Mysterious Ways
How do Christians explain a tsunami?
BY PAUL J. GRIFFITHS
Wednesday, August 3, 2005
The tsunami that swept over southeast Asia in December left in its wake not only death and destruction but a profound and vexing puzzle. What kind of a God would allow such a thing to happen? In the weeks and months that followed, skeptical commentators posed this question with irritated insistence, as if discovering for the first time--thanks to the sheer scale of the tsunami's devastation--that we live in a world that may inflict grave harm with seeming randomness.
In "The Doors of the Sea," David Bentley Hart, an Orthodox theologian, tries to provide an answer. His book is, among much else, a rhetorically powerful and conceptually dense restatement of what Christianity has to say, over the centuries, about the suffering and death produced by nature itself--that is, by events outside human agency.
From a Christian point of view, Mr. Hart notes, such events are quite easy to explain, if difficult to accept. They are dramatic instances of the fact that the world is profoundly out of joint, damaged in deep ways by the fall of Adam and Eve and the rebellion of man. This fall, brought about by the exercise of human freedom, has altered the very physical order of the cosmos so that what God had intended to be a world of harmony and peace, free from suffering and death, is now a world running red with blood.
Much of this blood is shed by human ingenuity, in holocausts and genocides and gulags. But much of it is shed by earthquakes and storms and tidal waves and plagues, catastrophes independent of human will. This was the case for the quarter-million people who died in December but of course it is the case as well every time, for instance, a stray pathogen robs a single child of life.
Indeed, such tragedies are common. For Christians, they are horrors, evils opposed in every way to God's loving intentions. (Mr. Hart notes, by the way, that the post-tsunami skeptics, in their what-kind-of-God question, posited a Christian and loving god and not a version of the cruel or indifferent gods that are a part of some other religious traditions.) More important, God can achieve victory over such tragedies and in fact has already begun to do so in the victory over death won by Jesus on the cross. There will be a time, too, when comfort is provided to those who have suffered and died, when the world will be irrevocably returned to the harmony intended for it.
But until then the only fully Christian response to events like the tsunami, argues Mr. Hart, is mourning and lament. The effects that natural disasters have on us are privations, absences, negative images of what God's love intends for us and for the world. There is nothing good to say about them because, precisely, there is nothing good in them. By arguing in such a way, Mr. Hart draws upon and restates, with verve and ornament, the classical Christian view that all evil is an absence, a privation of good.
Thus to the claim that the tsunami provides evidence against the existence of a benevolent and omnipotent God Mr. Hart responds: The disordered world in which we live isn't as God intended and created it. God did order the world in such a way that natural disasters don't happen. The only disaster he permitted was the one that we ourselves succeeded in bringing about, the one that disordered the world in the direction of chaos. God will finally overcome even this, Christian faith teaches. But until that victory is complete the damage wrought by chaos provides no evidence against God. Or, as Mr. Hart likes to put it: The God against whom natural disasters might provide evidence isn't the one in whom Christians believe.
Mr. Hart also addresses what he takes to be a confused explanation of natural disaster offered by well-meaning Christians themselves, who claim that the sufferings and deaths produced by tsunamis and their like are part of God's plan, God's providential will. Those who say this, and they are many, are likely to offer bromides like "it's all for the best" or "we can't understand what God means by such things" to those bereaved by catastrophe. But if the classical Christian view is right, this is nonsense. It is not for the best. God doesn't mean anything by it. Suffering and death and evil are meaningless horrors, privations that produce nothing. The best response for the bereaved, apart from lament, is to direct their gaze to a time when all tears will be wiped away.
This does not mean, Mr. Hart observes, that redemptive qualities do not ever accompany suffering. Thérèse of Lisieux (1873-97), for example, welcomed the blood coughed up on her pillow as evidence that she would die a painful death from tuberculosis; she delighted in the suffering to come as a partial recapitulation of the redemptive suffering of Jesus. To most moderns, Christian or not, this idea sounds almost pathological, but it need not be judged that way. Mr. Hart's account can be extended to embrace this view of suffering, and he begins to do so toward the end of the book. What's needed is a clearer distinction than he yet offers among kinds of suffering, between what is redeemable in suffering and what is not.
But this is a minor criticism of an altogether outstanding book. Mr. Hart is learned in philosophy and theology, widely read in literature and moved by strong intellectual passions. "The Doors of the Sea" stands a good chance of becoming a classic and deserves to be widely read, by Christians and by anyone else concerned with the agonizing subject it addresses.
>Mr. Griffiths holds the Schmitt Chair of Catholic Studies at the University of Illinois in Chicago. You can buy "The Doors of the Sea" from the OpinionJournal bookstore.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
IMUS NEWS QUOTE OF THE DAY
MSNBC military analyst Col. Jack Jacobs comments on the strategy being employed in Iraq.
Col. Jack Jacobs: "A lot of the reason why we're doing what we're doing now is because we had this overarching desire to reduce casualties to the minimum, because we're going to get out of there and we don't think we're going to be able to do anything except train the Iraqis and they're going to take over. That's a fine objective, but at the end of the day if you (and I've said this before and I really strongly believe it), if you have a objective that says you want to minimize casualties you're going to take far more casualties than you would if you were aggressive. Because you're going to follow bankrupt tactics and procedures that are going to guarantee that you're going to take casualties without achieving your objective."
" I believe that one of the major objectives of the command is to minimize causalities, and to that extent they have been successful. The large proportion of casualties have been among the Iraqis. Now, we're going to continue to take casualties like this as long as we try to avoid taking casualties when not aggressive. We're not sending scouts out to contact the enemy. We're not going to places like Fallujah and Ramadi and other places like that, where the bad guys hang out. And I don't think it's a very good way to conduct operations.
