#29 - Bruce Springsteen's "Nebraska" (1982)

The Ring is my favorite horror movie.  I think what makes it so effective is its off-putting tonality.  The whole film - and I mean every scene - is bathed in an eerie, unnatural light.  If you've ever seen the sky before a tornado or been alone in a room lit only by a dim fluorescent bulb, you know what I mean.  Consequently, without having to resort to using crutches like the seemingly ubiquitous mirror scare, The Ring subverts the all-too familiar rhythm of other films in the genre:  introduction of characters, upsetting event, calm, upsetting event #2, comic relief, uneasy calm, and then the climax.  And because The Ring looks somehow off, every moment is pregnant with the potential for terror.  It establishes an atmosphere of dread that never lets up until the credits roll.  Combine that with what, for me, is an inherently terrifying concept - a child born evil, who lives only to sow suffering and malevolence - and you end up with a powerful and disturbing film.  Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska begins with the title cut written from the perspective of Charles Starkweather as he awaits execution by electric chair.  It is a chilling song mostly because it provides no consolatory wisdom, no satisfying explanation of the killer's motivations for his spree.  The final line, delivered in the matter-of-fact manner of the classic American murder ballad, simply says, "there's just a meanness in this world."  It's an idea that pervades the rest of the album.  Over the course of nine originals and a cover of Tim Hardin's "Reason to Believe," through songs about innocence and guilt, good and evil, on both sides of the law, Springsteen maintains taut dramatic tension.  Tragedy could - and often does - strike around every corner.  There is no refuge, not in the "Mansion on the Hill," not in "My Father's House."  Competing notions of the good arrive and collide to confound and confuse.  Expect no justice from the "Highway Patrolman" or the "State Trooper."  They are merely men, with the same conflicting loyalties that would tug and pull at anyone's conscience.  There is nonetheless beauty to be heard here:  plaintive harmonica runs, intimate vocals, and even the odd mistake that lends the whole endeavor - which is, after all, a set of unpolished demos - an unrehearsed aura that complements the lyrics just so.  Indeed, the poverty of the production values belies the richness of the material and that's a good thing.  Perfectly imperfect little couplets like, "Now the neighbors come from near and far / as we pull up in our brand new used car" could get lost in or overpowered by more ornate arrangements.  Accordingly, Nebraska should serve as a warning to those producers who would prefer to get paid per knob turned.  Studio tinkering is nearly irrelevant when songs like these are played in the right emotional key.  Grade: A+