One of the New Jersey heartland rocker’s definitive hits, Bruce Springsteen’s subversive ‘Born in the USA’ still remains lost to many fans today, even over 40 years later.
To the incredulity of the music world, Staind frontman Aaron Lewis, the abysmal mulch of nu-metal and earnest singer-songwriter dross briefly popular in the early 2000s, excoriated Springsteen for having duped red-blooded Trumpers as himself with the sheer audacity of hiding lyrical and thematic depth in his Stars and Stripes Billboard behemoth.
“I think that he is a disgusting display of not appreciating what was handed to him,” Lewis bemoaned to right-wing podcast The Tucker Carlson Show, adding, “I’m angry at myself for not seeing it for so long and actually giving him, in my mind, the credit of being a representation of blue-collar America.”
It’s unlikely that Springsteen thought anybody would still stand none the wiser in the year of our Lord 2025, but it’s a testament to ‘Born in the USA’s incisive sting behind the explosive pop euphoria that scored the working class jukebox across middle-America, whatever political stripe.
The 1980s in the US culturally started the moment President Ronald Reagan took office in early 1981. Hailed by the conservative world as a messiah sent to rid the nation of its national self-doubt and pessimistic fog that had clouded the country since the 1960s’ counterculture, the ensuing neocon wave and laissez-faire economic free-for-all soon pushed the country’s trajectory toward a valorising of capital and wealth, as well as offering an adrenaline shot of good ol’ American exceptionalism on the international stage.
Gone were the morally ambiguous anti-heroes that had dominated New Hollywood; Reagan’s tenure was of good guys and bad guys. The Soviets were evil, Uncle Sam was of unwavering good, market forces ruled, and social programmes only helped the feckless. A crude, moral certitude would fuel the cartoon patriotism that swept across the US of A, a landscape where the flag dominated with a presence unseen since WWII, and the entertainment figures of the day thrust the likes of WWF wrestler Hulk Hogan as sharing equal pop-cultural footing with the biggest movie and music stars of the day.
It’s this new era of materialism, excess, and cash-grabbing greed that Springsteen found himself in. He was already big, having closed the 1970s as one of the era’s biggest stars off the back of Born to Run, Darkness on the Edge of Town, and their lauded respective tours, but he paused to contemplate the soul of the country a year into Reagan’s presidency with the haunted folk of 1982’s Nebraska. Replete with songs about serial killers, organised crime, and the calloused lives left by the wayside, Springsteen sought to flash a stinging counter to the plastic, miniature flag-waving set to prevail in the Republican Party’s hyper-capitalist bludgeon.
Yet, the singer would soar to the top of the pop echelons with the rest of them. Drafted during the Nebraska sessions, Springsteen corralled his E Street Band to cut the lead single and title track to his much-awaited ‘full band’ record Born in the USA. Making complete sense to the beefed-up zeitgeist surrounding him, the title track lept onto the charts with radiant confidence. Synths hammer with glossy pummel, a gated snare drum thwacks so hard it hurts, and a full-throated vocal refrain seemingly affirming pride in being born in the land of the free with such gusto it’d make Lee Greenwood proud.
Nebraska’s desolate ruminations hide at the heart of ‘Born in the USA’. Lurking amid the pop bluster and stadium frenzy hides the excoriating attack on American foreign policy and the trail of working-class ruin its insatiable maw leaves behind. Depicting the snapshot of a disillusioned Vietnam War veteran alienated upon his return home, Springsteen highlighted the devastating climate of unemployment, divorce rates, and suicide statistics many soldiers faced following the US’ futile Cold War interventions: “Come back home to the refinery / Hirin’ man says, ‘Son, if it was up to me’ / Went down to see my VA man / He said, ‘Son, don’t you understand now?’”
Such a seething lyrical edge was lost on Regan, who namechecked Springsteen at a campaign stop in New Jersey’s Hammonton. Two days later, at a concert in Pittsburgh, ‘The Boss’ introduced Nebraska’s eerie ‘Johnny 99’, a brittle piece about an unemployed automobile worker drawn to murder, and lambasted Reagan’s obliviousness: “The president was mentioning my name the other day, and I kinda got to wondering what his favourite album musta been. I don’t think it was the Nebraska album. I don’t think he’s been listening to this one.”
Springsteen had dropped the biggest album of his career, Born in the USA, selling over 30million claimed sales, and the supporting title track, ‘Dancing in the Dark’, and ‘Glory Days’ videos as MTV staples. He and his E Street Band had muscled their way to the fore of 1984, and the overall decade’s pop stratosphere with their blue-collar compass and political convictions intact, a feat lost on the Lewises of the world who never understood ‘The Boss’ heartland universalism to begin with.
