Going to the Rexall for Some Batteries

So last night I headed out to this bar downtown called The Gas Knob to knock back some whiskey and listen to some friends of mine play Irish drinking songs. It's a nice bar, only been open a little while -- with a cherry location right across the street from the minor league baseball field and right next door to the Jacksonville Veterans Memorial Arena.

So I pull in about 11, park nearby and as I'm walking by the concert hall I notice that people are starting to filter out the doors. I hadn't realized anyone was playing tonight, but whatever -- there are plenty of shows that go on in that hall that I don't really have any interest in as a listener.

So I get to the bar, order up a shot and start singing along with Spade McQuade and the All Stars when suddenly the floodgates opened up and an endless sea of asshats just started pouring into the place.

Older guys. Teva sandals, khaki shorts, and hats that say PING. Cigars in their mouths and cell phones pouches on their belts. Just pushing and shoving and completely ignoring all ideas of decency and etiquette when it comes to standing in line at an understaffed bar. One minute I'm standing there trying to explain all of the ingredients that go into a Colorado Bulldog, and the next there's some dude interrupting me demanding that the bartender get 4 bottles of Bud Light and for him and his boys.

Annoyed, I lean over to the guy on the other side of me and ask,

"Where did all these assholes come from?"
"Next door, probably"
"Who was playing?"
"Springsteen."

..Oh no.     
Oh hell no.

For the life of me, I've never understood Bruce Springsteen (and I'm not just talking about his mumbly-shouting style of singing, either). Honestly, white people look at him as if he were some sort of god -- and for what?

Born to Run??

I know everyone says he hit superstardom in the 80's with all that Dancing in the Dark/Born in the USA crap -- but people were talking about his ass way before that, and whenever you'd listen to his music all you could really think to say was,

Am I missing something here?

I've always sorta harbored this theory that every generation has an artist that fits perfectly into a moment in time, and resonates with the experiences of people in that time. I think to a large extent Sinatra was like that -- because in his heyday he represented an ideal of what a lot of people aspired to be at the time.

The difference is, Sinatra had talent.

Unfortunately for the rest of us who weren't there in whatever particular moment it was that Bruce snuck in, it leaves us scratching our heads as to what the big fat hairy deal was.

To me, Bruce Springsteen is sorta like what Jimmy Buffet would be like if he couldn't swim. He's a billionaire who makes a living telling you what he does on his vacation, and you eat it up like he's describing Shangri-la. And I know lots of people love "Margaritaville" and all that mess, but really -- when you sit down and examine all those songs, it's like he's singing the same thing over and over:

"Gee ain't it great to be a bum."

You wanna dance to unemployment? Get yourself some Sam Cooke.
That's a brother who knows what it's like to eat government cheese.

Besides, the guys that were clogging up the floorspace at the Gas Knob Saturday night wouldn't know a steel mill if it came up and hit them in the face. These were upper management/vacation house up in the Hamptons types. Guys who have had it easy for so long that they actually romanticize what it's like to have to work your ass off just to put food on the table.

And not for nothing, but that one Springsteen song "I'm On Fire" (which would play all the frigging time at the radio station I used to work at) is flat-out creepy. I think it's supposed to be a love song, but only if you're the kind of guy who's worried about running into Chris Hansen and a Dateline NBC camera crew when you arrive at the girl's place.

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
I got a bad desire
I'm on fire

Tell me now baby is he good to you
Can he do to you the things that I do
I can take you higher
I'm on fire

Sometimes its like someone took a knife baby
Edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley
Through the middle of my soul

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the
Middle of my head
Only you can cool my desire
I'm on fire

Seriously, ladies -- do you really want that guy to buy you a drink? Are you really looking for someone like this to raise your kids?

Or are you like me and already filling out the paperwork to make sure he
stays at least 500 feet away from you at all times under penalty of law?

I don't know -- maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm just not from the right generation or time that would help me to get it -- or maybe I'm just too much of a jaded music snob anymore to be able to open my ears and discover his appeal. Not that I'd really want to, if it means I'd have to hang out with people like the ones that clogged up the bar like a fat guy's artery the other night -- but perhaps just to understand why so many people enjoy listening to music like that, instead of songs that I think are fantastic

Like this one:

[Listening to:  Dead Kennedys – "Terminal Preppie" ]