"Why don't high-ranking officers who are responsible for executing this say anything or do anything? Well, because we imbue a lot of these guys with the notion when we train them that you're supposed to complain all you want to, but when you're given an order, you salute and carry it out. When you're a captain or a major general or something like that, it's exactly what you're supposed to do. You've got to salute and you've got to carry out the orders. But when you're a very high-ranking guy, when the military buck stops at you, when you're at the top of the military food chain, you have an obligation to make sure that you just don't salute and carry out instructions which you know are antithetical to defense of the republic. And I think that if we can cast any aspersions on anybody, it's certainly not to the soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines who are knocking themselves out."
"We should probably focus our attention on the highest levels, not just on the civilian leadership of the defense department. There's a layer of military people, many of whom I suspect believe that we're not going about things the right way and should talk about it. We need to focus our attention on them, and they have a lot to answer for in my book."
MSNBC military analyst Col. Jack Jacobs comments on the strategy being employed in Iraq.
Col. Jack Jacobs: "A lot of the reason why we're doing what we're doing now is because we had this overarching desire to reduce casualties to the minimum, because we're going to get out of there and we don't think we're going to be able to do anything except train the Iraqis and they're going to take over. That's a fine objective, but at the end of the day if you (and I've said this before and I really strongly believe it), if you have a objective that says you want to minimize casualties you're going to take far more casualties than you would if you were aggressive. Because you're going to follow bankrupt tactics and procedures that are going to guarantee that you're going to take casualties without achieving your objective."
" I believe that one of the major objectives of the command is to minimize causalities, and to that extent they have been successful. The large proportion of casualties have been among the Iraqis. Now, we're going to continue to take casualties like this as long as we try to avoid taking casualties when not aggressive. We're not sending scouts out to contact the enemy. We're not going to places like Fallujah and Ramadi and other places like that, where the bad guys hang out. And I don't think it's a very good way to conduct operations.
"Why don't high-ranking officers who are responsible for executing this say anything or do anything? Well, because we imbue a lot of these guys with the notion when we train them that you're supposed to complain all you want to, but when you're given an order, you salute and carry it out. When you're a captain or a major general or something like that, it's exactly what you're supposed to do. You've got to salute and you've got to carry out the orders. But when you're a very high-ranking guy, when the military buck stops at you, when you're at the top of the military food chain, you have an obligation to make sure that you just don't salute and carry out instructions which you know are antithetical to defense of the republic. And I think that if we can cast any aspersions on anybody, it's certainly not to the soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines who are knocking themselves out."
"We should probably focus our attention on the highest levels, not just on the civilian leadership of the defense department. There's a layer of military people, many of whom I suspect believe that we're not going about things the right way and should talk about it. We need to focus our attention on them, and they have a lot to answer for in my book."
Monday, August 01, 2005
From Roseanne Cash's website, reflections on her mother's life:
Roseanne Cash on her mother
July 26, 2005
Dear Friends,
I've been in a fog of sadness and reflection, and disbelief, since the end of May when my
Mom died, thinking about her and all she was, and is. I went to the phone two days ago to
call her to get my niece's address, and then stood in shock for a moment, thinking of the
vast repository of information my mother represented, and wondering who I would go to
from now on when I needed to know someone's birthday, or address, or the name of their
new wife, or when their baby was due, or where exactly in the world any one of my sisters
or their children were at that moment.
My friend Larry Kirwan just wrote a beautiful column on his website remembering his own
mother, on the fifth anniversary of her death. He says that, 'even the most searing of
events settles into the broad mosaic of a life'. He sent the column to me as a gesture of
comfort, and it was good to get that reminder. I know since losing my Dad that you can
survive grief, that it gets easier after the first year, and that you start to take on the better
qualities of your parents, if you want to.
I would like to take on some of my mother's better qualities. I have been thinking about
her virtues. She was a fierce mother, protective, passionate and proud. She had four
daughters, and she would have thrown herself in front of a train for any of us. She was
loyal to her children to a fault, and her belief in our inherent goodness and in our potential
as productive and creative members of society never wavered.
She created an exceptionally warm home. There was always food and flowers and friends
in her house. She made an art of being a friend. She showed up if you were sick or in the
hospital, or sad or lonely, or needed any little thing, and she was rewarded with a
breathtaking amount of return loyalty and respect. On her last birthday, she got nearly 50
birthday cards--from close friends. She had friends of all ages, all walks of life, all income
brackets and all personalities. She maintained friendships with several of my old friends
from high school, some of whom I myself lost touch with, but she kept them in her circle
and kept me informed of their lives. She was a flame of love and warmth, and many, many
people flocked to her. She also had an innocence that was uncommon in the modern
world. Her codes of behavior were simple, but well defined, and she could not understand
the bad manners and lack of integrity in modern society. She had a deep faith, and was a
staunch Catholic from birth to death. I admire that quality of knowing who she was, and
acting in a way that served that knowledge, and her Catholicism was central to her
understanding of herself.
She was a great hostess. She loved to entertain, and she hosted more parties than I can
begin to recall. She created such a welcome environment, that when I was in high school,
my friends preferred hanging out at my house to any other place. It was quite annoying at
times. My mother was a genius in that way. She made home so comfortable that there was
no need to go out, and most of the time she knew exactly where I was.
She was strict. She had no patience with the democratic parenting style that is so popular
today. She ruled our home, and our young lives, and that was that. No back talk, no
negotiation. The rules were clear, and transgressions were dealt with firmly. My friend
Peggy and I once skipped school and took off for Mexico with a couple of boys when we
were seniors in high school. I told my mother I was spending the weekend at Peggy's
house. My mother discovered the truth before the weekend was over, and I was grounded
for months. It did not matter that I was about to turn eighteen. I was grounded until nearly
that moment.
