Various Artists – Badlands: A Tribute To Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska
As memories are sneaky, self-absorbed creatures who often excuse themselves from context in order to join the family photo albums, approaching a tribute album project — one of nostalgia’s natural breeding grounds — on Bruce Springsteen, it would be tempting to overlook 1982’s dark Reagan-era Nebraska in favor of the cooler cars ‘n’ chicks stuff.
But Nebraska turned out to be a landmark recording. Its one man, one guitar, one 4-track approach was as much at odds with the overblown ’80s studio aesthetic as its bleak lyricism chronicling marginalization and desperation was in direct conflict with America’s then-prevailing jingoistic streak. To this day, the album remains an inspiration for songwriters, a stellar grouping of whom have been assembled to recreate it — their own interpretations, but using only four tracks — as Badlands.
It does arrive with some baggage, of course, chiefly the existence of three prior stabs at the Springsteen oeuvre, each which contained three Nebraska songs. 1988’s Cover Me (with Johnny Cash’s “Johnny 99”, the Reivers’ “Atlantic City” and the Beat Farmers’ “Reason To Believe”) and 1996’s The Bruce Springsteen Songbook (with Dave Edmunds, Cowboy Junkies, Emmylou Harris, Joe Grushecky, etc.), weren’t so much tributes as compilations of disparate Boss covers. The 1997 two-disc One Step Up/Two Steps Back presented exclusive tracks alongside existing covers, from Smithereens and John Wesley Harding to David Bowie and Southside Johnny, and was about 75% listenable. By comparison, Badlands ratchets the success rate up to roughly 90% by the seemingly contradictory virtues of its conceptual charm and lack of conceit.
Similar to the recent tribute to the Skip Spence album Oar, Badlands mirrors the original LP’s song sequence, followed by a handful of bonus tracks originating from the sessions but not included on the final product. Chrissie Hynde and Adam Seymour kick things off with a droning, subtly gospelish reading of the title track’s recounting of the Starkweather murder spree; the duo conveys the perfect sense of morbid matter-of-factness that made Springsteen’s version so chilling. Another guy-gal pairing pulls off Nebraska’s closing number, “Reason To Believe”: Michael Penn and Aimee Mann, with accordion and mandolin backing, reassert the titular sentiments on man’s resilient nature with an initially reserved air that gives way to happy, harmony-rich resolve.
Between those two deliberate narrative extremes come some astonishing moments. Dar Williams’ “Highway Patrolman” is not only emotionally riveting in its depiction of conflicted fraternal ties (“Nothin’ feels better than blood on blood”), its organ/guitar motif could’ve been adopted by The Boss himself for subsequent E Street Band purposes. On “My Father’s House”, Ben Harper sings in a voice as hushed and tortured as the fever-dream depicted in the lyrics themselves. Los Lobos transforms “Johnny 99” into a rousing Tex-Mex number that keenly fleshes out the nuances of the tune’s outlaw-hero mythologizing.
The remaining songs are expertly rendered by Crooked Fingers, aka Archers of Loaf’s Eric Bachmann (“Mansion On The Hill”, replacing a version done by Billy Bragg included on early advances of the CD), Deana Carter (“State Trooper”), Ani DiFranco (“Used Cars”) and Son Volt (“Open All Night”). The only clunker comes from Hank Williams III, whose corn-pone vocals and fiddlin’ ‘n’ yodelin’ honky-tonk arrangement seem inappropriate for the haunting “Atlantic City”.
The three bonus tracks are well-chosen. Back in ’84, “I’m On Fire” and “Downbound Train” wound up being redone for Born In The U.S.A.; here, the former gets recast from deep lust to everlasting love by Johnny Cash, while the Mavericks’ Raul Malo handles the latter in manner that’s jangly and anthemic, yet heartrendingly poignant. Damien Jurado and Rose Thomas’ “Wages Of Sin” (an obscure May ’82 demo with lyrical ties to “My Father’s House” and originating from very early Born In The U.S.A. sessions, eventually surfacing on the 1998 Tracks box set) is ghostly, spectral, repentant, moving — and absolutely true to its inspiration.
Sub Pop, producer Jim Sampas, and the musicians — many of whom have previously demonstrated their commitments to causes that address the same concerns voiced in Springsteen’s lyrics — have provided a remarkable service for the community. By passionately and without undue nostalgia resurrecting the populist theme of Nebraska — a troubling sense of disconnect wedded to the improbable optimism of the human spirit — these artists are bearing its torch forth for the next generation. (Springsteen himself reportedly gave the project his tacit approval, and a portion of the proceeds will go to the Doctors Without Borders medical relief agency, www.msf.org.) After all, when kept alive and not consigned to the photo album, memories can be among the most potent forces of social change.