Tom Cruise's latest movie, Knight and Day, opened this week and it's off to anything but a rip-roaring start in either reviews or the all-important box office (it's projected to finish third, well behind Toy Story 3 and Grown Ups). It's enough to make one remember when a Cruise movie that used a remade version of a Bruce Springsteen song was the talk of the country, when Cruise could scream "Show me the money!" at Hollywood executives too.

You never know what the Ultimate Bruce Springsteen countdown — which hits songs 70-61 — will make you think about. In this installment, Springsteen biographer Dave Marsh is also taken on. And proven wrong.

Song 70: “Secret Garden”

Album: Greatest Hits

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First things, first. Bruce Springsteen is not to be blamed for the super-annoying version of this song featuring movie quotes from Jerry Maguire. I guess he could have stopped it, and that version did bring the song back into the spotlight, actually gaining it an unlikely Top 20 spot. But I prefer my Springsteen without Tom Cruise and Renee Zellweger campaigning for the title of the World’s Most Whiny On-Screen Couple.

The song itself, unadorned by the nonsense, is a beauty. The mesmerizing three-note keyboard riff draws you in and keeps you there, as the E Street Band, who were back on board for the Greatest Hits project after a long hiatus, proved their deft and subtle touch on the slow songs. The accents, a little piano here, a little acoustic guitar there, are perfectly pitched throughout.

The lyrics are a bit like Bruce’s take on Billy Joel’s “She’s Always A Woman” without the icky aftertaste of misogyny attached.

Springsteen’s admiration for this nameless female, who clearly is meant to stand in for all of womankind in their mysterious splendor, is palpable throughout. The “Secret Garden” certainly has some sexual undertones, but I think Bruce is really referring to the way that women can seem a world away even when they’re in your arms. I’m not sure all women would agree with that viewpoint, but it’s certainly an accurate representation of how most men feel.

Clarence has the definitive word though, with a hauntingly beautiful solo that gets its point across with minimal histrionics. The notes seem to shimmer in the air like a woman’s beauty, before fading just beyond our reach. I’ll take that as a moving statement on the fairer sex over “You complete me” anytime.

Song 69: “Because the Night”
Album: Live 1975-85

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One of Springsteen’s best songwriter-for-hire products, the Boss’ own studio version of what was a hit for punk priestess Patti Smith stays unreleased to this day. The version on "Live 1975-85" is what we have to go on. Luckily, the performance is fierce enough that we get a pretty good reading.

Apparently, when Bruce demo-ed the song, it had an overtly Latin feel to it. Roy Bittan’s soaring piano runs in the bridge and chorus appear to be the only evidence of that, as the arrangement Bruce uses, which is similar to Smith’s own, fits the band’s style well. Bittan’s opening circular lick sends the crowd into a frenzy, setting up the high drama of that killer chorus. Springsteen also sets alight the crowd with a blistering, rapid-fire guitar solo to end the song.

The differences between the lyrics in Springsteen's and Smith’s versions are slight. Bruce projects the image of an everyday Joe who offers a passionate respite from life’s slings and arrows to his lover.

He can see his own limitations (“What I’m not, I have learned”), but he knows the power their love wields. Smith does a bit more mystical musing on love; hence her take is a tad more poetic and ethereal. But the disparate versions share an intensity which speaks directly to the intensity of the performers in question. Smith and Springsteen are two of rock’s true believers, in their own unique ways, and their collaboration turned out to be counterintuitive brilliance.


Song 68: “Point Blank”
Album: The River

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Starting off the third side of The River on a decidedly downbeat note, “Point Blank” is like a dark film noir which allows in no light. Only the dreams of the narrator offer a lone note of nostalgic happiness, but the cold reality of the situation overwhelms all reveries. It’s a story that stays with you long after the sad final piano notes dissipate.

Springsteen’s lyrics are so natural and plainspoken here that they almost seem improvisatory. The fact that the song actually went through many incarnations before finding its form speaks well of Bruce’s ability to hide that struggle.

