Post-Tunnel of Love, Bruce Springsteen has struggled. Aside from a few returns to form with Nebraska-like The Ghost of Tom Joad and The Rising, his effectiveness as a true troubadour, a rock and roll titan, is over. Thankfully, Springsteen has more hits than most and enjoyed a decade on top. He made the most of this time in the spotlight and yet could not continue onwards after Tunnel of Love. His troubles can be heard on Human Touch, one of two middling albums released by The Boss in 1992. This, along with Lucky Town, has a few moments of interest but it stands as an odd choice to split the two, rather than pool the strongest songs together. Human Touch has an awkward handover feel to it, the excess of the 1980s studio noise is still heard on the likes of the title track, and yet the honesty of Springsteen’s writing is still there, just not used as effectively.
Ironic it may be, but what Springsteen lacked most of all was the human touch. Yet there is still much to love about his efforts here. They are still boisterous, exciting and guitar-led powerhouses which sounds more like burnout on the part of The Boss than anything else. Its straightforward nature after such brilliance and innovation earlier is the bitter pill we must swallow if we want to make the most of this effort. Plainer tones are not, necessarily, the sign of a burnt-out mind or a hollow shell – Human Touch still has some essential, emotive efforts – but it is a definite step down from what fans were accustomed to. Human Touch is a product of excess, as 57 Channels (And Nothin’ On) articulates. But even then, its steady thump and fearsome rhythm is one of the most entertaining parts of the album. With those surprises tucked away, it is then a return to the sluggish tones of Cross My Heart.
Whiplash like 57 Channels into Cross My Heart does Human Touch no favours. What a way to take the wind out of your sails. Human Touch never recovers from there. It is a loveless road to a bitter finish, a collection of songs which sound like a pastiche of Springsteen in his earlier glory days. Plainer jealousy affects the storytelling on With Every Wish, a mean little rot of a song where an ill-planted rage is described as a just action, even on reflection. Tepid tones should never be anywhere close to a Springsteen record, yet here they are. He undoes the early promise of Human Touch through his dedication to middle-of-the-road lyrical choices, to uneventful and vaguely predictable shots of tempo increase on Roll of the Dice after the sombre attitudes on preceding track With Every Wish.
How Springsteen slipped from the roaring, forward-thinking Born in the U.S.A. to the snivelling embarrassments of Man’s Job, is beyond understanding. Human Touch is a mess of an album, yet most of the songs are solid filler. But a man of Springsteen’s talent has no excuse for filler. Such a sobering moment from Springsteen who remains consistent in the genre tones, but so far removed from what made them pop in the first place. Springsteen may hold out hope on I Wish I Was Blind, though those listening in, hoping for some intricacies to his craft so often displayed in earlier efforts, may wish they were deaf. A sluggish album which showed early promise, and it was downhill from here for The Boss.
