Bruce Springsteen – Magic Review

Turmoil for The Boss in the post-21st century is all too common a comment. His work remained tender, spirited and a step ahead of the lulls heard in the 1990s. Magic may be a more indifferent piece than, say, The Ghost of Tom Joad or The Rising, but it never gives in to a sense of familiarity. He may still be steady with heartland rock tones but the heavier flourish, the jagged-like guitar work, is what separates Magic from the preceding albums. His discography is riddled with moments of returning home, of trying to find a way back to the land he once was proud to call home. Opener Radio Nowhere may strike a repetitive pattern of flimsy mid-2000s pop-rock, but it works. Its message is bold and remains a liberating experience, a spirited contender still pushing for salvation in a world gone mad.  

Accessibility is the main draw for Magic. As easy an entry into Springsteen’s discography as Born in the U.S.A. or Born to Run. Fairly plain rock and roll from The Boss is still ahead of the rest. But these are not just standards of a legacy act, these are bold pushes for a slight change in tone. You’ll Be Comin’ Down is rather frank in its fall from grace and when those blistering, inevitable saxophone moments come through, it feels like a genuine triumph. Crucial to these moments is how Springsteen sounds. Spritely, optimistic and frankly youthful on Livin’ in the Future, a genuinely staggering high for Magic which relies on the same fundamentals as his best works. In doing so, it becomes one. A chirpy walk down the lane which has no reason to hide its pistol-spinning occasions, the gunpower fresh in the nose. It is a brutal, brilliant punch which gives Magic its underdog appeal. Because that is what Springsteen, even at his boldest and biggest, even now, feels like.  

He still holds a purpose as a hero of the working man, that much was clear in the machoism of Born in the U.S.A., misread as patriotism, now considered a pulling apart of contemporary cliche and stereotype. Magic manages to pick up where Born in the U.S.A. left off. Instrumentally confident moments like Gypsy Biker make all the difference. Punchy and upbeat numbers where Springsteen uses the evocative positivity of these percussion additions as a way of finding his way back on the road home. All the greats of his generation and behind it use these travelling days as a chance to return to the great and open road. Songs off the road, though, are frequent. Love and want from I’ll Work for Your Love are as obvious a tone as its title would suggest while preceding track Girls in Their Summer Clothes grasps for nostalgia.  

Yet the title track feels relatively tame. Follow-up song Last to Die, however, is remarkable, more a surprise than anything, with journeys on the road now featuring family, a new service rendered to a once freed soul. Instrumental liberation is what carries Last to Die. It continues the whole way through Magic, a particularly adept offering from Springsteen who never lost the soulful candour or openness which guides his greatest works, he just styled it in such a similar way it all bleeds together. Tremendous instrumental playing and a reinvigorated lyrical purpose see Magic conjure just that, moments of brilliance and spontaneity. Had he not been working these miracles for so long, there is a chance we would continue asking how Springsteen does it, how he continues to cut through with these bold notions of clarity. We are in the dark, and Magic keeps the mystery, the thrill, alive.