Tune Translator Vol. 2: "I'm On Fire"

Merton Sussex, Playa-Hater

Today's DoF Tune Translator takes on one of the most beloved of the American pantheon of songwriters. He goes by many names: among them - "The Boss," The Jersey Devil, and (at least at family reunions) Unca' Stinky. But I'll call him what his mom does: Bruce Springsteen.

Bruce's 35-plus year career has seen him win 19 Grammy Awards, sell more than 65 million albums, and play thousands of live shows. Along the way, he's done more to reduce the severity level of the national shame that is New Jersey than Kevin Smith, Bon Jovi and Danny DeVito combined.

However, he's managed to do all of this while being what is, frankly, a weak songwriter.

Easy, Bruce fans. I like the dude as much as the next red-blooded, meat-eating, heterosexual American male is culturally obligated to. But the fact is that when it comes to putting together a song, Brucie-poo cuts more corners than a kindergartner making paper snowflakes. Whether it's beating to death the looping six-note riff that literally forms the entire backing track of "Born in the U.S.A.", or "Born to Run's" clumsy vehicle-parts-as-romantic-metaphor-motif, the fact of the matter is the guy has earned his reputation that seems inversely proportionate to his talent level. Which is fine. I mean, that's sort of what Americans do. For chrissakes, California's economy is the worst of any state in the nation, given the fact that the entire joint seems filled to the bursting point with celebutantes like Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian who don't have any real job and never will, but are somehow still household names regardless.

So, for today's soupçón of snark, I'll be taking a look at the hidden meaning behind "I'm on Fire", one of Mr. Springsteen's most egregiously watered-down compositions. Musically, it's even sparser than "U.S.A.", with a messily arpeggiated guitar, and a wall-clock drum track that is more insulting to Max Weinberg's skill level than anything Conan O'Brien's ever done to him in sixteen seasons. But I'm not concerning myself with the music, for now. Music is subjective. It's lyrically that this turd really "shines."

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go away and leave you all alone
I got a bad desire
Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire

This passage is, not surprisingly, exactly what it appears to be: A craggy old man delivering a subtle-as-a-sledgehammer come-on to a would-be female paramour. He's got a "mad desire," which, when speaking of the less-fair sex, typically only means one thing. Fine, whatever. A lot of rock music comes much more from the groin than the heart. Not necessarily all that unusual.

However, it's the subtext that has always bugged me. Mostly, because he's asking if her father is home. Presumably, this is because Bruce wants to get his crusty old freak on without having to deal with running into some sort of overprotective paternal warden. Which means she lives at home. And of course, in the current zeitgeist, the financial state of which has millions returning to the safe haven of parental basements, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. But given that this song was written in 1985, one can assume that she's living with her father because she is a minor.

Going further, because there apparently exists the possibility that Papa has "[gone] away and left [her] all alone," it's safe to assume she's of the age where she's not in need of a sitter. Which means by some yardsticks, she could be as young as 13 or so. I'm guessing that this is likely the case, being as Bruce referred to the man he's hoping isn't around to spoil his good time as "daddy," like a little girl would. I'm sorry that you have to think about that now. But there it is.

Even so, it gets worse.

Tell me now baby is he good to you
Can he do to you the things that I do
I can take you higher
Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire

Oh, JESUS.

Look, I'm gonna pull the cards away from my vest here a little bit. I spent a good chunk of the last decade doing some volunteer work dealing with the problem of child sexual predators. I've testified in several court cases as a prosecution witness, given talks to police organizations regarding the ever-changing tactics of the predator, and even been tapped as an "expert" in order to give topic-specific on-camera sound bites to television stations doing stories on the subject. So, I'm a little more than familiar with the tactics of the prowling pervo. And "tell me now baby is he good to you / does he do to you the things that I do" is rife with so much Sex Offender 101 "logic" that it could be a case study all by itself.

To begin with, he opens up with the wheedling term of endearment of "baby," which, while kinda cute among married couples, rather gives marching orders to the epidermis in light of the previous. Then, "Is he good to you" attempts to frame as "positive" that which immediately follows; namely, "does he do to you the things that I do." I'll let you fill in the blanks yourself. But in doing so, be sure to consider the choice of words: "Does he do TO you." Not FOR you, but "TO you." Again, I'm not really going to spell it out for you.

