Thunder Road

In 31 Songs, Nick Hornby writes about the songs that influenced his life, and he kicks off with a controversial choice: Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen. I've talked before about the things you haven't done that everybody else has; I've never really listened to Bruce Springsteen. I was born into a time when he was fundamentally uncool, a poster boy for uninspired blue collar rock, the Status Quo of America. It's only as I grow older that I'm finding out many consider him to be a pivotal piece of music history, with the album Born to Run as influential as Rumours, Let's Get It On, or the White Album. I decided there and then that I was going to listen to the album and make my mind up for myself.

Lots of things that started out edgy and cool become trivial and trashy once they enter the mainstream. Some do so without changing anything except the world's perception: I remember when Coldplay were considered an innovative, exciting band doing clever things with grungy guitars and odd chord sequences. Some, on the other hand, carry on long past their glory days, until all we remember is the dross, and the genius gets lost in the flood. Every so often I catch an episode from one of the first two series of Friends. Each time, it is a shock how witty, fast-paced and innovative it is. It's a bit like listening to anything by Paul McCartney after he left the Beatles. It's hard to remember that the man who wrote Mull of Kintyre and Temporary Secretary also wrote Eleanor Rigby and Hey Jude, changing a generation and launching the Summer of Love

When I was younger, I used to love Bryan Adams. Summer of 69 is still, to me, one of the most perfect melodic rock songs ever made. It took me a while to realise what I really loved was Reckless, the 1984 album with Run To You, She's Only Happy When She's Dancing and, of course, Summer Of 69. In 1991, I bought Waking Up The Neighbours, the album which famously held the number one slot in the singles chart for seven weeks with the song Everything I Do (I Do It For You). It was enjoyable enough, but the edge of truth that ran through every song on Reckless was gone and I was left with empty but well produced songs that were literally just background music to a film.

With all this in mind, I started on Born to Run with some trepidation. It was an interesting experience. First up came Thunder Road. Immediately, I felt disappointed. It seemed a very formulaic stadium rock song – quite anthemic, lots of rising chord sequences. It was like a cross between Bob Dylan, Bruce Hornsby and Steve Earle. Springsteen can't sing either. I get how his gravelly tones allow him to connect with blue collar guys who don't want some pretty boy warbler chronicling their lives on stage. I don't want somebody who sounds like Sylvester Stallone emoting through a mouthful of marbles either though. I couldn't help thinking that maybe, like Dylan, Springsteen is a song writer best covered by someone else.

The next song, Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out, reinforced that feeling. A real bluesy piece, and I was genuinely disappointed when Bruce's vocals came in. I wanted a rich tones of Robert Cray or Muddy Waters, not off key growling. By the time the third song kicked in, I was starting to think the experiment had failed. The music was fine, but not exciting. Mostly, I was reminded of Meatloaf and Rocky Horror Picture Show. I began to think that, for all my opining about musical snobbery, and the masses being right, Springsteen was nothing more than empty pomp, and a working class rejection of anything resembling art.

Then we hit Backstreets. The mood changed. The piano line was upbeat but not as theatric as the earlier songs, and for the first time, when Bruce's vocals hit, I thought he might be the right person to be singing the song.

There's a problem with trying to judge albums on a single listen. Firstly, all genuinely good music bears repetition. Often, the song you come to love on an album is the one that failed to make an impression first time around, whereas the catchy number which grabs you instantly and insists it'll never let you go becomes tired and cliched within a short number of listenings.

When Born to Run kicked in, I realised this was a song that I heard a million times before and it greeted me like an old friend. I may not have listened to much Springsteen, but of course I've heard Born to Run, if only in the background because it happened to be on the radio. Listening to it now, already tuned for its flow and its nuance, I realised it was a song that was both catchy enough to grab you the first time around and with the depth to be a stayer. It was really good. I found myself tapping my feet along.

With that single song, the mood changed. The next song, She's the One, I found myself quite liking, even though it wasn't dissimilar to the songs I had previously hated. It still had the anthemic feel of the earlier songs, and this fed into the optimism that Born to Run had raised, but it was more low key, more speaking about lost love and frustrated optimism, and I suddenly felt this album wasn't just mindless posturing, but actually had something to say about living in the back streets and trying to get away.

By the time Meeting Across the River kicked in, I was properly blown away. I loved it. It was so different to what I was expecting. Low-fi piano lines, and a story line of a man doing what it takes to escape from the wrong side of the tracks and convinced that, this time, it will work out. It wasn't anthemic at all, and it certainly wasn't pandering to the blue collar fan base. Instead it was all jangling discords and hipster jazz, and I suddenly remembered that Springsteen had also written Streets of Philadelphia, a song that at the time I considered to be one of the greatest songs ever written.

Finally, we hit Jungleland, another classic Springsteen anthem and, although I was still reminded of Meatloaf, and it felt like a less accomplished version of Born to Run, it was enjoyable and uplifting, and I began to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, Springsteen was worthy of his fame.

Then, something strange happened. A reprise of Thunder Road kicked in. Except, the version at the start of the album was downbeat, an anthem to the working class trap and thwarted dreams of escape. This time, it lifted in tempo. Now it spoke of actual escape, of taking those dreams and making them real. The whole album had formed a circular storyline, starting with a flashback where everything seemed bleak, then recounting a storyline of finding a way, of breaking out and making it, which recasts how you see the start from tragedy to triumph – a bit like A Perfect World in reverse.

Those of you who know the album will now be getting a little confused. What's he talking about, you'll say to yourselves. There is no reprise of Thunder Road.

You're absolutely right. What I hadn't realised was that I'd accidentally set to album onto repeat. I found myself listening to all the songs I'd disliked at the start of the album, and each one it was like I was listening to with fresh ears. After the context of the later songs, suddenly it all sounded fresh and enjoyable. I was starting to enjoy Springsteen.

I mentioned earlier the first problem with trying to judge an album on a single listen. The second problem is context. When an album is truly influential, the result of that influence is that a lot of the superficialities of the music become absorbed into the cultural soundtrack, as other lesser artists attempt to reproduce the art. There was a reason why the initial tracks reminded me of other Meatloaf. When Bat Out Of Hell first came out, it was regarded as a parody of Springsteen. Todd Rundgren, the producer, so loved the comparison that he even got members of the E Street band to play on the tracks.

I'd twice judged Springsteen unfairly. The first, before listening to his classic work, and assuming perversely that his iconic status meant he had no worth. The second, by listening to his work and judging it derivative of the works that were, themselves, derived from him.

Sometimes, it's not worth being a music snob. We have a short time on this planet, and not a lot of time to cram happiness into. Sometimes, that means we make snap judgements about what we will not waste our time upon. If enough people have judged something worthwhile, however, it's sometimes worth considering who's making the mistake, us or them.

If it means we get to enjoy something we would never have considered then I, for one, think it's a risk well worth taking.