It Was Twenty Years Ago Today

No, not Sgt. Pepper, McCartney, you undoubtedly talented but irritatingly smug doe-eyed twat. (Incidentally I've often wondered how such a good bass player could bear to work with Ringo. As the old but splendid gag goes "Let's face it, Ringo wasn't the best drummer in the world. He wasn't even the best drummer in the Beatles." Ringo and Charlie Watts. The luckiest men on the planet.)

Anyway, twenty years ago today, "Born in the USA" was released. I use to be a big Springsteen fan, something I now look back on with a sort of dismayed, embarrassed disbelief, the same set of emotions that I have to apply to flares, striped tank-tops, mullets and Mateus Rose. Oh, and silver crushed velvet T-shirts with bell sleeves. I was working in Boston in Lincolnshire at the time, and had a seventy-mile drive (each way) so I got to listen to a lot of tapes. Boston is the home to St. Botoph's church, better known as Boston Stump, which always looks to me as if it really needs bats and lightning to truly set it off. But I digress. I used to hurtle past the tulip fields of Spalding in my Fiat Regatta to the sound of "Blinded By the Light". And we had a goldfish called Bruce.

I don't quite remember how it all fizzled out, but I stopped listening to The Boss. (I have nothing of his on CD.) Last year I watched a documentary on the making of "The Wind", the album Warren Zevon just managed to finish before cancer finished him. There are some celebrity guests on the album (Ry Cooder, Don Henley, Joe Walsh, Jackson Browne, Tom Petty) because everyone knew it would be the last thing Zevon did and they wanted to pay their respects. There's a sequence where everyone's sitting around in the control room. The door opens slowly, and in walks Brucie.

It's difficult to do justice to the expression on Springsteen's face, but it was along the lines of :"I know, I know! You can hardly believe your eyes. Don't worry, you're not crazy. I know you didn't really believe someone of my stature would guest on your album, but here I am! Touch me if you want. Suck my dick. Go on, you know you want to." Something like that.

Brucie then proceeded to prance about with his Telecaster while dubbing onto "Disorder In The House" one of the worst guitar solos I've ever heard.

And I thought "I don't like this man any more. He's a wanker."

So, one more example of the Grim Reaper's wacky sense of humour (the best example being the fact that Keith Richards is still drawing breath):

Why Hendrix and not Clapton?
Why Lennon and not McCartney?

Why Zevon and not Springsteen?

Ah-ooh! Werewolves of London.