Well, They Blew Up the Chicken Man in Philly Last Night

I worked a bit late tonight, because I'm a chump, but then I got home, watched a bit of "American Idol," hit the bar, and now I'm listening to "Nebraska."

So, things are ultimately okay.

I can't be a jump up in the air, wear-a-bandana-slap-palms or backs Springsteen fan, but, Christ- "Nebraska" might be one of the finest albums I own.

I'm not as familiar with it as some Bruce fans might demand, but this one floors me. Start to finish, I'm affected. "Atlantic City" is gorgeous. It's a story song that doesn't drag, doesn't tell you too much, but tells you enough to let you know that something just isn't right. It's the mark of good art, I think, that you can take a small slice of what must be an enormous issue, and the slice shows all of what you need to know. A slice of crystal, a perfect representation of the greater whole. "Atlantic City" has earnestness, genuinuity (word copywrite me), and heart.

The whole album is fantastic, but "Atlantic City" encapsulates it for me. With luck, anyone familiar with this song just nods, and there's no need for me to explain any further. Shake your head, and I guess I just don't get it. But- it works for me.

And, here begins "Mansion on the Hill."

There's no need for me to go on, I don't think. For the limited number of folks who check out these little words I write here, I hope I can encourage you to pick up "Nebraska." You'll be better off for it.