Robert Wiersema
As both a pop music reviewer and an obsessed fan of pop and rock music, I have seen many, many concerts and performances over the years. Thousands, really. The most memorable and exciting was Bruce Springsteen's performance at Detroit's Cobo Hall in October, 1980, a stop on the River tour. I have seen Springsteen five or six times since, but I am not what you would refer to as a Tramp (the Springsteenian equivalent of a Deadhead or a Phish Head – think Born To Run.)
Victoria-based novelist Robert Wiersema, whose previous works include the novels Before I Wake and Bedtime Story, most decidedly is, as he readily admits, a Tramp. Though not totally insane about it, he is enough of a Tramp to have travelled great distances to see performances, stand around in ticket lines all night long (happily, I might add) and be able to discuss Springsteen's body of work with rare depth and insight.
To a large extent, Springsteen's visions have informed Wiersema's life, and while I wouldn't necessarily recommend this kind of obsession in the building of a well-rounded personality, I've seen and heard enough of the Boss to understand it, at least to a point.
Walk Like a Man (the lyric taken not from the Four Seasons' 1963 pop hit but from the Springsteen song of the same name from The Tunnel of Love album) attempts and pretty much succeeds at something I don't think has ever been done before: matching Springsteen songs and history with a coming-of-age autobiography. Wiersema's format here is to choose a dozen or so songs with which to make an old-fashioned mix tape, discuss the significance of each song within the Springsteen oeuvre, then, after a text break to indicate change of direction, discuss it in terms of his own growth.
In a sense, then, what you really have is two books in one, a ping-pong match bouncing between discussions of Springsteen albums and songs followed quickly by a chapter in the evolving tale of a young man into writer-hood. Sometimes the transition is relatively seamless. Sometimes is doesn't quite jibe. But whether it does or doesn't, it's still possible to enjoy the two facets of Wiersema's writing, independently if need be.
It is difficult (and Wiersema admits this up front) to come up with anything particularly new to say about Springsteen. Apart from the Beatles, there have probably been more works written about Springsteen than any other pop artist.
But even if what Wiersema relates is not particularly ground-breaking stuff, it's still a fun read, and a strong reminder of why Springsteen is as popular as he is. Wiersema is particularly good at charting the highs and lows (he is not so gobsmacked as to not be able to see that there are lows), and putting the various aspects of Springsteen's career into a wider context.
I enjoyed particularly his discussion on Darkness on the Edge of Town, and his observations about how Springsteen moved from writing about mythical and slightly clichéd figures to songs with more realistic, and flawed, characters ("the album is a masterpiece of ennui verging on despair," he notes on page 74).
His method here is basically to take a line or two from a particular song and relate it to his own slightly tortured upbringing. And although his story is not as unique as he might think (bullied in school, achieved salvation through rock and roll) he is an accomplished and likeable storyteller. He is quick with a self-deprecating quip and in love with footnotes (no problem: I share his love of the footnote as I share – with somewhat less passion – his love of the Boss).
Walk Like a Man is a quick read, something that can be digested between dinnertime and midnight snack. And if its goal is to bring the reader back to Springsteen (it made me drag out and listen to Live 1975-1985, for just the second time) and also to pick up on Wiersema's other writing, then it succeeds on both counts.
Alan Niester is a Toronto writer and teacher, and a frequent contributor to The Globe and Mail.