Put me on aux

The sun was shining through the windows as I looked out at the passing landscape on the train to Los Angeles. I put my headphones on and played Johnny Cash. There is something specific about the combination of motion, distance and a comforting voice that sounds like it has weathered many journeys. Cash has that quality, and so does the artist I have not been able to stop listening to: Bruce Springsteen. 

Some of you may only know about him from your dad. Or have heard that one popular up-beat song that is trending, “I’m on Fire.” There is more to his artistry besides a popular TikTok audio. Springsteen has resurfaced in the conversation for our generation. Which is great, but if “I’m on Fire” is where your Springsteen journey begins and ends, you need to rethink and dive into his discography. 

Bruce Springsteen is not a one-song proposition. He is a pioneer, one of the architects of a sound that nobody had quite made before him, where rock and folk collapse into each other and the result feels less like a playlist and more like a novel. But you won’t understand that from “I’m on Fire” alone. You have to go deeper.

Take “My Hometown.” On the surface it is a quiet song, almost understated for someone with Springsteen’s reputation for stadium anthems. But it hits hard; the choice of lyrics, the details he decides to talk about and the way he executes the emotional yearning with his unique, raspy voice. It is about growing up and reminiscing on his childhood and, of course, his hometown. 

As a student in college, away from San Francisco, where I grew up all my life, it provides me with a relief and comfort that others can also struggle with the transitions of stages in life —  especially leaving home for the first time. It is about inheritance, what a place gives and what it takes. He sings it like someone who has wrestled with it for decades, and you can feel every year of it. His raw emotion and talent translate directly to the audience. 

“Secret Garden” might be the best example. It is romantic without being saccharine. The soft saxophone and easy lyrics can sound like a typical romantic song. However, once sitting with it, it begins to reveal its complexities. The song emphasizes the originality of individuals and that no matter how intimate, there is a place in people’s souls that will remain untouched by others. That is the Springsteen move: the surface is accessible, almost plain, and then something underneath it catches you off guard.

Then there is “Born in the U.S.A.,” a song with a massively misunderstood message. Its loud chorus and big presence of percussion make people think it is a patriotic anthem. People only hear the loud moments but aren’t listening to what he is saying. 

His message is a criticism of America and a protest about the painful return of Vietnam veterans, neglect they face from the government and disillusionment of the “American Dream.” His songs wield so much power and his effect on the American working class needs to be studied. He reaches the targeted audience, elevating his platform to unseen heights. 

There is an intentionality to everything Springsteen does. The anthems are loud because working-class anger deserves to be loud. The love songs are soft because intimacy requires it. He does not stumble into the right sound — he chooses it every time.

Springsteen is frequently filed under classic rock, which is not wrong, but it is incomplete. There is a folk and soul current running through a significant portion of his work, a storytelling tradition built on something deeply introspective. He does not just observe the world around him — he turns inward, sitting with uncomfortable questions about identity, belonging and what America actually owes to the people who believe in it. 

It feels human. He sings about jobs and broken-down cars and complicated relationships that make it easy to connect with. He is writing fiction that feels like memoir — one of the harder things to do in any form. Along with his artistry, his introspection is what makes his songs relatable and his messages effective. 

The reason I keep coming back to him, and the reason I think he belongs in the conversation for anyone who found their way to him through “I’m on Fire,” is that he offers something that is genuinely hard to find: music that feels like it was made by someone who has actually lived, felt and wants to share. 

Not a curated persona around aesthetic choices, but real experience accumulated and put into the work. The yearning in his music is not decorative. It is the kind of raw emotion that reminds us we are humans.

The best music, the kind that actually stays with you, tends to come from somewhere more complicated than one genre. Springsteen is that. He has been that for 50 years. The algorithm found one song and handed it to us; the least we can do is go find the rest.

Siobhan thinks you should listen beyond TikTok audios.