State Trooper by Bruce Springsteen
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Vin Maskell
Wellington St, St Kilda, 1982
I waited ‘til dark. I waited ‘til the share house was empty. I sat in the front room. Bare boards. High ceiling. I closed the curtains, blocking out the cars from St Kilda Junction.
I’d heard this new Springsteen album was different to his previous five albums. I knew not to expect the E Street Band (or any band at all). I knew not to expect Clarence Clemons saxophone solos (or any saxophone at all). I knew not expect fervent, triumphant choruses (or any triumphs at all). After all, Nebraska was recorded on a four-track tape machine by a man alone in a bedroom.
I placed the needle on the record. Turned out the light. Sat in the middle of the room. Faced the cold fireplace.
Some harmonica. Some strumming. Some mumbling. A song about two serial killers. A song about dieing, and about coming back. Another song about murder. And execution.
Grim stuff. As bleak as the grey album cover. As stark as the red titles on the black print on the back.
A song about brothers, one good, one not so good.
Five songs in and I was wrung out. I didn’t catch all the lyrics that first time around but I got the gist of things. No light, no shade on this album.
Then State Trooper began, with its guitar line pulsating like a fresh bruise.
New Jersey Turnpike ridin’ on a wet night
‘neath the refinery’s glow, out where the great black rivers flow
License, registration, I ain’t got none, but I got a clear conscience
‘Bout the things that I done
Mister state trooper please don’t stop me…
At the end of the third verse Springsteen lets out two whoops, or hollers. I wouldn’t say I nearly jumped out of my chair but my heart was thumping and I started thinking about turning on the light.
Could the song, could the album, get any darker?
As the song finishes Springsteen cries out twice more, as if releasing all the tension of all six songs on that first side of the record.
That State Trooper is the last song on the first side emphasised its hypnotic dread, for when the needle lifted off the vinyl and the arm rested in its cradle you’re left there sitting in the silence. On your own. In the dark. Thinking about black rivers and serial killers.
I don’t know the second side of Nebraska as well as the first. I know My Father’s House but the other three songs could never capture and hold my attention after State Trooper.
About fifteen years later, at – most likely – The Continental in Greville St, Prahran, I first heard The Blackeyed Susans do a scorching version of the song. It’s longer than the original and the band goes full pelt with a crescendo of guitars and sirens at the end. For a band that often wraps sombre lyrics in sweet melodies, their take on State Trooper was a turnaround. You’ll find their version on their 2001 album Dedicated to the Ones We Love. The Susans’ Phil Kakulas says in his liner notes: “We first recorded this song in ’95 and released it as a bonus track on the Let’s Live single as a kind of homage to the New York band called Suicide. We’ve played it a lot since then and the arrangement has evolved quite dramatically…It’s as far away from ‘The Boss’ as you could imagine.”
In 2000 US country singer Deana Carter recorded State Trooper on Badlands, a Tribute to Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska. Carter brings a fragility to the desperation of the narrator. You’ll come across a few more interpretations on YouTube, including Springsteen doing a full band version onstage in Ottawa in 2007.
I’ve got Nebraska on CD and iPod these days, and still on vinyl. I play the album from time to time, sitting by myself, away from the family. I brace myself for State Trooper. I leave the lights on.
Postscript
Phil Kakulas of The Blakeyed Susans speaks to Stereo Stories (via email), August 2012
The way we experience a song (especially the first time) can be as dependent on the environment, the company and the mood we hear it in as the song itself.
Having said that, I can’t say I recall the first time I heard State Trooper, but I remember hearing Nebraska in the background at various early 80s get togethers and being intrigued by its sparseness and atmosphere. I liked The River and Darkness on the Edge of Town and admired Springsteen as a writer but found the E Street Band sometimes just a little too ‘meat and potatoes’ for my taste. So the fact Nebraska was a solo album appealed to me.
Later I learned that Springsteen had cited Suicide as being a great influence on the album. As I was a big fan of them it led me to thinking how interesting and apt it might be to make this connection explicit by doing a Suicide like treatment of a Nebraska song and State Trooper seemed the most suitable. We still do the song live and it has continued to evolve.
Phil Kakulas is a founding member of The Blackeyed Susans and writer of the Words & Music column for The Melbourne Review. Recommended reading.
