Bleats of Minneapolis

Bruce Springsteen wants you to know that he wrote his newest song, “Streets of Minneapolis” — about you-know-what — on Saturday, recorded it on Sunday, and released it this Monday. That may seem like a brag, given that Springsteen has been dormant as a songwriter since 2020. But to more discerning ears it sounds like an excuse, a plea for leniency: “This was written in a rush, so don’t judge too harshly.” (The recycled title alone, redolent of his hit “Streets of Philadelphia,” made me wonder whether we’d be getting another mopey wash of ghostly moans and ’90s keyboards — which actually might have been a refreshing change of pace, come to think of it.)

And who better to provide that mercy than yours truly? After all, I am well known around these parts as a Springsteen fan of long standing. (I don’t mind “Protest Bruce,” either — “American Skin (41 Shots)” is easily one of the best compositions of his latter-day career.) I know the Boss has lost a step or two in his dotage — he was already well beyond the limits of parody in 2020, and then he published his book-length chats with Barack Obama — but this was the first new Bruce Springsteen song in five years! I wasn’t expecting much, but I was going to give it a fair shot.

Alas.

Click the above link to understand the source of my sadness. Inflict “Streets of Minneapolis” upon yourself if you are so inclined. You have been duly warned. The music is generic beyond description, the same acoustic-guitar-based, mid-tempo clomp that became Springsteen’s hallmark from Born in the U.S.A. onward — practically AI Springsteen. (With all the advances in technology at this point, don’t rule it out!) And with apologies to the Boss, I’d like to quote some selected lyrics to give you a flavor of the thing:

Through the winters ice and cold, down Nicolett Avenue
A city aflame fought fire and ICE, ’neath an occupier’s boots
King Trump’s private army from the DHS, guns belted to their coats
Came to Minneapolis to enforce the law, or so their story goes

This is the opening verse and, I regret to say, also its lyric apex. Set aside the political claims — they mean nothing in this analysis. He probably worked harder on the first couplet than the rest of the song combined, as you will see. And to what end? The pun “fire and ICE” doesn’t make sense in the slightest. Is Bruce flashing back to early drafts of a George Floyd song he never finished? Not all occasions demand nuance (“tin soldiers and Nixon’s coming” worked plenty well in its immediate moment), but it’s impossible to detect a whiff of poesy (to say nothing of poetry) in lines like “King Trump’s private army from the DHS.”

Crimes against both sense and scansion abound throughout the rest of the song. I listen to Bruce sing of “two dead left to die on snow-filled streets,” and even as I wonder how the dead can logistically be “left to die” (seeing as how they’re already dead), a far more depressing realization sinks in: Bruce Springsteen’s lyrical chops now rate roughly on par with late-period Van Halen. Seriously, it is now but a stone’s throw from Bruce grunting about “two dead left to die” to Sammy Hagar warning us that “only time will tell if we stand the test of time.”

Don’t make me go on; I can’t go on; I’ll go on:

Oh Minneapolis I hear your voice singing through the bloody mist
We’ll take our stand for this land and the stranger in our midst
Here in our home they killed and roamed in the winter of ’26
We’ll remember the names of those who died on the streets of Minneapolis

This is the one moment where I genuinely wish readers would listen to “Streets of Minneapolis” instead of just reading my whimpers of pity for it, because it is otherwise impossible to convey how awkward Springsteen sounds trying to fit “Minneapolis” into his meter. “Oh Minneapolis, I hear your voice singing through the bloody mist” is a line that violates every rule of aesthetic sense: What is a “bloody mist” in this case? Dear lord, are they vaporizing people out there? How does one sing through such a thing? Did Bruce Springsteen co-write this song with Amanda Gorman?

Trump’s federal thugs beat up on his face and his chest
Then we heard the gunshots and Alex Pretti lay in the snow dead
Their claim was self-defense sir, just don’t believe your eyes
It’s our blood and bones and these whistles and phones against Miller and Noem’s dirty lies

I’m done. I just had to include that last verse because I find it hilarious how Springsteen throws in a “sir” there — the classic Boss Americana affectation of his lyrical style — just to remind you that this isn’t a pedestrian political tract. (“Miller and Noem’s dirty lies” is a line that feels fed to him directly from Bluesky.) Imagine how bummed you’d feel if you paid $200 for a ticket to see Bruce Springsteen and he wasted a full six minutes of the show on “Streets of Minneapolis.” Soon you won’t have to just imagine. It’s coming! (My colleague Dan McLaughlin notes: He’ll probably win a Grammy for it, or perhaps a Nobel Peace Prize.)

It’s often been observed that music is a reflection of political culture. What does it say about the political culture of the moment that the only topical protest music being made these days is coming from exhausted 76-year-olds? And is so godawful?