As the proud bearer of a Bruce Springsteen interest that could validly be called "obsessive," and as a writer who has been writing in one form or another since, i dunno, kindergarten, I don't feel-- and please correct me if I'm wrong-- that it would be terribly arrogant of me to say that I've written some Damn Good Reviews of Springsteen albums. Mind you, I'm not saying that I'm a Damn Good Writer-- although I think that about half the time, the other half of the time vacillating between Damn Decent and Damn Deluded-- just that certain subjects "bring out the best in me," as that delightful nugget of played-out phraseology goes. I can only assume that the praise I've recieved about my Bruce Springsteen, Pearl Jam, and Jeff Buckley reviews-- and, conversely, the lack of feedback on my Meat Loaf and Blessid Union of Souls write-ups-- is due to an intense affection for, and therefore understanding of, the artist in question.

My last Springsteen review-- the reviews are coming a lot less quickly now that the albums are becoming more and more difficult to pin down, and I'm realizing that, by the time this is posted, Bruce will have released another studio album (2006's The Seeger Sessions), that this one-man write-off was initially intended to commemorate my lifelong obsession with all things Bruce _and_ the release of Bruce's (then-)new album (2005's Devils and Dust), and that the first review in this series was posted over a year ago (!), and that this is shaping up to be one intense run-on sentence but luckily i have enough of an ego to think that my pedigree as an English major allows me to warp the conventions of formal writing to fit my own personal needs-- was for Tunnel of Love, and, if my feedback affords me the right to preen just a little, it was a Good Review. Then again, that was a Damn Good Album, warranting a Damn Good Review.

Normally I don't bother myself with albums that I'm going to review negatively, but Bruce is different-- the series, after all, would be incomplete with that gaping hole in the Springsteen discography. It is with that in mind, then, that I soberly announce this: this may well not be a Damn Good Review. I am not inspired to write a Damn Good Review, because Human Touch is not a Damn Good Album. In fact, and I feel qualified to make this pronouncement, it is the Worst Album of Springsteen's illustrious career.

Drag.

Before it became moderately trendy to release two albums at once, Springsteen released Human Touch and Lucky Town simultaneously in 1992. The pair may be better than Nelly's Sweat and Suit, but even i think that's a bit generous, although I suppose I've already given away by solemnly declaring this the Worst Springsteen Album that Lucky Town is _not_ the Worst Springsteen Album, and therefore not as bad as this.

Human Touch is, like Tunnel of Love (a five-star album, you'll recall), Springsteen's stab at the Adult Contemporary genre personified by-- Christ, I don't even know. Phil Collins, maybe? Unlike Tunnel of Love, it's largely lame, faceless; it feels like a junior version of its predecessor, but without the insight, and with dulled edges. With even less of the E Street Band on board this go-round (the remnants of the powerhouse band Springsteen had assembled for his best, and most sonically adventurous, musical outings, straggled together for a few tracks on Tunnel of Love, but were pretty much done post-Born in the U.S.A.), Bruce surrounds himself with a generous amount of studio players and vocal talent (Sam Moore of Sam and Dave, Bobby Hatfield of the Righteous Brothers, wife Patti Scialfa), but with tunes that the man once dubbed the "new Dylan"-- and who went on to equal the iconic Robert Zimmerman in commercial, and sometimes critical, relevance-- had simply set standards far too high to bother himself with.

The reason Human Touch is Bad Bruce is because Human Touch is lazy Bruce. There's no sense of the dogged, rough-hewn rock n' soul of The Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle, of the low-key but almost unbearably intimate narratives of Tunnel of Love, or even of the jubilant, working-class pop expressionism of Born in the U.S.A.. It's not the ostensible genre shift that's the problem here, mind you-- it's the tunes, and more than that, it's the execution. Bruce's reputation for dramatics sets one up for at least a passionately delivered set of songs, even if the words are never going to reach Born to Run or Darkness on the Edge of Town heights again, but Human Touch can't be bothered to deliver on this account. It gives the distinct impression that it was hastily shat out.

"Human Touch" and "Soul Driver" sort of lag along, creeping at snail's pace across frequencies that should be reserved for Bruce's patented brand of oversung, full-throttle passion, the latter benefitting briefly from Sam Moore's backing vox and a David Sancious organ credit before you realize how lame it is ("baby let me be your soul driver" - goddam, Bruce!), the former a less concise, less pointed version of "Tunnel of Love". And on and on it goes: this is an album full of treble-heavy, uneventful, passionless AOR. "57 Channels (And Nothin' On)" is funny, ostensibly, but slower than molasses and delivered without a hint of charisma. "With Every Wish" is a break from the monotony-- it reads like a Nebraska outtake, albeit without that album's sparse, intimate feel-- and "Roll of the Dice" finally makes Human Touch feel like it has two testicles to clack together, hinting at the bar-band fun of Bruce's earliest recordings. "I Wish I Were Blind" is another late-album highlight; lyrically, it reads like the same old shit, following the same tired template of the album's remainder, but Bruce brings something genuinely touching to a line that, on paper, looks deeply and profoundly generic ("I wish I were blind/ when I see you with your man").

That's it, though. I'm not generous enough to try to uncover some deep-seated, hidden pleasures to this album; it's all the same. It's monotonous. It's extremely mediocre, perhaps one step removed from Phil Collins as far as this particular genre is concerned. And it follows a very strict template: workaday melody wrapped around a handful of rhymed couplets and a repeated catchphrase ("just a little of that human touch," "fifty-seven channels and nothin' on," "I want it all or nothin' at all," "lovin' you's a man's job"-- i could continue, easy, but let's get real here). I don't think I have extremely lofty expectations for Bruce-- Wild and Innocent is easily my favorite Bruce Springsteen album, for example, and that was only his second album, and I've remained a fan despite his having never replicated the feeling of that-- but Human Touch is like, shit, dude, just TRY. At the end of the day, Human Touch is a blemish. Flaccid, generic, listless, a bore.

At least it's all uphill from here.

**

GROWIN' UP SPRINGSTEEN REVIEWS:
- Greetings From Asbury Park, NJ
- The Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle
- Born To Run
- Darkness on the Edge of Town
- The River
- Nebraska
- Born in the U.S.A.
- Tunnel of Love
- Human Touch




Recommended: No