#The e street shuffle full#

The record's highlights are mostly on side two where three extended songs combine in what can best be compared to a rock 'n' roll version of Gershwin's 'Rhapsody in Blue.' Eschewing the folksier sound of 'Greetings from Asbury Park, NJ,' his backing group, now clearly recognizable as the E Street Band, were eloquently getting into their stride: Vini 'Mad Dog' Lopez on drums, Garry Tallent on bass, Sancious on piano, Danny Federici on organ and accordion, and the 'Big Man' Clarence Clemons on saxophone. Earlier that year, Springsteen had been exposed to the jubilant horns of Van Morrison, and his infatuation with the Irishman's Celtic soul music clearly shows. The Boss' sophomore album, 'The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle,' released in November 1973, went one better. Sancious' piano was especially crucial in 'It's Hard to be a Saint in the City,' the song that had apparently persuaded legendary producer, Joe Hammond to sign Bruce to Columbia Records in the first place. Punk rock hadn't been kind to keyboardists, and I was relieved to finally discover a musician whose complex riffs and jazzy chords were cool, challenging and fun to play. To me, everything about his dynamic debut album, from its picture postcard cover to its enigmatic song titles, seemed novel and intriguing.Īs an aspiring keyboard player, I was particularly drawn to the piano playing of David Sancious, a crucial lynchpin in Bruce's nascent backing band. Tuning in 12 years later, it was hard to fathom exactly why. Back then, Columbia Records had promoted the 23-year-old Springsteen as the next Bob Dylan, a kiss-of-death moniker that rang hollow when the LP flopped. It was in marked contrast to the album's original release. His first album, 'Greetings from Asbury Park, NJ,' released in January 1973, finally busted its way into the UK album charts in 1985, spearheaded by retro music-loving kids who had belatedly discovered that there was more to Springsteen than Cadillacs and American flags. (Fin Costello/Redferns/Getty Images)Īs it turned out, I wasn't the only Gen-Xer plundering The Boss' back catalogue for inspiration. They might have lacked the broad mainstream appeal and professionalism of 'Born in the USA,' but there was a freshness and uniqueness about them that Springsteen would struggle to recreate in his later work.īruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band perform live on stage at the Carlton Theatre in Red Bank, New Jersey, USA during the Born To Run tour on 11th October 1975. While some critics dismissed the records as grandiloquent and sketchily produced, we embraced their quirky storytelling and spontaneous energy. It was the kind of refreshing, rough-around-the-edges sound that directly appealed to callow British teenagers like us. But, for myself and Pete, they marked Bruce at his apex, a jumble of loose, jazzy riffs and poetic lyrics colored with intricate rhymes. Global domination had to wait until the release of 'Born in the USA' nearly a decade later.īased on their poor sales, one might assume that Springsteen's first two albums were undistinguished and forgettable. Major glory only came with 'Born to Run' in 1975 after he'd nearly been dropped by his record company. While garnering positive critical attention, they logged relatively disappointing sales. He arrived inauspiciously in 1973 with two albums released 10 months apart. 'They marked Bruce at his apex, a jumble of loose, jazzy riffs and poetic lyrics colored with intricate rhymes.'īruce Springsteen didn't suddenly explode on the music scene. By the end of the third number, I was hooked – not on the stadium-filling, fist-punching Springsteen that everyone else revered, but on the lesser-known, more rebellious younger version. 'Madman bummers, drummers and Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat.'

Beautiful sounds pulsated through the speakers and danced around my teenage bedroom: the teasing guitar riff at the beginning of 'Blinded by the Light' followed by the song's dense, verbose lyrics.

#The e street shuffle full#

I can't recall the full details of our conversation that day, but I do remember that at some point, I carefully extracted the cassette from its plastic box and inserted it into my cheap tape deck. It was through him that I had discovered the avant-garde delights of the Velvet Underground and Talking Heads. Pete and I were in a band, a desperately ambitious three-piece that tried too hard to sound like Echo and the Bunnymen. How Bruce Springsteen – and the left – can reclaim and cultivate a vocabulary of patriotism