I wrecked my car once and she insisted that I pay for the repairs myself. So, I got a job as a
waitress at the age of 16, and saved the money, and paid to get my car fixed. (My father,
much more lenient, had given me the car for my 16th birthday, something that my mother
probably disapproved of, but she was silent at the time--also very wise of her).
My mother could do just about anything with her hands—sew, crochet, knit, needlepoint,
arrange flowers, make homemade chocolate candy (she was famous for this among family
and friends), bake, paint and make her own stationery. She was a one-woman crafts
market/bakery/candy store/flower stall/knit-wear boutique. I was cleaning out closets this
past weekend and kept pulling out blankets she had crocheted for me. Whenever someone
announced a wedding or a pregnancy, she would begin to crochet. She made doll blankets
for my girls and a big blue and white quilt when I married John, and a blanket for every
baby and special occasion. And she never stopped making things, up until the moment
she died. A few days after she went into the hospital for her last illness, I received an
enormous box of her homemade chocolates. She had spent the week before surgery
making chocolates for my birthday, and she had my step-dad ship them out while she was
in intensive care.
I could tell you more--about her love of a bargain, her 24-pound turkeys at Thanksgiving,
her passion for Asian design and zebra prints, her love of music and dancing (both line
and ballroom), her nervousness about weather and travel, her two tiny dogs named Rambo
and Chico, and her kitchen full of bells and whistles.
She was quite a woman: full of life, with an easy laugh and a deep love for the people
around her, particularly her grandchildren.
Her doctor told me after her death that there were some patients you just remember all
your life, and he said that my mom would be one for him. He said he would never forget
her and the intense, territorial love of her family. I don't think he had ever seen so many
close relatives—husband, daughters, sister, grandchildren, sons-in-laws, plus a few dear
friends and the parish priest—crowd into one woman's room day after day, following every
tiny aspect of her care, and finally letting her go with so much overwhelming sadness that
the nurses in the unit also broke down in tears.
Once I had a mother.
She was a force of nature, a lion queen.
They say that to have a child is to forever agree to have your heart walk around outside of
your body. As a mother, I know that to be true. So I take some comfort in knowing that
part of me is my mother's heart, terrible seamstress that I am, careless user of store-
bought stationery, klutzy ballroom dancer, Buddhist/Episcopalian cat-owner, blithely
flying into snowstorms and turbulent weather, but as passionate as she ever was about
family, friends, bargains and homemade chocolate.
Love from Rosanne Cash
Roseanne Cash on her mother
July 26, 2005
Dear Friends,
I've been in a fog of sadness and reflection, and disbelief, since the end of May when my
Mom died, thinking about her and all she was, and is. I went to the phone two days ago to
call her to get my niece's address, and then stood in shock for a moment, thinking of the
vast repository of information my mother represented, and wondering who I would go to
from now on when I needed to know someone's birthday, or address, or the name of their
new wife, or when their baby was due, or where exactly in the world any one of my sisters
or their children were at that moment.
My friend Larry Kirwan just wrote a beautiful column on his website remembering his own
mother, on the fifth anniversary of her death. He says that, 'even the most searing of
events settles into the broad mosaic of a life'. He sent the column to me as a gesture of
comfort, and it was good to get that reminder. I know since losing my Dad that you can
survive grief, that it gets easier after the first year, and that you start to take on the better
qualities of your parents, if you want to.
I would like to take on some of my mother's better qualities. I have been thinking about
her virtues. She was a fierce mother, protective, passionate and proud. She had four
daughters, and she would have thrown herself in front of a train for any of us. She was
loyal to her children to a fault, and her belief in our inherent goodness and in our potential
as productive and creative members of society never wavered.
She created an exceptionally warm home. There was always food and flowers and friends
in her house. She made an art of being a friend. She showed up if you were sick or in the
hospital, or sad or lonely, or needed any little thing, and she was rewarded with a
breathtaking amount of return loyalty and respect. On her last birthday, she got nearly 50
birthday cards--from close friends. She had friends of all ages, all walks of life, all income
brackets and all personalities. She maintained friendships with several of my old friends
from high school, some of whom I myself lost touch with, but she kept them in her circle
and kept me informed of their lives. She was a flame of love and warmth, and many, many
people flocked to her. She also had an innocence that was uncommon in the modern
world. Her codes of behavior were simple, but well defined, and she could not understand
the bad manners and lack of integrity in modern society. She had a deep faith, and was a
staunch Catholic from birth to death. I admire that quality of knowing who she was, and
acting in a way that served that knowledge, and her Catholicism was central to her
understanding of herself.
She was a great hostess. She loved to entertain, and she hosted more parties than I can
begin to recall. She created such a welcome environment, that when I was in high school,
my friends preferred hanging out at my house to any other place. It was quite annoying at
times. My mother was a genius in that way. She made home so comfortable that there was
no need to go out, and most of the time she knew exactly where I was.
She was strict. She had no patience with the democratic parenting style that is so popular
today. She ruled our home, and our young lives, and that was that. No back talk, no
negotiation. The rules were clear, and transgressions were dealt with firmly. My friend
Peggy and I once skipped school and took off for Mexico with a couple of boys when we
were seniors in high school. I told my mother I was spending the weekend at Peggy's
house. My mother discovered the truth before the weekend was over, and I was grounded
for months. It did not matter that I was about to turn eighteen. I was grounded until nearly
that moment.
I wrecked my car once and she insisted that I pay for the repairs myself. So, I got a job as a
waitress at the age of 16, and saved the money, and paid to get my car fixed. (My father,
much more lenient, had given me the car for my 16th birthday, something that my mother
probably disapproved of, but she was silent at the time--also very wise of her).
