In the weeks after September 11, hoards of songwriters from all genres went to work crafting their responses, but none were moved by the tragedy as much as the salt-of-the-earth musicians, the artists who habitually sympathize with the blue-collar workers of the world, the Alan Jacksons and Hank Williams Jrs and, yes, the Bruce Springsteens. It pains me to lump the great classic rocker into the same category as those slight country artists, but it's undeniable that while "Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)" is a pale, obvious shadow of the work on Springsteen's new album The Rising, the spirit is the same. "Faith, hope and love are some good things He gave us / And the greatest is love" Jackson sang on his hit ballad. Springsteen sings on "Into The Fire," "May your strength give us strength / May your faith give us faith / May your hope give us hope / May your hope bring us love." The sentiments and themes and even the words are exactly the same. So why is it that "Where Were You" inspires a kind of revulsion in me, while "Into the Fire" made me cry the first time I heard it?

Alan Jackson's emotion in his ballad came off as forced, because what he does best is write novelty songs about drinking and getting divorced and... shit, I don't know... horses, I guess. He couldn't be bothered to employ a single metaphor in his song, opting instead to strike an I-tell-it-like-it-is pose, describing common feelings in as dry and obvious a way as possible, perhaps so as not to go over his audience's heads. He even wrote a plain-spoken appeal to ignorance into the chorus: "I watch CNN, but I'm not sure I can tell you the difference / in Iraq and Iran." Good for him.

The difference between his failure and Bruce's success can't be sincerity, for if we go around questioning the sincerity of one songwriter, they are all suspect, and not even I am that cynical. The difference is quality, plain and simple. Springsteen has always been great at writing anthems, and narrating wrenching emotional situations. He has built a career on taking working-class characters, and all their heartache, and setting it to a scorching guitar riff and an impossibly catchy chorus. He's also not shy about voicing doubts, exposing contradictions, and even exploring his own shortcomings. That, more than anything, is why The Rising works. It is populated with people who are in pain, and confused, and perhaps even wrong, but Bruce makes them Human, and just as importantly, American. He embodies a sensibility so American that no one else could have made an album about September 11 and have it come off this well. Bruce is the voice of the common man in a way that no other artist has ever even come close to.