Bruce Springsteen‘s 17th album is rock’s most pointed response to the Great Recession: a song suite explicitly for the 99 percent, as largehearted, and as righteously wrathful, as any album he’s made. Wrecking Ball rages at corporate oligarchy and economic injustice. “Gambling man rolls the dice, working man pays the bill/It’s still fat and easy up on banker’s hill,” he bellows in “Shackled and Drawn.”
It’s Springsteen’s most walloping and adventurous release in decades. He and producer Ron Aniello merge the sweep, heft and rumble of the classic E Street sound with modern flourishes: mariachi horns, electronica grace notes and, in the gospel-flavored “Rocky Ground,” a rapped verse nearly as stirring as Springsteen’s chorus courtesy of Michelle Moore, a previously unknown backing vocalist. In places, the master salutes his protégés: “Death to My Hometown” winks at the Dropkick Murphys, with pennywhistles piping over a burly Celtic reel; the title track, an ode to the late Giants Stadium and an F.U. to Father Time, wails like Arcade Fire.
But Springsteen’s vision is his alone, and its scope – musically, politically, morally – is vast. In “We Are Alive,” Springsteen’s “we” includes striking 19th-century railroad workers, 1960s civil rights martyrs and Mexican migrants. Then there’s the capacious, whiplashing “We Take Care of Our Own,” an infuriated protest about the failure of America’s social compact, and the campaign theme for the newly re-elected president. “There ain’t no help, the cavalry stayed home,” Springsteen laments. But ultimately, Wrecking Ball holds out hope: that, someday, “the promise, from sea to shining sea” will be kept.