My mother could do just about anything with her hands—sew, crochet, knit, needlepoint,
arrange flowers, make homemade chocolate candy (she was famous for this among family
and friends), bake, paint and make her own stationery. She was a one-woman crafts
market/bakery/candy store/flower stall/knit-wear boutique. I was cleaning out closets this
past weekend and kept pulling out blankets she had crocheted for me. Whenever someone
announced a wedding or a pregnancy, she would begin to crochet. She made doll blankets
for my girls and a big blue and white quilt when I married John, and a blanket for every
baby and special occasion. And she never stopped making things, up until the moment
she died. A few days after she went into the hospital for her last illness, I received an
enormous box of her homemade chocolates. She had spent the week before surgery
making chocolates for my birthday, and she had my step-dad ship them out while she was
in intensive care.
I could tell you more--about her love of a bargain, her 24-pound turkeys at Thanksgiving,
her passion for Asian design and zebra prints, her love of music and dancing (both line
and ballroom), her nervousness about weather and travel, her two tiny dogs named Rambo
and Chico, and her kitchen full of bells and whistles.
She was quite a woman: full of life, with an easy laugh and a deep love for the people
around her, particularly her grandchildren.
Her doctor told me after her death that there were some patients you just remember all
your life, and he said that my mom would be one for him. He said he would never forget
her and the intense, territorial love of her family. I don't think he had ever seen so many
close relatives—husband, daughters, sister, grandchildren, sons-in-laws, plus a few dear
friends and the parish priest—crowd into one woman's room day after day, following every
tiny aspect of her care, and finally letting her go with so much overwhelming sadness that
the nurses in the unit also broke down in tears.
Once I had a mother.
She was a force of nature, a lion queen.
They say that to have a child is to forever agree to have your heart walk around outside of
your body. As a mother, I know that to be true. So I take some comfort in knowing that
part of me is my mother's heart, terrible seamstress that I am, careless user of store-
bought stationery, klutzy ballroom dancer, Buddhist/Episcopalian cat-owner, blithely
flying into snowstorms and turbulent weather, but as passionate as she ever was about
family, friends, bargains and homemade chocolate.
Love from Rosanne Cash
Sunday, July 31, 2005
A Coda to Springsteen Week
Notwithstanding all of the praise of Bruceness, there were a couple of spots in the shows that were less than stellar for me. The low point of both evenings, even lower than the anal probe imagery of "Reno" (an otherwise good song marred by explicit references) was the performance of "Part Man Part Monkey," a song that is one of Springsteen's worst official releases.
Bruce's caricaturization of evolution doubters is silly enough, but the implication that Europeans are somehow more sophisticated about the issue is just ridiculous. The most ridiculous moments during his pre-song intros: first, in Charlotte taking a subtle dig at the new Pope for allegedly coming to the issue late. Benedict is an individual whose depth and breadth of learning makes Bruce Springsteen seem like a precocious grade schooler. Bruce should just shut up about him. Then in Greensboro, actually saying that today "Inherit the Wind" couldn't get made. This prompted an involuntarily audible "Bulls**t" on my part. Unfortunately, from row 14 Springeteen couldn't hear it.
Then, at the beginning of "Matamoros Banks" (alternate title: The Dumbest Mexican), Springsteen's comments about the US not needing "vigilantes" but a "humane immigration policy" shows how out of touch those living among the horse farms of Rumson, New Jersey are about the issue. I suppose in Bruceworld "humane" is a synonym for "completely open." Leaving out the fact that the volunteers patrolling the US/Mexican border are not vigilantes, what the US needs is a clear and enforced immigration policy-not the wink and nod to the law that today's policy represents. Bush's ridiculous Iraq adventurism has squandered American blood needlessly, and diverted resources from securing US borders. That's a far more important and achievable goal than supposedly attempting to bring "democracy" to Islamic nutcases.
Wrapping up the week of Bruce with the two Backstreets summaries of the Charlotte and Greensboro shows.
Devils & Dust Tour / North Carolina Shows
July 26 / Greensboro, NC / Greensboro Coliseum
Notes: Right out of the gate, Greensboro got something unique, with "If I Should Fall Behind" played for the first time on the pump organ. (Previously on this tour, Bruce has played the song on guitar and piano... is a banjitar version next?)
But the biggie of the evening came midway through the show, as Bruce sat at the piano and said, "This is a song I've played once, for the first time the other night. I'll give it another shot..." and with that, he went into a majestic and moving "Valentine's Day," which had its live world premiere in Atlanta. It's easy to get worked up over the rarity factor, we do that plenty. But knowing that this was only the second time Bruce has ever played "Valentine's Day" in concert was, well, secondary to the fact that performance itself was simply breathtaking. Add that to the piano double-shot of "All that Heaven Will Allow" (sent out to the Raspberries, Bruce fondly recalling their Greatest Hits cassette in his car stereo in the late '70s, "riding down to the bar, a girl you're going to see") and "Tougher Than the Rest," and the rediscovered Tunnel of Love material continues to provide high points of these sets.
A captivating "Galveston Bay" was played for People of Faith Against the Death Penalty. And toward the end of the set, the tour premiere of "Two Hearts" on acoustic guitar was followed by the return of "Leah," bridged by Bruce noting, "Same story, different words." Anyone searchin' for the ghost of Junior Johnson might have been disappointed -- no "Cadillac Ranch," and no "Darlington County" for that matter -- but "All I'm Thinkin' About" has taken over as the Carolina Special, the mention of "Caroline" getting a big cheer as in Charlotte. Bruce also took the opportunity to redeem "Wild Billy's Circus Story," loose at best at the last show, tonight tight as a drum.
