Haruki Murakami is one of those authors I always vaguely feel like I ought to read, but never quite get around to picking up.
As anyone who hasn't been living in a cave knows, this is Springsteen's September 11 album, with the bulk of the tracks touching on one aspect or another of that horrific event. It's hard to separate the album from the trauma, and that's the sort of thing that can easily get in the way of determining whether the album is any good or not.
What makes Bruce Springsteen important? Here's one very personal answer.
Swooning teeny-boppers shouldn't hurt their almost grown-up sound... right?
The people want this?
Track after track meanders on, never finding its center, never exploding into the rock and roll ecstacy that the band always seems capable of, but never quite delivers.
BC Writer of the Day