Tag Archives: springsteen

A long gone daddy in the U.S.A.

On the occasion of Father’s Day, which also syncs up with the season that is most suitable for long humid nights of Springsteen on the speakers, which also happens to kick off the time of year we lost Dad a few summers ago, I get to thinking about this piece written by good friend and frequent Inverted Soapbox dropped-name Barry Schwartz three years back. The piece first ran in the now-defunct Stylus, a densely talented, scrappily vibrant but under-appreciated web music mag that was tragically truncated well before its energies had run out, where Barry was writing about  Born in the USA for a regular Stylus feature looking at the “why” behind albums that sold 10 million+.

Not only is this one of the best things Barry has ever written (disposing of passive-aggressiveness here to say: BARRY SHOULD STILL WRITE MORE), it’s one of the best things I can ever remember reading about fathers and sons; something that hits the rare balance of poignancy and anthropology. It kinda rips me up a little bit.

I’m guessing I can run the whole thing here since Stylus is now just a rotting husk (original link here) on the interwebs not even relegated to a proper 404 burial. Thanks to Barry for this one and the implied consent to republish here. And thanks to Dad, for all his great Vietnam stories, and for being the kind of guy Springsteen wrote about, just trying to do right by his family. Happy Father’s Day:


By: Barry Schwartz
Published on: 2007-05-08

The Diamond is an apt name for albums certified for 10 million + sales by the Recording Industry Association of America. Each entry in this series will pose the question: why should we separate art from commerce?

Most likely I don’t know your father, but the laws of average suggest he’s probably a lot like mine. Mine’s named Mark; he’s from Syosset, Long Island; married his high school sweetheart when he was 20; commuted to the city everyday until he was 40, owning and operating a bridal gown business with his father on 38th and Broadway. In the early ’90s the garment industry went completely to hell so now he sells Toyotas. Continue reading

The trip to my sister’s college graduation weekend, soundtracked by Bruce and The Replacements, via random iPod playlist shuffling

Kiss me on the (Q33) Bus

Waitress in the Sky (beverage service extra version)

Can’t Hardly Wait

I’ll Buy

Swinging Party

Growing Up

Waitress in the Sky (Alternate, windy LGA version)

Does this (M60) Bus Stop at 82nd Street?

New York City Serenade


Not bad there, iTunes.

Would’ve heartily endorsed…

…The Brokelyn Beer Book, but it sold out like air-condition spewing Springsteen tickets on a sticky hot August Asbury Park night (sorry, visions of summer and all).

Picture 42

This also represents, to my knowledge, the First Time in the History of Time That the Internet Made Money (in my world experience, at least).

More on what it was after the jump: Continue reading

Friday Happy: Get to Little Eden in time for the fireworks

Happy birthday, America!

You’re 233, but don’t look a day over 210. Little known fact: Fourth of July is actually the best holiday of the year. Why? No bullshit. No arduous family obligations, no intense financial outlay for presents or meals. There’s just kicking back in the summer sun, having a cold one, watching some shit explode and taking a day to enjoy what it means to be ‘merican. This is at least part of what our fathers fought for: the right to not be hassled even just for a day.

After getting back from a week in Europe, I kept thinking about how we don’t have much physical history here in the states, and even our artistic history has a vintage that’s still relatively fresh.

But we do have Steinbeck and Poe, disco fries and pizza, the First Amendment and the New York Times, Michael Jackson and Jay Z, bagels and bars that go all night, Fitzgerald and I Can Haz Cheeseburger, and, of course, Bruce. That’s good enough to force a light into all those stony faces left stranded on this warm July.

Also, click on this site to remember why America is great: because even our giant robots from outer space have huge fucking sex organs.