We all have favorite songs that we passionately love. It's easy to assume that we've always adored them, but this isn’t always the case. I'd bet that many of us have favorites that we initially hated. It's time for me to confess the truth: as much as I love Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” now, I was not terribly impressed the first time I heard it.
Let’s set the WAYBACK machine to the fall of 1975: I was an 11-year-old fifth grader at Beck Street Elementary in the South End of Columbus. At the time, I was fanatical about two bands: The Beatles and The Who. I wasn’t interested in anyone else. It was a few years before I connected the dots and understood what I liked and why, thus expanding my tastes. Even so, The Beatles and The Who were precocious for a 1970’s schoolboy. I can thank my older brother John for that.
Every Thursday after school, my brother and I had a weekly ritual: we'd walk to a neighborhood store to buy the latest comic books and/or rock magazines. We'd usually hit Sloan’s Drugs on Parsons Avenue or Paul’s Cut Rate on South High Street. It was the latter where I first heard “Born to Run.”
Paul’s Cut Rate was something of a neighborhood institution, but a hard business to define. It was something of the old-time general store, serving as a carry-out, news-stand, and hobby shop. It also sold non-perishable groceries and non-prescription medicines. The reality was darker: rumors among adults claimed that Paul’s was a front for illegal gambling, but I have no proof. Regardless, I spent considerable time there during childhood.
One particular Thursday afternoon, the clerk behind the counter had a radio tuned to a Top 40 station. It was loud enough for customers to hear clearly: I enjoyed listening as I perused the comic rack. And then it happened.
Right as my brother walked to the counter to pay for new issues of “Sgt. Rock” or “Creem,” a Pop Symphony serenaded us from that radio: it sounded like an old Phil Spector production from the 1960’s, with layers of instruments and a hauntingly twangy guitar riff leading the way. My brother gave a broad smile of recognition and exclaimed, “Hey! That’s Bruce Springsteen!”
John paid for his purchases and lingered near the cash register to hear the rest of the song. When it was over, he asked, “Hey, Jim, what did you think of Bruce Springsteen?”
Having limited knowledge of music, I could only register my first impression, and it wasn’t good. “He sings like he has a mouth full of food! He sounds like he is chewing on a sandwich!”
My brother rolled his eyes at my ignorance and probably even called me “uncool” or “narrow-minded.” I really didn’t care. I was so naively “Beatles Uber Alles” that little by anyone else could impress me.
Fast forward about four years: I visited my brother at his apartment near the Columbus College of Art and Design every weekend. Saturday afternoons, we usually hopped on a bus to the Ohio State University campus to buy records or to catch a movie at The University Flick. On those rides, I noticed a huge poster for Bruce Springsteen in the window of Singin’ Dog Records. The singer looked different from what I remembered: rather than a 1970’s quasi-hippie with a beard & bell-bottoms, he resembled the classic American greaser, like Fonzie. There was something cool about his scruffy pompadour, leather jacket and beardless face, but I didn’t quite understand it. That would soon change.
Back at the apartment, John turned the radio to Q-FM-96, and we heard the usual “AOR” fare: Led Zeppelin, Rolling Stones, Jethro Tull, and so on. The disc jockey then announced Bruce Springsteen: my brother once again got enthused, “They’re playing the ‘Steen. You like the ‘Steen, don’t you?”
Feeling somewhat uncool, I could only mutter, “Yeah.”
Rather than “Born to Run,” the jock played a newer song that sounded like it was recorded in concert. It was propelled by a slow bass riff as Springsteen compared his love for a woman to “Fire.” I was somewhat impressed. I liked the passionate delivery and his cool attitude. And, no, he didn't sing like he was chewing on a sandwich!
By this time, I was starting to figure out that I loved the simplicity and immediacy of early Rock ‘n’ Roll and 1960’s Soul. This included those Girl Group “Wall of Sound” records produced by Phil Spector. I was pleasantly surprised one afternoon at National Record Mart when I heard a new album that smacked of Spector producing Gary U.S. Bonds: it was The River by Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. I loved it and requested a copy for Christmas. I was finally a Springsteen fan.
I now kept my ears open whenever Bruce Springsteen was on the radio. In no time, I finally fell in love with that record I first heard back in 1975: “Born to Run.” Since then, it has been in my personal Hall of Fame. Now you know the whole story.
Jim Hutter is a veteran Columbus musician, journalist, and ASCAP songwriter who has been active in these arts since the 1980's.