Let's just get this out of the way right now. 

Bruce Springsteen's 17th album, "Wrecking Ball," is set to be released on March 5th. The record's first single, "We Take Care of Our Own" emerged two days ago, and quickly stirred up a tumult of confusion, anger and political/cultural analysis. And given the content of the album  it's safe to say that the debate about this album is only getting started. 

And given the content of the discussion so far -- is "WTCOOO" a stirring affirmation of American values or a bitter denunciation of them? 

Whose politics does it support, and whose does it denounce? What gives him the right to say any of this, or not say something else entirely?

I predict we'll be reading and hearing about this stuff for months. And just to save you the time and angst you'd otherwise spend listening to the sturm and also possibly the drang, here's a preview of who's going to say what, where and why. 

(hit the jump for more)

All you guys who hated them first, who wished they all could have OD'd after that first Hib-tone outtake of "Radio Free Europe" (not the one that came out, and not the cliched first outtake where they play the whole song in the guy's bathroom with his little brother in the tub, but the one BEFORE that, where they're not even playing and the tape's not even on? I bet you never heard of it but that was fucking GENIUS, and if you don't own it (in the original imaginary sleeve that doesn't even EXIST) then just piss off right now) I'm like: Really?

They were never my college heroes. I didn't pick up on their indie stuff and ignored the first few WB albums too, figuring....well, not much. None of my friends were into them and they weren't on the radio in Oregon 'til "The One I Love" so, y'know. otras cosas.

But somehow it turned out I HAD heard all that early stuff, it drifted into my ears when I wasn't paying attention, and when someone played "Eponymous" I thought, I know nearly ALL of these songs and I'm psyched to hear the other ones, too, and damn, these are beautiful-sounding, intriguiginly worded (if mysteriously uttered) songs. And the hits...I loved "Out of Time" and never actively disliked "Shiny Happy People," b/c I love the Beach Boys too, and a hook's a hook and sometimes who gives a shit about the lyrics? I always thought that tune was about taking ecstasy, anyway...and is there a better audio equivalent of that? (tell the nearest person you love them & hit the jump)

 BUT HOPE LIVES ON, if only because by the '90s Wilson's life seemed to become less awful. Years of terrible consumption, followed by nearly a decade of abuse at the hands of a live-in psychologist who bullied Wilson with bodyguards and a dizzying array of psychotropic drugs, had given way to something closer to stability.

Certainly there had been irreversible tragedy along the way. Wilson's brother Dennis, the only Beach Boy who really surfed, had fallen into a consumptive alcoholism that led to his drowning death in 1983. Baby brother Carl, the band's onstage leader for more than 30 years, died of cancer in 1998. (Touch that 'Read More' button down below, eh?)

You discover 'Smile' in 1976, in the middle of a Rolling Stone profile pegged to a Beach Boys revival that includes the first of Wilson's many comebacks. He is 34 then, and yet still adolescent in his shyness, his deceptive wit, the contrasting currents of brilliance and self-doubt. . . . . .follow the jump to read more, friends and neighbors....

 LET'S SAY YOUR LIFE IS A MESS.

Or maybe not a mess, exactly, but not quite what you imagined. You're 22 years old and living at home, with a stupid job, no prospects for anything better and, it all but goes without saying, no girlfriend.

It is the winter of 1985. The world around you doesn't look very encouraging either, tangled as it is in economic recession, Cold War saber-rattling and a popular culture that is defined increasingly by the Twin Dons of the Apocalypse, Henley and Johnson.

This is when some people turn to religion. Others study philosophy or punt everything and apply for law school. You, on the other hand, decide to go to a record store.
(follow the jump, yo)

 When my grandfather, Ralph Berkowitz, died today, less than a month shy of his 101st birthday, He took his leave in exactly the way he had arranged. 

He was in his home. His friends were in the other room. His doctor monitored his vital signs and eased his way to, and then through, the last threshold. In the dining room his trusted lawyer played stage manager, guiding the players through their roles in precise accordance to his client's instructions. His daughters, their children and every other member of the family were thousands of miles away.

Ralph slept quietly, then became still. And then when everyone was looking the other way, he drifted off. No muss, no fuss, no histrionics. 

Not in an old folks' home. No life support. No beeping and whirring. And did I mention that he had the whole operation purring along to his precise plan? Nice job, sir. If there's a better way to go I can't think of what it would be.

