for example, represents today as much as 1975, just as the bitter realities and resignation of Darkness reflect working-class life of every era. As Springsteen sings on the title track of Wrecking Ball, his new album, “hard times come and hard times go/yeah, just to come again.” Some things, for good and bad, never change.”

7) Diane Birch – Nous (2016). This EP is a true work of art anchored by what, to me, is one of the decade’s greatest songs: “Stand Under My Love.” To borrow from my review, Nous “documents dreams, disappointments, disillusionment, faith and acceptance, and an awareness not spoken that, indeed, the Last Things are the First Things.”


The lights dimmed, curtains parted and a spellbinding “My Songbird” wafted through billowy, bluish clouds as if an ethereal creature in flight. Strumming an acoustic guitar, Emmylou Harris stood center stage at the Keswick Theatre in Glenside, Pa., a near-silhouette, surrounded by what seemed to be three shadows – Daniel Lanois on guitar, Darryl Johnson on bass and Brady Blade on drums.

First, though a little context: On September 26th, Emmylou released the Lanois-produced Wrecking Ball, an atmospheric album that departed from the country-folk terrain she’d mined for the previous quarter century. That’s a bit of an over-simplification, I know, but prior to Wrecking Ball she mixed and matched songs and genres within the construct of the traditional country-folk sound. At a show we saw in 1991, for instance, she was joined on stage by Chet Atkins, performed a bluegrass breakdown, and also sang Steve Earle’s “Guitar Town” and Dion’s “Abraham, Martin & John.” Wrecking Ball, however, and the tour(s) that followed swapped the country overtones for a thick and rich gumbo that was equal parts noir, impressionistic and heartfelt.

Here’s “Deeper Well” from a few weeks later:

And “Where Will I Be” –

Two decades on and my memories of the show are not so good, unfortunately. “Prayer in Open D,” my favorite song of hers, came early and was stunning.

And her take on Steve Earle’s “Goodbye” was even more masterful on stage than on album.

At the show’s end, Diane and I both walking out of the theatre open-jawed, blown away by what we’d witnessed.

One additional, non-music memory: Although we had excellent seats, as the picture of my ticket stub shows, we were not front row, but fourth. (It goes to the wacky way the Keswick names its rows.) In the row before us: a guy cradling a green knapsack in his lap that had two super-large microphones sticking out from either side. The result: a bootleg of the show is out there, somewhere, making the rounds…

The setlist: My Songbird; Prayer in Open D; Waterfall; Where Will I Be; Orphan Girl; Wrecking Ball; Pancho & Lefty; Goin’ Back to Harlan; Deeper Well; Calling My Children Home; Green Pastures; One of These Days; Every Grain of Sand; Sweet Old World; Blackhawk; Big Chief/Indian Red; Goodbye; Making Believe; The Maker; All My Tears; How Far Am I From Canaan; You Don’t Miss Your Water


A few weeks back, my wife Diane and I toured the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame’s Bruce Springsteen exhibit at the Constitution Center in Philadelphia. It’s an amazing collection of memorabilia that includes his guitars, notebooks and clothes, along with concert footage, photographs, album covers, club placards and even the motorcycle he rode through the American Southwest in 1989. Suffice it to say, as a fan, I found the exhibit fascinating, much as I did the deluxe Darkness on the Edge of Town reissue from last year, which came with a full-size replica of Springsteen’s workbook for that 1978 LP. Pages upon pages were filled with scrawled lyrics and ideas left behind, and suggestions for the album’s track list that he ditched. It provided an unfettered glimpse at the creative process behind what remains a remarkable album.

At the same time, though, I found the museum approach a tad unsettling. It’s a bit like looking at parts of your own past under glass. Many artifacts are figurative springboards that jut out over the deep end of the memory pool, and whether you dive off or simply slip, the result is the same: you’re immersed in a rush of long-forgotten, Boss-related memories.

For instance, at the framed album cover of The River, Springsteen’s sprawling two-LP set from 1980, I remembered a time, a place, the ecstatic face of a girl who sat near me in high school homeroom the year of its release. Barb was her name. Maybe. That part’s admittedly hazy—we weren’t friends, merely neighbors in the same holding pen due to a quirk of fate. It may have been a shared class or study hall, now that I think about it, but what I recall without question is how she babbled about the unbelievable concert she’d been to the night before. It was phenomenal, incredible, truly a life-changing event. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, she enthused, were simply the best. To the point: I wondered then, and now, if she’s still a fan and, if so, if she listens to Springsteen’s new release on its own terms or yearns, as some fans do, for them to mimic those that first turned her ear – The River, given that was the album he was touring in support of at the time, and likely Darkness on the Edge of Town and Born to Run, too. Songs from each populated the playlists of WMMR and WYSP back then.

In my view, that wish some fans have for their musical heroes to release new records that replicate the old ones is basically a wish to be frozen in time. It’s quite common for people to pine for long-gone moments, of course, and music has a way of sending us spiraling through our personal histories like little else. But what makes a song great isn’t that it conjures spirits from our youthful nights, but that it speaks to the present. Maybe the first blush of melody hurtles us into the past, but the bridge jerks us as fast into the here and now. And the lyrics ring true no matter the age – or our age, for that matter. The runaway American dream that drives Born to Run, for example, represents today as much as 1975, just as the bitter realities and resignation of Darkness reflect working-class life of every era. As Springsteen sings on the title track of Wrecking Ball, his new album, “hard times come and hard times go/yeah, just to come again.” Some things, for good and bad, never change.

One of the things I admire about Springsteen is that, unlike many of his contemporaries, he’s refused to go the nostalgia route and become an arena-sized oldies act. I’d say he’s become a modern-day Woody Guthrie who tackles tough themes, but the truth is such subjects have streamed through his music since his earliest days. This time out, it’s about life in the Great Recession.

“We Take Care of Our Own,” the lead-off Wrecking Ball track, sets the tone with a series of rhetorical questions that cut to the bone: “Where’re the eyes, the eyes with the will to see?/Where’re the hearts that run over with mercy?” The “king who wants everything” from “Badlands” is now the “banker man” from “Jack of All Trades,” who’ll take any job no matter how small. The heartfelt “This Depression” could well be sung by the father from “Factory” (from Darkness) whose job has been shipped overseas. Yet, hope is visible on the horizon. “Land of Hope and Dreams,” debuted more than a decade ago on the E Street Band reunion tour, sees to that: “Leave behind your sorrows/Let this day be the last/tomorrow there’ll be sunshine/and all this darkness past.”

It’s fine to long for a time when the future looked bright and promises had yet to be broken, but no matter one’s age, the future isn’t here yet. Hope is to be had and, indeed, the darkness shall lift – at least for a few hours – when Bruce and band play the Wells Fargo Center two nights next week. “This train,” he sings, “carries saints and sinners,” “losers and winners,” “whores and gamblers” and “lost souls,” and is bound for a stop where “dreams shall not be thwarted” and “faith shall be rewarded.” It’s “we the people” and “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” rolled into one, Springsteen’s pact with new and long-time fans alike. So leave your preconceptions and expectations at the station, and hop aboard the E Street Express.