ABSTRACT
For me, the most irritating, wonderful thing about Bruce Springsteen is how he gets under my skin whether I want him to or not. When I'm not listening to him, I can get plenty of distance. Maybe too much distance. Not listening means I can run all kinds of riffs on him. You know, smart-ass schoolyard critic riffs like, How can you trust a working-class hero who calls himself The Boss? Or earnest varsity-level critic riffs like, How does a rich rock star who lives in Hollywood write songs about the blue-collar world's harsh and sentimental realities and fill arenas with the very people he's writing about from afar? Why do they believe in him? Or fancy pro-league critic riffs like, What are the levels of manipulation inherent in a best-selling pop star's release, especially when he's fired his longtime band, had a long layoff, and reappeared in bad economic times that threaten record-industry profitability, which depends so much on major stars like him?