Setlist: If I Should Fall Behind**/Reason to Believe/Devils & Dust/Lonesome Day/Long Time Comin'/All That Heaven Will Allow***/Tougher Than the Rest*/Part Man, Part Monkey/All I'm Thinkin' About/Galveston Bay/Reno/Valentine's Day*/The River*/The Rising/Darkness on the Edge of Town/Jesus Was an Only Son*/Two Hearts/Leah/The Hitter/Matamoros Banks//Waitin' on a Sunny Day/Wild Billy's Circus Story/The Promised Land/Dream Baby Dream**
*=piano
**=pump organ
***=electric piano
July 24 / Charlotte, NC / Charlotte Coliseum
Notes: Springsteen clearly has some fondness for Charlotte as the longtime home of his Cousin Frank, and several anecdotes tonight added to the warmth of a relaxed and beautiful performance. "He was a little older than me," Bruce said of his cousin, "He played the accordion, and I thought that was the coolest instrument I'd ever seen." Frank's wardrobe, too, was an inspiration, down to the black socks with white sneakers. "That was the outfit I aspired to," Bruce recalled (before adding, "I don't look right in sneakers"). "Frank raised a whole bunch of kids here, and they all turned out alright," Bruce said, introducing "Long Time Comin'," "so this is for the moms and pops."
The mention of "Caroline" got a huge cheer in "All I'm Thinkin' About," and Bruce revealed the inspiration for the setting: "It rhymed with wine." He continued: "Caroline is good, a lot rhymes with it. Jersey's not so good that way... Guernsey?..." Musical highlights included back-to-back Tunnel rarities on the keys, "When You're Alone" and "Two Faces"; and later, the piano trio of "Nothing Man," "Real World," and "Racing in the Street." "Highway Patrolman" was played for People of Faith Against the Death Penalty (based right here in Backstreets' neighborhood of Carrboro).
Bruce came back to Frank again later in the show, talking about doing odd jobs for 50 cents an hour to buy a guitar at Western Auto Parts, "and it was actually my Cousin Frank who showed me my first chords on guitar." Maybe it was those memories that inspired the pair of older songs to kick off the encore, the rhyme-laden "Blinded By the Light" into "Wild Billy's Circus Story." The latter was a bit rough... but with a laid-back Bruce enjoying himself as much as the crowd, no need to whine or malign, that was just fine in Caroline.
Setlist: Into the Fire**/Reason to Believe/Devils & Dust/Empty Sky/Long Time Comin'/When You're Alone***/Two Faces*/The River*/Part Man, Part Monkey/All I'm Thinkin' About/Highway Patrolman/Reno/Nothing Man***/Real World*/Racing in the Street*/The Rising/Further On (Up the Road)/Jesus Was an Only Son*/If I Should Fall Behind/The Hitter/Matamoros Banks//Blinded By the Light/Wild Billy's Circus Story/The Promised Land/Dream Baby Dream**
*=piano
**=pump organ
***=electric piano
Notwithstanding all of the praise of Bruceness, there were a couple of spots in the shows that were less than stellar for me. The low point of both evenings, even lower than the anal probe imagery of "Reno" (an otherwise good song marred by explicit references) was the performance of "Part Man Part Monkey," a song that is one of Springsteen's worst official releases.
Bruce's caricaturization of evolution doubters is silly enough, but the implication that Europeans are somehow more sophisticated about the issue is just ridiculous. The most ridiculous moments during his pre-song intros: first, in Charlotte taking a subtle dig at the new Pope for allegedly coming to the issue late. Benedict is an individual whose depth and breadth of learning makes Bruce Springsteen seem like a precocious grade schooler. Bruce should just shut up about him. Then in Greensboro, actually saying that today "Inherit the Wind" couldn't get made. This prompted an involuntarily audible "Bulls**t" on my part. Unfortunately, from row 14 Springeteen couldn't hear it.
Then, at the beginning of "Matamoros Banks" (alternate title: The Dumbest Mexican), Springsteen's comments about the US not needing "vigilantes" but a "humane immigration policy" shows how out of touch those living among the horse farms of Rumson, New Jersey are about the issue. I suppose in Bruceworld "humane" is a synonym for "completely open." Leaving out the fact that the volunteers patrolling the US/Mexican border are not vigilantes, what the US needs is a clear and enforced immigration policy-not the wink and nod to the law that today's policy represents. Bush's ridiculous Iraq adventurism has squandered American blood needlessly, and diverted resources from securing US borders. That's a far more important and achievable goal than supposedly attempting to bring "democracy" to Islamic nutcases.
Wrapping up the week of Bruce with the two Backstreets summaries of the Charlotte and Greensboro shows.
Devils & Dust Tour / North Carolina Shows
July 26 / Greensboro, NC / Greensboro Coliseum
Notes: Right out of the gate, Greensboro got something unique, with "If I Should Fall Behind" played for the first time on the pump organ. (Previously on this tour, Bruce has played the song on guitar and piano... is a banjitar version next?)
But the biggie of the evening came midway through the show, as Bruce sat at the piano and said, "This is a song I've played once, for the first time the other night. I'll give it another shot..." and with that, he went into a majestic and moving "Valentine's Day," which had its live world premiere in Atlanta. It's easy to get worked up over the rarity factor, we do that plenty. But knowing that this was only the second time Bruce has ever played "Valentine's Day" in concert was, well, secondary to the fact that performance itself was simply breathtaking. Add that to the piano double-shot of "All that Heaven Will Allow" (sent out to the Raspberries, Bruce fondly recalling their Greatest Hits cassette in his car stereo in the late '70s, "riding down to the bar, a girl you're going to see") and "Tougher Than the Rest," and the rediscovered Tunnel of Love material continues to provide high points of these sets.
