Born to Run: Biography

With his debts paid and money in the bank, Springsteen, for the first time in his life, buys a new car.

A House is Not a Home

He decides he needs a permanent home, but permanence is a forbidding prospect, something for other people. After looking at—and rejecting—homes all across New Jersey, he considers moving back to Freehold, but coming home, a “do-over,” is just a fantasy. Forward, he realizes, is the only viable direction.

Springsteen begins work on his next album, Nebraska (1982), a musical odyssey through his childhood. The songs are inspired and influenced by his folk heroes, noir literature and film, and an inner voice that called to him as a young boy, beckoning him outside at night to listen to the silence. Unlike the driving rock and roll of his previous albums, Nebraska is far more restrained—musical poetry that “feel[s] like a waking dream” (299). The writing process is quick, and, as he often does, he records the songs as demos first, unsure whether they’re album worthy. He then records them with the band, but upon hearing the mixed versions, he fears he hasn’t done them justice. They’ve lost their “atmosphere.” Eventually, he opts for the original demos recorded on a simple 4-track cassette recorder.

After some initial difficulty transferring the original recordings to vinyl, Nebraska is released as an LP, and for the first time, Springsteen doesn’t tour to promote it. He can’t see how the album’s acoustic tone and “quiet stillness” translating to the stage. He decides to spend the winter in California, but 32 years of unaddressed emotional issues “finally reach critical mass” (302).

The Trip

Springsteen heads west in a 69 Ford XL with his friend Matt Delia, who’s in a funk over a recent breakup.

Matt

Delia, who owns a motorcycle dealership, is equally at home working on cars and motorcycles as discussing art and politics. He’s Springsteen’s safety net in case the XL breaks down on the way.

Driving

They drive through Memphis and stop in New Orleans, taking in the local music scene. As they head west, however, Springsteen feels uneasy—unusual for him since the road has always been “surefire medication” for any and all troubles.

The Last Town

They drive through a small Texas town where a local band is playing. He’s overcome by a powerful yearning to be among these people, to be one of them. His usual role as an observer of life suddenly seems inadequate; participating in the “emotional fray” of family and community (rather than remaining safely apart from it) feel profoundly necessary. They drive on, but Springsteen asks Matt to turn around. Years of transience and rootlessness crash down in an abrupt existential crisis. The defenses he built over the years to cope with past emotional pain have begun to crumble. They eventually leave, but the memory remains.

They finally reach Springsteen’s Hollywood Hills cottage, but he’s filled with “self-loathing” and wants to leave. This home—the first he’s ever owned—beckons him to stay, but staying isn’t in his repertoire. He confronts his physical and emotional wanderlust, and the only thing preventing him from returning to New Jersey is the knowledge that it will only lead to an endless cycle of “wheel-spinning madness” (308). He phones Landau, who refers him to a therapist. Two days later, he visits the therapist and, within moments, “burst[s] into tears” (309).

Now We Begin

Talking eases him away from the abyss of negative thoughts, and thus begins a 30-year journey of self-discovery toward a life not masked by performance or career. The journey leads to questions about his past (the pain he endured and the pain he inflicted on others) as well as his future (whether he can overcome his transience and build a life and a home).

Three Dreams

Springsteen dreams of his younger self, at times free and “unburdened” but at others acutely aware of the damage he has done to himself, forcing his inner child into a “distorted” role he can’t fill. The dream ends with the child waving goodbye to his adult self, reassuring him that everything will be okay. This dream repeats, in different iterations, many times over the years, but the final scene is always the same: his younger self beseeching his current self to finally live. He learns the only way to diminish the past’s power over him is to shine a light on it from within.

What’s Up, Doc?

Springsteen is referred to New York therapist Wayne Myers, whom he sees for 25 years—until Myers’s death—to face his demons and come to grips with the fact that there’s no final answer, just a lifelong process of discovery and self-reflection.

The title “Born in the USA” derives directly from that of a Paul Schrader screenplay. With a bare-bones beginning—a few guitar chords and a “synth riff”—Springsteen and the band build the song in the studio, capturing “lightning in a bottle” (314). It’s Springsteen’s Vietnam protest song and homage to the warriors who fought, were irrevocably damaged, and were later ignored by a country that wanted to forget the war ever happened. It’s also a declaration of birthright that can never be rescinded. The song’s conflicting nature—simultaneously critical and patriotic—is misunderstood and misappropriated by casual listeners who can’t, or won’t, consider the paradox, including then-President Ronald Reagan. Springsteen later grapples with the disparity between the song’s social critique and its powerful, upbeat presentation.

The other songs he records for the new album feel too pop, lacking emotional weight, so he takes time and waits for the “rain” to wash away his writer’s block. Eventually, he writes “Bobby Jean,” “No Surrender,” and “Dancing in the Dark,” and the album is complete. Born in the USA (1984) is Springsteen’s most pop album, and he releases it with some trepidation, wondering whether a mass audience will obscure the album’s social relevance. Nevertheless, he takes the leap, and by 1985, he’s a “bona fide mainstream radio ‘superstar’” (317).