Mr. Mustache Goes to the Movies

 

Today we are going to talk about the new Bruce Springsteen movie and the recent Bob Dylan biopic, A Complete Unknown. A decent review of the Springsteen film,  Deliver Me From Nowhere is in Slate. 

In some ways the films are similar. Two white singer songwriters recording for Columbia want to change streams. Dylan wanted to take up the electric guitar, a departure from the acoustic instrument, and Springsteen, famous for his electric guitar work, wanted to make an acoustic album. Both caused consternation among the powers that be.  

The Springsteen film is about the making of the Nebraska album. After a long tour, the boss wanted to spend time in a small house on the Jersey shore and record songs on a cassette recorder. The album that later became Nebraska was an underproduced attempt of singing melancholic songs in a sparse setting. He also took up with a hometown girl. 

The Dylan movie has a broader swath, not only documenting Bob Dylan, but other people in the folk revival movement, including Joan Baez and Pete Seeger. In general, I thought the Dylan movie was stronger, partially because of the quality of the music.

I'm sure the Springsteen film will be available on one of the screening services. For a diehard fan, see the movie. For second tier fans they can wait for it to come to their homes. 

Of Superbowls and chicken fingers

When Bruce Springsteen came on the Superbowl he asked everyone to put down their guacamole dip and rock and roll. It reminded me of my first exposure to the Springsteen brand.
I was doing the classical program on WRSU, the voice of Rutgers University. The program was

preempted by a football game. Incidentally, this was in the pre big time football era at Rutgers. I had to audit the game and make sure the program had no problems, do the transmission tests, etc. even though my show was preempted. It's called being a team player.

Sitting to the left of the turntable was a new album called "Greetings from Asbury Park". It looked interesting so I potted it up so I could hear this new guy, Bruce Springsteen. Then somebody burst into the studio, put the game on the speakers and said, "if you want to hear the Springsteen album okay, put it on the small speakers. You're hear to audit the game, not audition records." Bruce Springsteen got me into trouble. And it involved football.

Last night he was the halftime show. Not bad. He's put on a few pounds since I saw him at the Ledge but so what.

The Superbowl has become America's annual party. It schlock but a football game should be schlock. Guys who landed planes in the Hudson River. A guy in charge of the armed forces in Iraq. A woman who's family was murdered but can still belt them out. It's the Superbowl. And the commercials. You hated to go to the bathroom because you might miss a great commercial.

And the game itself. A seething cauldron of violence. Guys pulling off other guys face-masks. Guys hitting other guys when no one is looking. John Madden said that the penalties usually go to the second guy who does something. He must have said "big, strong" men or arms ten times during the game. No wonder he's the dean of football broadcasting.

Still it was fun. In these times fun is worth something after all.