A captivating "Galveston Bay" was played for People of Faith Against the Death Penalty. And toward the end of the set, the tour premiere of "Two Hearts" on acoustic guitar was followed by the return of "Leah," bridged by Bruce noting, "Same story, different words." Anyone searchin' for the ghost of Junior Johnson might have been disappointed -- no "Cadillac Ranch," and no "Darlington County" for that matter -- but "All I'm Thinkin' About" has taken over as the Carolina Special, the mention of "Caroline" getting a big cheer as in Charlotte. Bruce also took the opportunity to redeem "Wild Billy's Circus Story," loose at best at the last show, tonight tight as a drum.
Setlist: If I Should Fall Behind**/Reason to Believe/Devils & Dust/Lonesome Day/Long Time Comin'/All That Heaven Will Allow***/Tougher Than the Rest*/Part Man, Part Monkey/All I'm Thinkin' About/Galveston Bay/Reno/Valentine's Day*/The River*/The Rising/Darkness on the Edge of Town/Jesus Was an Only Son*/Two Hearts/Leah/The Hitter/Matamoros Banks//Waitin' on a Sunny Day/Wild Billy's Circus Story/The Promised Land/Dream Baby Dream**
*=piano
**=pump organ
***=electric piano
July 24 / Charlotte, NC / Charlotte Coliseum
Notes: Springsteen clearly has some fondness for Charlotte as the longtime home of his Cousin Frank, and several anecdotes tonight added to the warmth of a relaxed and beautiful performance. "He was a little older than me," Bruce said of his cousin, "He played the accordion, and I thought that was the coolest instrument I'd ever seen." Frank's wardrobe, too, was an inspiration, down to the black socks with white sneakers. "That was the outfit I aspired to," Bruce recalled (before adding, "I don't look right in sneakers"). "Frank raised a whole bunch of kids here, and they all turned out alright," Bruce said, introducing "Long Time Comin'," "so this is for the moms and pops."
The mention of "Caroline" got a huge cheer in "All I'm Thinkin' About," and Bruce revealed the inspiration for the setting: "It rhymed with wine." He continued: "Caroline is good, a lot rhymes with it. Jersey's not so good that way... Guernsey?..." Musical highlights included back-to-back Tunnel rarities on the keys, "When You're Alone" and "Two Faces"; and later, the piano trio of "Nothing Man," "Real World," and "Racing in the Street." "Highway Patrolman" was played for People of Faith Against the Death Penalty (based right here in Backstreets' neighborhood of Carrboro).
Bruce came back to Frank again later in the show, talking about doing odd jobs for 50 cents an hour to buy a guitar at Western Auto Parts, "and it was actually my Cousin Frank who showed me my first chords on guitar." Maybe it was those memories that inspired the pair of older songs to kick off the encore, the rhyme-laden "Blinded By the Light" into "Wild Billy's Circus Story." The latter was a bit rough... but with a laid-back Bruce enjoying himself as much as the crowd, no need to whine or malign, that was just fine in Caroline.
Setlist: Into the Fire**/Reason to Believe/Devils & Dust/Empty Sky/Long Time Comin'/When You're Alone***/Two Faces*/The River*/Part Man, Part Monkey/All I'm Thinkin' About/Highway Patrolman/Reno/Nothing Man***/Real World*/Racing in the Street*/The Rising/Further On (Up the Road)/Jesus Was an Only Son*/If I Should Fall Behind/The Hitter/Matamoros Banks//Blinded By the Light/Wild Billy's Circus Story/The Promised Land/Dream Baby Dream**
*=piano
**=pump organ
***=electric piano
Two reviews of the Charlotte and Greensboro Springsteen shows this week.
Boss' Words Rise Above Music
By Parke Puterbaugh
Thursday, July 28, 2005
The Greensboro News & Record
Bruce Springsteen gave concertgoers a rare chance to hear him in an intimate, unaccompanied setting when he brought his "solo acoustic tour" — only the second such outing of his career — to the Greensboro Coliseum on Tuesday night. It didn't sell out like his last show here in 2003, when he had the E Street Band in tow, but then no one expected it to. This evening was definitely intended for more serious devotees who could appreciate the stripped-down format and the unvarnished glimpses it gave into the artist and his songs. More superficial fans who came expecting Springsteen to rock out surely left disappointed. Those who were willing to look a little deeper were rewarded with a soul-baring performance and a glimpse at another side of this multifaceted artist.
The stage was bare except for a couple of modest candelabras, a Tiffany lamp and, of course, the instruments he played. Springsteen rotated among acoustic guitars (two Takamines and a Gibson), electric piano and a pump organ. The ghostly pump organ was the instrument with which he began ("If I Should Fall Behind") and ended ("Dream Baby Dream") the 21/2 -hour show.
This was a far cry from the Bruce Springsteen of "Born in the U.S.A." and "Hungry Heart." Many of the songs he performed ended with an unearthly, melismatic wail, as if he were channeling an existential pain beyond words. He sang dark, gripping narratives such as "The Hitter" (a boxer's beaten-down blues) and "Matamoros Banks" (an immigrant's tale, wherein hope turns to tragedy). "Reason to Believe" (from "Nebraska") was drastically recast as a raw streetcorner blues, as Tom Waits might have attacked it. "Part Man, Part Monkey" also had a deliberately coarse, bluesy edge. Springsteen added some barbed commentary on how the theory of evolution has come under fire from regressive elements on the religious right: "We've come a long way, baby…and we're going back."