As if that's not bad enough, Bruce follows it up with: "I can take you higher." Which sounds suspiciously like, "I'm sure you enjoy being molested by your father, but trust me...You'll enjoy it even more when I do it."

Take it from someone who knows: the manipulation inherent in these phrasings isn't just common among predators...It's more or less ubiquitous. As are the questions themselves about whether or not the intended victim has any background with being abused, and whether or not they "liked" it. And, if I may refer back to the first verse for a moment: in my experience the query about whether there's a parent around is one of the first that usually arises when any predator is sussing out a potential target. This, notwithstanding that our "protagonist" is asking only about a father. Whether this is a reflection of his own masculine insecurity as depicted in verse two, or because Dad is a single parent (who probably has enough to worry about with raising a teenage daughter even BEFORE creepy, gravel-voiced Americana crooners come poking around her bedroom window) cannot be inferred from the information supplied.

The mind boggles.

Then, it's onto what's passing for the bridge:

Sometimes its like someone took a knife baby
Edgy and dull
And cut a six-inch valley
Through the middle of my soul

Yeah, because YOU'RE the real victim, here. The horrible illicit yearning for the physical company of a teenager coupled with the societal and parental obstacles you have to overcome to get there must be so very AWFUL for you.

And c'mon...six inches is not a "valley," Bruce. Shit, it's not even a ditch. It's more like something a kid would dig into a garden with a stick to move watering-can sprinklin's among the dandelions. And besides, "edgy and dull"? Make up your fucking mind, man. Which is it? It can't be both. And that's putting aside for the moment the deeply-unsettling imagery of a dull, six-inch instrument of assault doing damage to someone's soul. I promise, if there's a six-inch weapon involved in this transaction that's going to do damage to ANYONE'S soul, chances are, it's gonna be hers. Talk to me in 10 years when you're nursing your sixth beer under the glowing buzz of the neon "GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!" sign, and wondering why the dead-eyed stripper mechanically gyrating against the pole 20 feet away looks so doggoned familiar, anyhow.

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the
Middle of my head

Oh, God. PLEASE let the sheets be "soaking wet" because you were sweating, or I will never stop throwing up. I guess it depends on whether the freight train in his head just went into a tunnel, or not.

Assuming that the waking-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night is a panic thing, I'm thinking it's possible that someone's got a case of the guilties, maybe?

Only you can cool my desire
Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire

I guess that WAS too much to hope for. No, he's sweating because the carnal craving he has for a child is too much to bear, and it's gotten to the point where it's interrupting his sleep. He's managed to convince himself that only SHE holds the keys to his well-being. Lovely. I'm sure any woman who at any point had second thoughts about the way things were going once the ball got rolling is well-acquainted with justifications like that. "It's PAINFUL if I stop! Guys HAVE to once they get turned on! You don't understand!" Uh-huh. Cry me a river. If we're both lucky, you might turn that six-inch valley into a wee li'l babblin' brook filled entirely with your sadness!

Christ.

Also, at the risk of cluttering things any further, I suppose it's too much to hope for in an overall sum-up sense that "I'm On Fire" refers only to his perversely sick-headed youth-lust, and NOT some crotch-clap that ACTUALLY burns. Because the only thing sweeter than raping a kid is dumping off a little chlamydia in the bargain.

Now, don't get me wrong. Am I suggesting that Bruce Springsteen, American treasure, and celebrated bearer of the quintessential American Songwriter torch that John Mellencamp has coveted since before he was Cougar is a full-on, unrepentant pedophile? Not at all. It's just given that all that I've come to understand about the mindset of their revolting ilk, he certainly seems to be able to convincingly write lazy, crappy little three-minute pop ditties from their perspective.

Of course, maybe I'm right. Maybe he IS a sex-crazed maniac. It certainly would explain why three of his albums were called "Human Touch," "Tunnel of Love" and "The Rising," would it not?

You're welcome.