Wellington St, St Kilda, 1982
I waited ‘til dark. I waited ‘til the share house was empty. I sat in the front room. Bare boards. High ceiling. I closed the curtains, blocking out the cars from St Kilda Junction.
I’d heard this new Springsteen album was different to his previous five albums. I knew not to expect the E Street Band (or any band at all). I knew not to expect Clarence Clemons saxophone solos (or any saxophone at all). I knew not expect fervent, triumphant choruses (or any triumphs at all). After all, Nebraska was recorded on a four-track tape machine by a man alone in a bedroom.
I placed the needle on the record. Turned out the light. Sat in the middle of the room. Faced the cold fireplace.
Some harmonica. Some strumming. Some mumbling. A song about two serial killers. A song about dieing, and about coming back. Another song about murder. And execution.
Grim stuff. As bleak as the grey album cover. As stark as the red titles on the black print on the back.
A song about brothers, one good, one not so good.
Five songs in and I was wrung out. I didn’t catch all the lyrics that first time around but I got the gist of things. No light, no shade on this album.
Then State Trooper began, with its guitar line pulsating like a fresh bruise.
New Jersey Turnpike ridin’ on a wet night
‘neath the refinery’s glow, out where the great black rivers flow
License, registration, I ain’t got none, but I got a clear conscience
‘Bout the things that I done
Mister state trooper please don’t stop me…
At the end of the third verse Springsteen lets out two whoops, or hollers. I wouldn’t say I nearly jumped out of my chair but my heart was thumping and I started thinking about turning on the light.
Could the song, could the album, get any darker?
As the song finishes Springsteen cries out twice more, as if releasing all the tension of all six songs on that first side of the record.
That State Trooper is the last song on the first side emphasised its hypnotic dread, for when the needle lifted off the vinyl and the arm rested in its cradle you’re left there sitting in the silence. On your own. In the dark. Thinking about black rivers and serial killers.
I don’t know the second side of Nebraska as well as the first. I know My Father’s House but the other three songs could never capture and hold my attention after State Trooper.
About fifteen years later, at – most likely – The Continental in Greville St, Prahran, I first heard The Blackeyed Susans do a scorching version of the song. It’s longer than the original and the band goes full pelt with a crescendo of guitars and sirens at the end. For a band that often wraps sombre lyrics in sweet melodies, their take on State Trooper was a turnaround. You’ll find their version on their 2001 album Dedicated to the Ones We Love. The Susans’ Phil Kakulas says in his liner notes: “We first recorded this song in ’95 and released it as a bonus track on the Let’s Live single as a kind of homage to the New York band called Suicide. We’ve played it a lot since then and the arrangement has evolved quite dramatically…It’s as far away from ‘The Boss’ as you could imagine.”
In 2000 US country singer Deana Carter recorded State Trooper on Badlands, a Tribute to Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska. Carter brings a fragility to the desperation of the narrator. You’ll come across a few more interpretations on YouTube, including Springsteen doing a full band version onstage in Ottawa in 2007.
I’ve got Nebraska on CD and iPod these days, and still on vinyl. I play the album from time to time, sitting by myself, away from the family. I brace myself for State Trooper. I leave the lights on.
Postscript
Phil Kakulas of The Blakeyed Susans speaks to Stereo Stories (via email), August 2012
The way we experience a song (especially the first time) can be as dependent on the environment, the company and the mood we hear it in as the song itself.
Having said that, I can’t say I recall the first time I heard State Trooper, but I remember hearing Nebraska in the background at various early 80s get togethers and being intrigued by its sparseness and atmosphere. I liked The River and Darkness on the Edge of Town and admired Springsteen as a writer but found the E Street Band sometimes just a little too ‘meat and potatoes’ for my taste. So the fact Nebraska was a solo album appealed to me.
Later I learned that Springsteen had cited Suicide as being a great influence on the album. As I was a big fan of them it led me to thinking how interesting and apt it might be to make this connection explicit by doing a Suicide like treatment of a Nebraska song and State Trooper seemed the most suitable. We still do the song live and it has continued to evolve.
Phil Kakulas is a founding member of The Blackeyed Susans and writer of the Words & Music column for The Melbourne Review. Recommended reading.