The overall primacy of words over music on this evening was most evident in "Galveston Bay," a story of misbegotten nationalism and murder told in many verses with scant musical elaboration. "Reno," a tale of sex-for-hire, ached with an unfulfilling emptiness in Springsteen's spectral reading.
No, this was not an "up" kind of evening, and breaks in the clouds were few. "Devils & Dust," the title song from his latest CD, came early in the show and set the tone for the evening. Performed acoustically, "The Rising" came off more like a supplication than a celebration. "Darkness On the Edge of Town" seemed more forlorn and foreboding than ever. "Lonesome Day" evoked the hollow, horrific aftermath for those who lost loved ones in the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001.
Only "Waitin' On a Sunny Day," which the crowd picked up and turned into a sing-along, had a cautiously hopeful spark. What levity there was came during Springsteen's between-song chatter. He spoke wittily about parenthood as a lead-in to "Long Time Comin'" and riffed on his Catholic upbringing and wrestling into adulthood with the lengthy tentacles of the church before turning serious. "The choices we make are given weight and meaning by the things we give up," he reflected as a prelude to "Jesus Was an Only Son."
The crowd listened raptly to the show, and you could've heard a pin drop through much of it. Springsteen was obviously appreciative of their respectful attention. It was, to be quite honest, not an easy or conventionally entertaining performance, but one that was rewarding precisely because it reached so deeply. My only quibble had to do with the price of tickets, which at $75 and $85 excluded a lot of devoted but cash-strapped fans who would've loved to have been there. Having 15,000 people singing along to "Waitin' On a Sunny Day" would've been even more amazing.
Parke Puterbaugh is a Greensboro-based freelance music writer.
From The Raleigh News & Observer:
Springsteen puts on 'spectacular' show
By DAVID MENCONI, STAFF WRITER
CHARLOTTE -- Bruce Springsteen left no doubt that he wanted
the crowd's cooperation for his solo show at Charlotte Coliseum.
He came onstage, nodded at the applause and said, "The only
thing I need tonight is as much quiet as I can get."
That was one of the few appearances of Springsteen as himself.
For the next two-plus hours, he played the battle-scarred soldier
in "Devils & Dust," the shellshocked observer of "Into the Fire,"
the broken-down boxer in "The Hitter." The show was
spectacular, as multilayered a performance as imaginable for a
one-man band.
Like Springsteen's solo shows for "The Ghost of Tom Joad" a
decade ago, Sunday's set concentrated on serious-minded
songs. It was also consciously theatrical, with different lighting to
accentuate each song's character and story. For "The River,"
what looked like cracked glass covered the backdrop to
emphasize the broken lives described in the song. And the
lighting on "The Rising" went from sunrise to sunset, with
Springsteen backlit to cast a huge silhouette at the back end of
the arena.
The tour does feature expanded instrumentation, including
keyboards on nearly half the songs. But one of its most amazing
moments was stripped down to almost nothing -- a ghostly
wailing harmonica, a static-filled vocal through a harmonica
microphone and Springsteen's foot stomping out the beat on
"Reason to Believe." It sounded like doom itself, as if
Springsteen had summoned the ghost of Howlin' Wolf to come
back from the dead and sing.
That was but one of many ghosts Springsteen conjured. He
occasionally backed away and sang off-mike to get more of an
atmospheric effect. He also made frequent use of an ethereal,
high lonesome wail of a falsetto, which sounded as if it had
wafted in from another dimension. It came through like pure pain
on "The Hitter" and pure bewilderment on "Two Faces."
As before, Springsteen used the solo format to recast songs
with inventive new arrangements. "The River" was a dramatic
piano number, somewhere between jazz and gospel. "Jesus
Was an Only Son" included spoken-word interludes about
parenthood and sacrifice. And he turned "The Promised Land"
into a prayerful eulogy to "blow away the lies that leave you
nothing but lost and brokenhearted."
After starting on a solemn note, Springsteen lightened the mood
a bit with a middle segment of "Part Man, Part Monkey" and a
rollicking "All I'm Thinkin' About," in which he appeared to be
channeling Sam Cooke. But things quickly got serious again
with "Highway Patrolman" (prefaced by a plug for the activist
group People of Faith Against the Death Penalty) and "Reno,"
still the prettiest song ever about a tawdry encounter with a
hooker.
Other highlights included "Real World" (slowed way down from
the 1992 studio original), "Matamoros Banks" and "Racing in the
Street." Try as it might, the crowd couldn't contain itself from
whooping it up on the latter. But Springsteen didn't seem to
mind. In fact, he was loose enough by the encore to make
"Blinded by the Light" an audience sing-along. He even gave a
sheepish grin to a bum note on "Wild Billy's Circus Story."
That was about the only missed note of the night.
If you're going to his show in Greensboro, you're in for a treat.
Boss' Words Rise Above Music
By Parke Puterbaugh
Thursday, July 28, 2005
The Greensboro News & Record
Bruce Springsteen gave concertgoers a rare chance to hear him in an intimate, unaccompanied setting when he brought his "solo acoustic tour" — only the second such outing of his career — to the Greensboro Coliseum on Tuesday night. It didn't sell out like his last show here in 2003, when he had the E Street Band in tow, but then no one expected it to. This evening was definitely intended for more serious devotees who could appreciate the stripped-down format and the unvarnished glimpses it gave into the artist and his songs. More superficial fans who came expecting Springsteen to rock out surely left disappointed. Those who were willing to look a little deeper were rewarded with a soul-baring performance and a glimpse at another side of this multifaceted artist.
The stage was bare except for a couple of modest candelabras, a Tiffany lamp and, of course, the instruments he played. Springsteen rotated among acoustic guitars (two Takamines and a Gibson), electric piano and a pump organ. The ghostly pump organ was the instrument with which he began ("If I Should Fall Behind") and ended ("Dream Baby Dream") the 21/2 -hour show.
