Although it's been hailed as the latest of Bruce Springsteen's introspective alt-country albums, "Devils And Dust" is nowhere near as straightforward as the likes of "Nebraska" and "The Ballad Of Tom Joad". In theory, this album should have written itself - four years on from the post 9/11 catharsis of "The Rising" and with another solo acoustic record due in the cycle, what we should get is a wise, measured overview of the aftermath of the attack on the Twin Towers. After all, if ever there were an artist to see something through to its natural, heartworn conclusion, you'd imagine it'd be Springsteen.
What we get, however, is a curiously unsatisfying odds'n'sods album. Many of the songs here were written during Springsteen's acoustic tour for "Tom Joad", partly acoustic ruminations on romantic, Americana themes, while the rest feel like they've been knocked out by a man who's decided that we've spent enough time looking inwards and it's time to kick back with the good ole boys and have ourselves a beer. Only the title track delivers the expected, Springsteen casting himself as a soldier in the Gulf who's questioning the morality of what's he's caught up in - "I've got my finger on the trigger/but I don't know who to trust"; "what if what we do to survive/kills the things you love".
Maybe Springsteen thinks that this one song contains all he needs to say on the subject, and he may well be right. But following it with an upbeat tune about a drunken loser flailing around for love at last call (which, inevitably, sounds exactly like the kind of song that'll be on the jukebox when this scenario plays itself out again and again in years to come), feels odd and slightly uncomfortable. Following that with another loser's anthem - this time a man dreaming of better times while a whore gets him "ready" for her attentions - "two hundred dollars straight in, two fifty up the ass" - is stranger still. Perhaps this is Springsteen saying "Look at yourself in the mirror, America. Is this really what you're killing in the name of?" But as the album continues to follow a vague, meandering path, it's hard to believe.
If there's one thing that "Devils And Dust" proves, it's that Springsteen remains in thrall to the red meat, real man themes that are the cornerstones of American mythology. "Maria's Bed" and "Leah" are fairly interchangeable paeans to the great outdoors and the love of a good woman. "The Hitter" recounts the usual rise and fall tale of a boxer, offering little insight but revelling in the macho true grit of the subject matter. "Black Cowboys" is an intriguing story of a young black boy stuck in a Bronx ghetto dreaming of being an Oklahoma cowboy that should wind up with a killer sting in its tail but just drifts away to nothing much. You're left wondering the same thing with each: what, really, is the point of this song?
Only the closing track approaches a worthwhile sentiment, covering the journey of a Mexican as he attempts to cross the Rio Grande into America "in search of a better life". Here, Springsteen is at his resonant best, acting as chronicler rather than figurehead, following the story backwards from failure and death to hope and determination. Perhaps there's a coded message here too - "Drunken, mediocre America - people are killing themselves for a taste of what you're throwing away".
But you know that in the clamour and the catcalls and the blind shouts of "Bruuuuce", the crowd still dancing to the dumb poppy bar song that preceded it, that moral - once again - will be lost in the details.
