David Brooks Has A Point (But Fuck Him Anyway)

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOl4FcUTUDI?feature=oembed&w=459&h=344]

I’m down with the general hatred of David Brooks, being as he’s apparently some kind of Republican scumbag who finds it entertaining to extoll the virtues of “middle class” culture as though he’s some kind of executive correspondent for the rich to help them understand us feeble poor.

So I’m totally on board with hating on the guy for his Springsteen piece, in which he totally misunderstands the Boss’ appeal to his European fans, and in doing so, either ignorantly or intentionally ignores the dire truths hidden in plain sight within Springsteen’s music. (Don’t miss Caryn Rose laying waste to the “rich white guys like Springsteen — PHLEGHM AT ELEVEN” trend.)

BUT! I kinda like this part.

My best theory is this: When we are children, we invent these detailed imaginary worlds that the child psychologists call “paracosms.” These landscapes, sometimes complete with imaginary beasts, heroes and laws, help us orient ourselves in reality. They are structured mental communities that help us understand the wider world.

Over the years, Springsteen built his own paracosm, with its own collection of tramps, factory closings, tortured Catholic overtones and moments of rapturous escape. This construction project took an act of commitment.

Let’s be honest: There’s some truth here, right? Not a ton of truth, and certainly a truth misappropriated toward idiotic ends. But truth nonetheless.

I don’t know if there’s one prevailing path into Springsteen’s music, but if I had to guess, I’d suppose that for many fans, their Springsteen obsession began with something recorded before 1980. And although he does take his characters through some dark times, there IS a strong, almost consistent mythology at work, with characters you can even trace from song to song in some cases.

Is the “Mary” who climbs into the car on “Thunder Road” the same “Mary” who “just acts like she don’t care” on “The River”? Probably not, at least not intentionally…but the mere idea that it could be true creates a connective tissue between these songs, and between all of Springsteen’s songs.

I’ve said before that there’s a sense in which the E Street Band is basically rock’s answer to the Justice League, or if you prefer, the Avengers — larger-than-life titans with alter egos (Mighty Max! The Professor! Sister Suzie!) who go out on stage every night and utilize epic powers to transform lives. They sing and play stories about rat traps filled with soul crusaders, and outlaws named Pete who at six months old had done three months in jail.

They’re also musicians who play music, and there’s truth in that music, real human truth, as Jamison Foser points out in his excellent rebuttal of the Brooks piece:

Bruce Springsteen’s popularity in Europe would, I suppose, be mildly perplexing if Springsteen did, in fact, sing principally about New Jersey. He doesn’t. His songs are about people and ideas and concepts and the human condition more than they are about the Garden State. Fourth of July (Asbury Park) isn’t about July 4, or Asbury Park. Racing in the Street isn’t about Kingsley Avenue. Born to Run isn’t about highway 9. The River isn’t about a damn river. Springsteen uses locations as a backdrop for his stories, and to give them detail that makes them feel tangible. It’s a common literary device that, among other things, allows writers to address broad concepts in a way that is familiar and relatable rather than abstract and bloodless.

I just happen to think both things can be true — that Springsteen’s work can act as both a “paracosm” and just a tableau against which human and political truths are expressed. In fact, not only are both parts true, one is essential to the other. It’s true that “Racing in the Street” isn’t about Kingsley Avenue, but because the song exists within the context of Springsteen’s work, we know where that street is. We can see the kind of people driven to race there every night, to the detriment of their human connections, because it helps them briefly fill whatever gaping void exists in their hearts.

Would I feel as strongly for pregnant Mary if I couldn’t also imagine her as the same woman pulling out of here to win? Probably. But would I feel as strongly for her if that song was disconnected somehow from the body of Springsteen’s work, just a sad story about an anonymous kid who knocks up some girl and they both hate their lives? If so, it’s only because the detail is powerful whether it’s the latest chapter in Springsteen’s ongoing story or a stand-alone chronicle. Springsteen draws meaning and power from detail all over his work.

But that detail contributes to a larger tapestry too, and that tapestry is invaluable. The truth draws strength from the fantasy; the fantasy draws strength from the truth. It draws us in, gives us signposts to determine where we stand, and then helps us empathize with these characters driving down dark highways, following thin white lines toward the promised land.