The Revver

I once had a car that was more like a home
I lived in it, loved in it; polished its chrome
If some of my homes had been more like my car
I probably wouldn’t have…

…traveled this far.
-Paul Simon

E Street is an ironic boulevard. Bruce made Born to Run, which ties for first on my personal chart of all-time, most unique, extraordinary, come-from-behind artistic musical triumphs. He followed up with Darkness on the Edge of Town, which shows some real-world grit weighing down the fanciful artistic notions of ‘75. Then came The River, wherein our characters revisit the Shangri-la of youthful possibility only when ensconced behind the wheel.

There’s lots of drivin’ on The River, a double album sparing no artistic expense in pursuit of this theme. Drivin’ home, she grabs something to eat; every Monday I gotta drive her to the unemployment agency; I went out for a ride and I never went back; we’d drive in my brother’s car, down to the reservoir; she’s a hot-steppin’ hemi with a four-on-the-floor; I’d drive all night just to taste your tender charms; I wanted to hold the bumper and let her drag me down the street; I got a Batmobile so I can meetcha in a fast shake; me and Dirty Annie parkin’ at the drive-in…

Too, the album concludes with a song about drivin’. Wreck on the Highway is the tale of a young man who encounters another youth, bloodied and dying alongside his demolished ride. This being a one-car accident, we must conclude that the victim was a guy like Bruce, out drivin’ too fast, chasin’ somethin’ in the night, evading some impending internal darkness, impossible to outrun. The narrator calls an ambulance for the poor chap, but it is too late. Our Samaritan is haunted by this encounter, imagining the devastation befalling his loved ones had his number come up that day.

This somber realization, however, did not presage the end of Springsteen’s reckless yen for the rugged highway. Nebraska begins and ends with tales of drivers and death; Born in the USA concludes with a tale of a dying town – Freehold, New Jersey – as seen from behind the wheel; Tunnel of Love ends with another discontented motorist. And as Bruce became one of the wealthiest and most successful entertainers in America, a peculiar irony took shape, a tug-of-war between houses and highways, movement and permanence.

The characters in Springsteen’s songs are men in transit. Escape from the mundane is about motion. They drive, the walk, they strut; in the interim, they tune up their rides, to more briskly move between points A and B. But where are they going, and why?

More importantly, where did Bruce go? As the 1980s wore on, Springsteen found himself prowling Highway 9, and the New Jersey Turnpike, late at night, continually beating a path to the doors of the houses in which he grew up. This seems ironic, in light of the fact that he seemed to learn how to drive in order to be anywhere, other than these houses.

Home life was not a source of contentment for the young Bruce, as he has stated many times from the stage. He wanted out, and badly; guitars and cars illuminating imaginary pathways radiating in every direction from Freehold. It seems incomprehensible that every real-life highway should lead to, not from, that locale.

The cars got shinier, but the destination did not change. Circa 1990, Bruce began to talk of meeting with therapists, to discuss the relentless, beacon-like pull exerted by his ex-residences. Doc, he’d say, I keep visiting the old houses where I used to live; what is going on? The therapist opined perhaps ‘something went wrong’ in those houses, and Springsteen was returning to see if he could ‘fix it’.

It is hard to believe the unspectacular town of Freehold ensnared a man who had acquired the keys to the world in the very act of escaping. Or, perhaps it all makes a measure of sense, as engineered by a God with an ironic sense of humor.

As Springsteen accumulated real estate across America, perhaps he began to learn the various legal characterizations associated with its acquisition. Some real estate ownerships, or estates, are of a permanent nature; others have legal strings attached. A leasehold estate, for example, is a conditional state of ownership lasting for a restricted period.

There is, however, a type of ownership of a permanent nature. It is a designation handed down from old English law, involving kings, and permanent, rightful ownership of parcels of land, granted permanently, no strings attached.

The law recognizes this type of ownership as a freehold estate.

Perhaps it is only fitting that an ‘estate in Freehold’ had a permanent, lifelong ownership interest in the artistic turf of its favorite son. One good ‘freehold estate’ deserves another.

In fact, freehold estates were created, legally and metaphorically, in every real estate deal Springsteen closed.

As Bruce accumulated assets, paying cash for mansions coast to coast, obtaining 100 percent, unconditional ownership in perpetuity…

Deep, deep down, in every sense, every single house Springsteen acquired…

… was his own, personal freehold.

Perhaps Bruce eventually came to realize it is as impossible to run from ‘freeholds’ as it is to outrun the darkness inside.

I hope you are finally free if the hold, Brucie.

And if the hot-steppin’ hemi ultimately did not travel terribly far, it has been an extraordinarily enjoyable ride.

Thanks for sharing the view with us, Bruce -

- Kevin