This was a far cry from the Bruce Springsteen of "Born in the U.S.A." and "Hungry Heart." Many of the songs he performed ended with an unearthly, melismatic wail, as if he were channeling an existential pain beyond words. He sang dark, gripping narratives such as "The Hitter" (a boxer's beaten-down blues) and "Matamoros Banks" (an immigrant's tale, wherein hope turns to tragedy). "Reason to Believe" (from "Nebraska") was drastically recast as a raw streetcorner blues, as Tom Waits might have attacked it. "Part Man, Part Monkey" also had a deliberately coarse, bluesy edge. Springsteen added some barbed commentary on how the theory of evolution has come under fire from regressive elements on the religious right: "We've come a long way, baby…and we're going back."
The overall primacy of words over music on this evening was most evident in "Galveston Bay," a story of misbegotten nationalism and murder told in many verses with scant musical elaboration. "Reno," a tale of sex-for-hire, ached with an unfulfilling emptiness in Springsteen's spectral reading.
No, this was not an "up" kind of evening, and breaks in the clouds were few. "Devils & Dust," the title song from his latest CD, came early in the show and set the tone for the evening. Performed acoustically, "The Rising" came off more like a supplication than a celebration. "Darkness On the Edge of Town" seemed more forlorn and foreboding than ever. "Lonesome Day" evoked the hollow, horrific aftermath for those who lost loved ones in the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001.
Only "Waitin' On a Sunny Day," which the crowd picked up and turned into a sing-along, had a cautiously hopeful spark. What levity there was came during Springsteen's between-song chatter. He spoke wittily about parenthood as a lead-in to "Long Time Comin'" and riffed on his Catholic upbringing and wrestling into adulthood with the lengthy tentacles of the church before turning serious. "The choices we make are given weight and meaning by the things we give up," he reflected as a prelude to "Jesus Was an Only Son."
The crowd listened raptly to the show, and you could've heard a pin drop through much of it. Springsteen was obviously appreciative of their respectful attention. It was, to be quite honest, not an easy or conventionally entertaining performance, but one that was rewarding precisely because it reached so deeply. My only quibble had to do with the price of tickets, which at $75 and $85 excluded a lot of devoted but cash-strapped fans who would've loved to have been there. Having 15,000 people singing along to "Waitin' On a Sunny Day" would've been even more amazing.
Parke Puterbaugh is a Greensboro-based freelance music writer.
From The Raleigh News & Observer:
Springsteen puts on 'spectacular' show
By DAVID MENCONI, STAFF WRITER
CHARLOTTE -- Bruce Springsteen left no doubt that he wanted
the crowd's cooperation for his solo show at Charlotte Coliseum.
He came onstage, nodded at the applause and said, "The only
thing I need tonight is as much quiet as I can get."
That was one of the few appearances of Springsteen as himself.
For the next two-plus hours, he played the battle-scarred soldier
in "Devils & Dust," the shellshocked observer of "Into the Fire,"
the broken-down boxer in "The Hitter." The show was
spectacular, as multilayered a performance as imaginable for a
one-man band.
Like Springsteen's solo shows for "The Ghost of Tom Joad" a
decade ago, Sunday's set concentrated on serious-minded
songs. It was also consciously theatrical, with different lighting to
accentuate each song's character and story. For "The River,"
what looked like cracked glass covered the backdrop to
emphasize the broken lives described in the song. And the
lighting on "The Rising" went from sunrise to sunset, with
Springsteen backlit to cast a huge silhouette at the back end of
the arena.
The tour does feature expanded instrumentation, including
keyboards on nearly half the songs. But one of its most amazing
moments was stripped down to almost nothing -- a ghostly
wailing harmonica, a static-filled vocal through a harmonica
microphone and Springsteen's foot stomping out the beat on
"Reason to Believe." It sounded like doom itself, as if
Springsteen had summoned the ghost of Howlin' Wolf to come
back from the dead and sing.
That was but one of many ghosts Springsteen conjured. He
occasionally backed away and sang off-mike to get more of an
atmospheric effect. He also made frequent use of an ethereal,
high lonesome wail of a falsetto, which sounded as if it had
wafted in from another dimension. It came through like pure pain
on "The Hitter" and pure bewilderment on "Two Faces."
As before, Springsteen used the solo format to recast songs
with inventive new arrangements. "The River" was a dramatic
piano number, somewhere between jazz and gospel. "Jesus
Was an Only Son" included spoken-word interludes about
parenthood and sacrifice. And he turned "The Promised Land"
into a prayerful eulogy to "blow away the lies that leave you
nothing but lost and brokenhearted."
After starting on a solemn note, Springsteen lightened the mood
a bit with a middle segment of "Part Man, Part Monkey" and a
rollicking "All I'm Thinkin' About," in which he appeared to be
channeling Sam Cooke. But things quickly got serious again
with "Highway Patrolman" (prefaced by a plug for the activist
group People of Faith Against the Death Penalty) and "Reno,"
still the prettiest song ever about a tawdry encounter with a
hooker.
Other highlights included "Real World" (slowed way down from
the 1992 studio original), "Matamoros Banks" and "Racing in the
Street." Try as it might, the crowd couldn't contain itself from
whooping it up on the latter. But Springsteen didn't seem to
mind. In fact, he was loose enough by the encore to make
"Blinded by the Light" an audience sing-along. He even gave a
sheepish grin to a bum note on "Wild Billy's Circus Story."
That was about the only missed note of the night.
If you're going to his show in Greensboro, you're in for a treat.
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