Springsteen Goes Country, But Strings Weigh Down These ‘Western Stars’

Springsteen goes country. Or at least that’s the premise. But this latest Bruce outing doesn’t seem concerned with finding that perfect country and western song David Allen Coe yearned for in the 1975 Steve Goodman/John Prine-penned “You Never Even Called Me by My Name.” On Western Stars, there’s little mention of the country music song staples of mama, or trains, or pickups, or getting drunk, or prison. “Chasin’ Wild Horses” is the closest Springsteen gets to the Coe criteria, his protagonist a heartsick, quick-tempered, cowman shouting his estranged beloved’s name to echo off the canyon walls before he works himself to a frazzle chasing wild horses and then drinks himself to sleep. But like the other songs rounded up in this corral, there’s no classic country backup supporting this saga. Even though he’s got some weepy pedal steel courtesy of Marc Mullen and his own banjo contribution clucking softly behind his vocal on “Chasin’ Wild Horses,” it comes out more folky Springsteen than country Bruce. He adds a bizarre sonic relocation to the narrative by dropping his ‘aitches like a Cockney cowboy so it comes out “chasin’ wild ‘osses,” and he sweetens it up with French horns and strings for some ’80s-style Nashville pop.

Springsteen spends a lot of time gazing in his rearview mirror on Western Stars, taking nostalgic backward glances at his “Born To Run” days on the folky banjo-enhanced ballad “Hitch Hikin’,” which slides over into what passes for pop in Springsteenland when the treacly strings are dropped in, and “The Wayfarer,” the narrative sounding like classic Bruce, wheels hissing on a wet highway as he drifts from town to town with his hungry heart. But while the addition of the strings and horns make this one real purty, it pushes it over into an area that will make some fans nervous, a little too close to mainstream for comfort.

Springsteen country seems to be more of the Hollywood variety than the sweaty. working-man persuasion. He’s an aging stuntman in the title cut: “Once I was shot by John Wayne,” he brags to his barroom buddies. “That one scene’s bought me a thousand drinks / set me up and I’ll tell it for you, friend.”

Bruce isn’t out riding the range, he’s telling his tale looking down from a comfortable perch high in the California hills above Sunset Drive, where coyotes carry off the pets of the privileged in their teeth and a man is just grateful to have his boots on his feet instead of sitting empty beside his final resting place at Forest Lawn.

“Drive Fast (The Stuntman)” is a grittier look at the toll it takes to double the stars: “I got two pins in my ankle and a busted collarbone / a steel rod in my leg, but it walks me home … don’t worry about tomorrow … just drive fast, fall hard.” This one is as close as he comes sonically to being classic Bruce, but an overflowing bucket full of those damn strings throws it off into treacle-land once again.

The country that Springsteen pines for here would more likely to be found on a Broadway stage than in an arena. It desperately needs the E Street posse to come riding in on their wild ‘osses and whip these ponies into a lather.