The final version keeps the reasons for the sad plight of the aggrieved girl vague. Drugs perhaps? Maybe prostitution, due to her financial woes? Or is it simply the deterioration of her hopes and dreams, forcing a kind of settling that is tantamount to death? (“You wake up and you’re dying, you don’t even know what from?”)

The drama of the song really takes off when Bruce recounts the aforementioned dream, as the pair shares a brief moment of bliss on a crowded dance floor.

It’s a theme that repeats itself often on The River, how life constantly throws obstacles in the way of high expectations, and the consequences of failing to meet those youthful hopes (or as queried on the title track, “Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true?”). Bruce never notes how or why things went wrong. One moment he’s swearing to hold on to her forever, the next he catches sight of her in the shadows as if she were an apparition.

We’re not meant to be privy to how it ended up this way, which makes the song even more haunting.

Anyone who thinks that the E Street Band can only do "rock" should take another listen to this jazzy change-of-pace. Garry Tallent’s bass asks the questions and Roy Bittan’s piano provides tasteful commentary.

The answers come in the form of Danny Federici’s weeping organ and Steve Van Zandt’s wailing harmony vocals. The interplay is nothing short of magical, conveying the hopelessness of “Point Blank” as well as the lyrics do. And that’s saying something.

Song 67: "With Every Wish”
Album: Human Touch

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I’ve been tough on "Human Touch," but let’s keep in mind that even the least of Bruce’s efforts is better than the majority of the stuff on the rock landscape. And there are a few real keepers that stand out, including “With Every Wish,” a lovely acoustic curve ball that finds the songwriter looking inward via some feigned autobiography.

We can’t go very far with this song without noting the contributions of Mark Isham, whose trumpet interludes give the song its distinctive feel. That’s the same Mark Isham who has scored a ton of films over the past few decades to great acclaim. Here he adds a cinematic touch with his beautiful reflections on Bruce’s story, embellishing the singer’s matter-of-fact vocals with wistful emotion.

It’s not likely that Bruce ever fell in a lake while cat-fishing in Jersey, nor did he ever, as far as we know, have a fling with a town beauty named Doreen (whose moniker proves useful for rhyming purposes, if nothing else). But it is notable when Bruce speaks of jealousy as the reason for their downfall, and when he warns of the pitfalls of getting everything you want.

The final verse provides a telling glimpse of the artist as he saw his life at that point: The pitfalls are still there if he’s not careful, but he’s also still young enough to follow his heart first, the lessons of the past be damned.

In the end, he’s back in the mystical river, hoping it carries him to the female “with a look in her eye” who will end his search. We know how that turned out for Bruce, and it’s notable that the curse of the lake is apparently lifted at song’s end.

Isham’s trumpet then goes gliding up into the trees, ending this introspective number on a note of glory.

Song 66: “Downbound Train”
Album: Born In The U.S.A.

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It’s impossible to do even the smallest amount of research on the Bruce Springsteen story without running across the work of Dave Marsh. Marsh is a rock journalist who was there at the beginning and became good friends with Springsteen.

His biographies are the most reliable source on Springsteen’s life, and his criticism of his work is endlessly insightful. To put it another way, here I am writing a 200-song countdown of Bruce, and Dave Marsh has forgotten more about him than I’ll ever know.

That said, I have to disagree here with Marsh, who didn’t have much nice to say about “Downbound Train.” He felt the song was sloppily written, citing, in his 1987 work Glory Days, the fact that the protagonist appears to go through three jobs as the song progresses.

Well, there’s a number of ways to respond to this. First of all, I don’t think it was all that unreasonable that a ramshackle character like this, in 1984, would have trouble keeping employment.

Other Born In The U.S.A. tracks, like the title cut and “My Hometown,” dealt with the economic problems in our fair nation, so I’m not sure why this guy should have been exempt from them.

But another way to look at the song, and maybe a more accurate one, would be to not take it so literally. The whole song seems to be a fever dream, one man’s obsession overtaking his reality.

