I’d never heard of Amy MacDonald. Didn’t know anything about her other than the sinister algorithms of YouTube thought they could bait me with it. I know now that she’s Scottish, an Anglo-folky style performer, kind of in middle of the road – her edges are all well polished. Not really my cuppa. But, she does have spunk. That she’s loaded with.
Listen to her solo cover of Born to Run and notice two amazing things: One, she challenges a golden chestnut that no one has any business challenging. What could be added or revealed to the original? A song already so mined of all its ore what could be left behind but dust? A song also so completely riveted into our brains in its original form, it’s no longer a song so much as an ideology. It's not a Bruce Springsteen song; it’s the embodiment of Bruce Springsteen himself.
But, she does challenge it and in doing so reveals something within that we hadn’t heard before. Doors of perception opened: She adds pages to the composers original script, all those things we’d hope from anyone with the courage to confront such a hyped up chestnut – a song we already know too well. Part of this is accomplished by her distinguished voice. You can’t buy that: Either you’re born with that or not. And you don't even have to care for Born to Run to love what she’s done here.
I never really heard this line until she sang it:
Together... we can live with the sadness
I'll love you with all the madness in my soul
What makes hers work is exactly all of your preconceptions: A suicide mission for lesser artists but – somehow – she prevails. It’s her mouth. When she pulls back the muscles in her face, spreads open her jaw, it seems to add a fuel to her voice. Watching her present increases the pleasure of the hearing. Maybe that’s her secret.
Anyone looking to “unfold your wings” by singing and playing songs, yours or anyone else’s, listen up: There’s a deep lesson to be had here.
For those of us alive at the time, Born to Run is the song that made Springsteen a fetish of American pop at the time. He would later say the song was an attempt to alloy Bob Dylan, Phil Spector, and Roy Orbison. With all of the critical fawning it got – he got the covers of Time and Newsweek the same week I believe – it was as if he’d just brought pop music’s tablets down from the mountain. And for all of the hype and more it was easy to be skeptical. I bought the album for my older sister based on that drooling praise culture was heaving on it at the time. My sister would be completely disinterested. For me, the main interest was She’s the One, Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out, and mostly, Roy Bittan’s considerable piano. One of the best in rock, ever.
But it was this song that made me pay attention. This was stripped down, guitar-based rock. The kind of music that was my cuppa. Later, in interviews Springsteen would speak about his complicated and mostly unpleasant relationship with his father. This song may be one of the greatest dad disses ever recorded:
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