Also worth mentioning: The guy had quite a life. Check out his Wikipedia entry here. Realize also that he started out in the Bensonhurst corner of Brooklyn. The son of an immigrant auto detailer, (who knew they even had auto detailers in 1910?) the boy had the piano chops to earn private lessons in Manhattan, then won a highly-prized slot in the first class ever admitted to the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. He joined the faculty after graduating, passing along what he'd learned to an ambitious young Lenny Bernstein, among others. In 1940 the great cellist Gregor Piatigorsky tapped Ralph to be his full-time accompanist, and he spent much of the next 30 years performing duets with the master in halls all over the world.

(light a stogie and follow the jump...)

The subject: Bruce Springsteen's "Your Own Worst Enemy," from his 2007 release, "Magic." 

I think it's one of Springsteen's best. "An intricate weave of straight-forward music and elaborate production, with lyrics that tangle personal observation and social commentary," and etc. 

Kasey, on the other hand, thinks: "It's vague and cliched in the worst way; (and) musically it's a clusterfuck." 

Say what? But then, you've gotta listen because  Kasey is Kasey Anderson: The  singer/songwriter/bandleader extraordinaire, whose latest album, "Heart of a Dog" is entirely kick-ass, and whose "Nowhere Nights" was by my lights one of the best albums of 2010. You definitely want to check out his work, if you haven't yet.

Even if he's totally wrong about "Your Own Worst Enemy."  

(follow the jump to the full, riotous conversation)

Dateline: Beverly Hills, July 20, 2010. 

Brian Wilson stands on the porch of his house, watching his guest climb awkwardly from the rental car and limp/gambol up the walk. "Hey, Brian!" the guy calls. Brian waves. "You better come inside," he says. "It's a hot one." 

The subject of the moment is his about-to-be-released album, "Brian Wilson Reimagines Gershwin," which paradoxically sounds more like Brian than a lot of his more recent records of original songs. He's always excited to sell his new work, but this time he seems extra-proud of himself. Unsaid, but real: He didn't dog it this time. He threw himself into the project, really put his own, personal, 21st century stamp on the arrangements and, particularly his vocals, which aren't perfect, per se, except for that they're so tuned in; so full of emotion; such a vivid representation of his quirky, tormented, beautiful mind. 

Brian points to his teleivision. "Have you ever seen this show?" he asks. "This stuff is amazing. I love this how."

Point of fact: The screen is black. 

But so what?: He's listening to one of those cable music stations, this one is all oldies from the '60s. Unlikely shit, too, like Paul Revere b-sides, Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, on and on. When Brian tunes into the sound - as he will occasionally, holding up a finger to stop the conversation -- he stares fixedly at the black screen while the music plays. What's he seeing? We'll never know. Something beautiful, I suspect.

(Hit 'Read More' to follow the jump!) 

Clarence.

Nothing to say now except the obvious: A masterful musician. A golden soul. A source of wonder for everyone he met, and the millions more who simply saw him at work. 

He lived well. He did good works. He suffered like mortals must, even as he moved deeper into the light of his own spirituality. 

The Clarences of the world may die, but they never really fade away. As long as his music lives, so does he. 

 They didn't think he was going to make it. 

When  Clarence Clemons got to the hospital on Sunday night he was in tough shape. But the doctors got to work and by the start of Monday his vital signs were stable. Hours later it seemed his paralysis had ebbed, too. Later he was conscious, squeezing the hands of friends and family with both hands. The Big Man returneth. 

Make no mistake, he's got a long road ahead of him. "This is a time for all of us to share in a hopeful spirit that can ultimately inspire Clarence to greater heights," Bruce Springsteen said in the official statement released on Tuesday. 

So keep thinking about him. And understand that this big man -- "The future of the whole fuckin' thing!" according to Bruce at the Hyde Park concert in '09 -- already knows quite a bit about helping other folks find their way to higher ground. 

Take it from Clarence, sitting on his oceanfront balcony on Singer Island, Fla. back in March, tracking the mud sharks slipping through the breakers.

"I started working as a counselor at a reform school in New Jersey. I always told Bruce that if he'd been a bad kid he'd probably be one of my boys in reform school. But it was a tough job; most of these kids were disabled; it was the special treatment unit, an institution within the institution. Kids who had been taken advantage of by the regular community. And it was tough - trying to help these kids get through, knowing they'd be returning to the same life that got them into trouble. I just tried to give them something to hold onto.

 

(Hit the 'Read More' button to continue)