Roger Federer’s final competitive match, a doubles pairing with Rafael Nadal, will be underway shortly at the Laver Cup, as soon as Andy Murray’s clash with Alex de Minaur concludes. I’ll turn up the television’s volume once Federer takes the court, but until then I’m trying to distract myself with music and, while perusing my tablet, landed on Bruce Springsteen.
Today is Springsteen’s 73rd birthday, a shocking number to a kid who grew up in the ’80s and still thinks of him as the energetic young rocker whose tight ass (her words, not mine) my token straight aunt ardently admired. In my younger days I listened more to his earlier work, and even crooned “Rosalita” to a girlfriend who indulged such nonsense despite my inability to carry a tune in a bucket.
As a woman lurching uncertainly toward middle age, I prefer his ’80s output, some of which—like “Brilliant Disguise” and other tracks from Tunnel of Love—is far more devastating to 39-year-old ears than it was to a clueless 20-something. My favorite Springsteen song comes from that decade: “I’m on Fire,” also known as “the creepy one.”
It perfectly captures, in an aptly spare and fleeting manner, what it is to lie awake at night gripped by a particular type of torment that isn’t quite as nagging in the daylight. The padded video, directed by John Sayles, is cinematic in its own right but detracts from the moodiness of the song rather than complementing it.
“I’m on Fire” has been covered by many artists, with one of the better known versions belonging to Tori Amos (who retains Springsteen’s original pronouns but substitutes the word “soul” for “skull”). Browsing for covers I hadn’t previously heard, I was startled to find one by Julia Sugarbaker herself, Ms. Dixie Carter.
Unsurprisingly, the late Carter opted to change the pronouns, and “Hey, little boy, is your mama home?” somehow manages to sound far more disturbing than anything Springsteen came up with. The whole thing has to be heard to be believed: from the unnecessary extra ‘oomph’ she inserts near the beginning—followed by just a splash of quickly forgotten twang—to its generally confused tone (this wasn’t a song that required Marc Cohn-esque ivory-tickling), it’s a genuine disaster.
All that’s left to say about it is this, to paraphrase the furious conclusion of one of Carter’s best known Designing Women monologues: “And that, Marjorie—just so you will know, and your children will someday know—was not the night the lights went out in Georgia!”
Cranky Lesbian is a disgruntled homosexual with too much time on her hands. Click for film reviews or to follow on Instagram.
Lisa
OMG…BWAHAHAHAHAHA Now, I must go and listen. Love Springsteen. I’ve seen him perform thrice! I would have loved to have seen his Broadway show.
As usual, brilliant. I love “Better Days” myself, along with the whole LP of “The River,” and so much more.