Indeed, the dramatic acme of the song, when the grinding guitars die away and leave Bruce almost a cappella, is a long, involved story of the character imagining that he heard his ex-wife’s voice and then charging futilely through the woods to their former home, which he, of course, he finds empty.

I suppose we can take that scene literally, in which case the protagonist has to live within running distance of the house, even though they’re separated by a whole forest. Or, we can just say that this guy has snapped, the pressures of his financial ruin pushing him a bit too far, and that he is hallucinating his way through the song, tormented by the ever-present whistle in his ears.

All he can do is to reach out to the audience hoping that misery will find company: “Don’t it feel like you’re a rider on a downbound train?” It’s this reading that is much more dark and profound, and it’s the reason that, with all due respect to Mr. Marsh, “Downbound Train” is such a moody marvel.

Song 65: “The Hitter”
Album: Devils & Dust

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Anyone who thinks that Springsteen’s songwriting skills have softened somehow as the years have passed should check out this stunner from Devils & Dust, which was released in 2005. It’s as unflinching a character sketch as Bruce has ever provided, a look at a hard man that still manages to elicit, if not sympathy for him, than at least some understanding.

Knowing what a Scorese fan Bruce is, it’s no surprise that the titular character bears a passing resemblance to the Raging Bull himself, Jake LaMotta. The setting here is a little more antiquated, as evidenced by a title fight being held outdoors in a field and the barbaric lack of rules to these bouts. But the archetype is the same, a man for whom violence is his only means of communication, even when he’s not in the ring (“I knew the fight was my home and blood was my trade”).

The difference is that Springsteen’s anti-hero continues to battle on in unsanctioned bouts long after he took the fix and a dive. Bruce also tries to explain how his character got to this point, via the framing device of his stopping in on his unsuspecting mother.

He makes it clear he expects nothing from her, just as it has been his whole life. When his mother flinches at his presence, he visits his own sins upon her: “Ma, if my voice now you don’t recognize/Then just open the door and look into your dark eyes.”

The monotone acoustic melody is rendered unexpectedly moving when it occasionally shifts, as Bruce slips into a beatific falsetto that yields a brief grace note for this damned soul. It’s a brief one however: In the final verse, “The Hitter” is right back in the ring, cutting down another opponent with a violent strike. But it’s Springsteen who delivers the true knockout with this powerful narrative.

Song 64: “Radio Nowhere”
Album: Magic

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Blasting out of the speakers with a purpose and power that the band hadn’t showed in nearly a quarter-decade, this song was the perfect choice to introduce Magic, the album on which the E Street Band once again found their swagger. If they needed to piggyback a tad on an old one-hit wonder to do it, well, it was worth it.

The similarities between “Radio Nowhere” and a certain Tommy Tutone smash are undeniable and yet superficial. Bruce’s churning guitar riff is grittier, and the lyrics undoubtedly have more depth. And the chunky new wave of Tutone is no match for the brawny assault of the E Streeters, who play as if they’ve been bottled up for a 100 years and have energy to burn.

Springsteen’s famous concert call to arms, “Is there anybody alive out there?” is utilized here to suggest a landscape that has been anesthetized by computers and technology. You can take this as Bruce either bemoaning the sad state of society or the sad state of rock and roll.

His valiant search for some music to set him free leads him to some self-revelation about what he’s truly after: “I want a thousand guitars/I want pounding drums/I want a million different voices speaking in tongues.”

As he did when he came busting out of the gate with "Born To Run," Bruce finds his salvation in the power of music, a full-circle embrace of those ideals. I could do without the production being compressed within an inch of his life, but it does pack quite a wallop. If Bruce couldn’t find the music to soothe his soul in 2007, then, with “Radio Nowhere”, he could just make it himself.

Song 63: “One Step Up”
Album: Tunnel of Love

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“One Step Up” is a study of delusion. A woman deludes herself into thinking that her man will change. A man deludes himself into believing that a one-night affair can somehow eradicate his marital woes. Even the title of the song deludes: It leaves out the kicker of the line, “two steps back.”

The song is as woeful as anything else on Tunnel of Love, which is saying something because the album gets pretty bleak. But the emotions are all the more devastating because they feel authentic. All of the peripheries surrounding the protagonist are crumbling, from his house and car falling apart to old-fashioned romantic symbols like weddings and cooing birds failing to deliver solace.

But the real problem is within himself, and when he admits to his own lack of commitment to his union at the end (“Mmm she ain’t looking too married/And me well honey I’m pretending”), it’s a startlingly frank revelation that many people read way too much into once Springsteen’s own marriage dissolved.

The music, handled by Bruce exclusively (with the exception of Patti Scialfa on the ethereal backing vocals), is decidedly downbeat, with just a touch of Nashville in both the melody and Springsteen’s emerging twang. All told, it recedes into the background, save for a few mournful guitar licks from The Boss, and that’s probably just as it should be with this subject matter.

As is often the case in Springsteen songs, a dream in “One Step Up” represents the manifestation of the characters’ better selves, the way that things ought to be. Here the two characters, in the man’s dream, are locked in an eternal dance far from the petty disagreements of their actual lives. The song ends before that dream is resolved, making it just one more delusion for the road.

Song 62: "Linda Will You Let Me Be the One”
Album: Tracks

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You can tell that this coulda-been-a-contender outtake came from the Born To Run sessions. While the street gangs and romantic young boys are still the focus of the narrative, the lyrics are tighter. And the music is no longer a jazzy, freeform ramble; it’s sharp and to the point, booming out of the speakers with greater power and precision.

I suppose it didn’t make the cut because it was a little too slavish an homage to classic Phil Spector. Springsteen was redefining his own sound at the time, and a song like this might have been considered inimical to that cause.

But, boy, does it go down smooth, thanks to Max Weinberg and Garry Tallent anchoring the “Be My Baby”-flavored groove, and to Roy Bittan’s piano chords, which chime like the bells of the church that provides the hero, “a kid named Eddie,” with sanctuary.

The song comes on like just another gangland epic, but the romance really takes center stage. Or lack of romance, as the case may be, because Eddie spends the duration of the song attempting to reclaim the magical moment he once shared with the title heroine. This leads him to all kinds of heart-on-his-sleeve acts of desperation, including my personal favorite, carving her name in the seats of her dad’s car. Well played, Eddie.

Eddie’s romantic myopia comes at the expense of his gang leadership, which just makes it all the more romantic, doesn’t it? The way the chorus just sticks to that one line proves how single-minded this kid is, even if he never does get the answer he hopes to hear.

Then again, if he had, it might have broken the melancholy spell of this lost classic.

Song 61: “Happy”
Album: Tracks

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At first, it seems odd that a song called “Happy” sounds, at times, like one of the most miserably sad offerings of the Boss’ career. That only adds to the depth of emotion on display here, as Bruce clings on to this chance at love with every ounce of his being.

Recorded in 1992 by just Bruce, Roy Bittan, and session drummer Shawn Pelton, who adds some dramatic timpani to the chorus, “Happy” sounds like it could have been worthy edition to either Human Touch or Lucky Town, but I guess it’s foolish to question Bruce’s editing process when the albums he comes up with are usually so airtight.

Springsteen seems to be waxing autobiographical here, as the tale of a man who drifts into a funk, finding no solace in material possessions, before reemerging a happy man thanks to true love. It wouldn’t be a Bruce love song without some concession to the darker forces inside us which are always prevalent and ready to claim us should our vigilance slip, but the resilience of love eventually wins the day here, thanks to a strong set of lyrics that occasionally sound almost Shakespearean: “Lost and running ‘neath a million dead stars/Tonight let’s shed our skins and slip these bars.” It’s lovely sentiment like this that makes “Happy”, which was finally releases on "Tracks," such a keeper.

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