The song exists entirely in the moment, purely for the unrestrained joy of what music can do for you in a single moment. It’s a party in seven minutes, but most classics aren’t built this way.
Thankfully, there is no shortage of classic songs in the rock and roll world. The rare tracks that rise above being great, leaving an indelible imprint on the listener and the culture at large, taking all of us on a musical journey. The Beatles’ “Hey Jude,” Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven,” Derek and the Dominoes’ “Layla,” Billy Joel’s “Piano Man,” The Eagles’ “Hotel California,” Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” even Springsteen’s own “Born to Run,” “Thunder Road,” and “Jungleland” come to mind. All are so firmly entrenched in our consciousness, worming their way through our brains to the point where they sometimes play in our own heads at random moments, it seems like they must have always existed and couldn’t possibly have been written, as though the respective songwriters discovered some fundamental musical truth rather than merely composed something on their own. Less fortunately, such is the power and influence of these classic works, they have a tendency to become “overplayed.” You’ve heard each of them so many times, in so many places, on so many channels, streaming services, iPods, or whatever, that you just don’t have the energy to listen again even as they remain dear to you. You’re not quite sick of them because it’s almost impossible to become sick of something truly amazing, but if you went a year or more without hearing the opening chords, that wouldn’t seem like such a bad thing. Putting it another way, you just need a little break to allow absence to do its thing and make the heart grow fonder. Personally, I’ve gone through this cycle with all of the tracks mentioned above and more, losing my taste for some longer than others and in a few more radical cases, losing my taste for the artist in general for a while. I went a few years after college, for example, when I wasn’t all that into Billy Joel, primarily because they played the same handful of songs on the radio over and over again. I never stopped loving them, merely got a little tired of listening after the several thousandth time. After all, it’s human nature and you really can have too much of a good thing.
Recently, I discovered there might well be an exception to this rule. A truly classic track with the near impossible ability to never be overplayed: Springsteen’s “Rosalita.” I’ll explain why in a moment, but first, let me explain how I arrived at this conclusion in a somewhat inverted manner. Namely, I thought the song might well be in danger of being overplayed because there are around a dozen versions of it in my music library, from the original album recording on The Wild, The Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle to the Essential Bruce Springsteen edition, onward to live recordings from every era including acoustic takes. Springsteen himself has performed the song almost a thousand times, closing every show with it for about fifteen years between 1973 and 1988. If you are into live Springsteen, as I certainly am, you can’t avoid encountering it. There are only a few tracks he’s played more frequently over the years and live versions are available aplenty, some might say too plentifully. Whatever the case, it plays more frequently on my iPod equivalent than most other songs, leading to the potential of it falling into the danger zone of prompting me to think, not this song again and, dare I say it, pressing the skip button? A funny thing happened on the way to fast forwarding, however. I came close, but it never actually happened. The song overcame my initial reticence mid-way through the first verse and I was soon swept away exactly as I had been so many times before. Logically speaking, this is a slightly odd phenomenon because the lyrics themselves are more whimsical than literal, a classic bit of doggerel that Springsteen used to spin out in his Bob Dylan mode before his songwriting became more mature over the years, focused on character studies and stories more so than language for language’s sake. The lyrics to “Rosalita” are fun, catchy, and interesting in their own right, but unlikely to break any new poetry ground or stand up to an in-depth analysis. See if you can make any strictly literally sense of these opening lines:
Spread out now Rosie, doctor come cut loose her mama’s reins
You know playin’ blind man’s bluff is a little baby’s game
You pick up little dynamite, I’ll pick up little gun
And together we’re gonna go out tonight and make that highway run
You don’t have to call me lieutenant, Rosie, and I don’t want to be your son
The only lover I’m ever gonna need’s your soft, sweet, little girl’s tongue
And Rosie, you’re the one
If this were the first chapter of a novel, you would be forgiven for thinking the author was a child or perhaps on strong drugs, slamming the book shut and tossing it in the garbage, but music need not be confined to any traditional logic or storytelling constraints (much to the chagrin of a writer like me with no musical talent to speak of). Thus, we might have no clear idea what it means to spread out, why a doctor is required to cut loose mama’s reins, or who is playing blind man’s bluff with whom, but we can still understand the overall situation – and perhaps even more incredibly, relate directly to it, connecting it immediately with our own experiences. Rosie has been cooped up in her house, locked up by her parents for too long, and the speaker plans to remedy the situation by taking her out for an evening on the town with some friends with odd nicknames, Little Dynamite and Little Gun, both of whom we will learn a little more about in the next verse. Likewise, why Rosie would think the speaker wanted to be called lieutenant or that he wants to be her son, much less his infatuation with her tongue beyond the purely prurient implication, is irrelevant. Instead, we understand implicitly that this love affair has no rules. It’s young, free, and fun, which encapsulates pretty much the entire point of the song.
The second verse continues in the same whimsical scattershot style, but somehow manages to further the narrative and build something of a little world around it by introducing a cast of characters more suited to Alice in Wonderland than perhaps anywhere else. Now, we learn that “Dynamite’s in the belfry, baby, playin’ with the bats” and “Little gun’s downtown in front of Woolworth’s tryin’ out his attitude on all the cats.” Of course, no one is likely to be literally in a belfry playing with bats, and we can only assume it mean he is wasting time doing nothing somewhere, likely in need of an adventure himself. On the other hand, it is quite possible a young man is trying to impress the ladies on a street corner somewhere in the fashion of a construction worker wolf-whistling at women walking by. This individual could probably use some entertainment as well and we get the sense of a gang coming together regardless. Rosie’s papa, meanwhile, is “on the corner, waitin’ for the bus” and mama’s home “waitin’ up for us.” Apparently, she’s going to be waiting a long time “‘cause you know we ain’t gonna come.” Instead, the duo and their expanding group of friends appear to have a rather wild agenda for the evening, so wild it seems unlikely it’s meant to be taken all that seriously:
Jack the Rabbit and Weak Knee Willie, don’t you know they’re gonna be there
Ah Sloppy Sue and Big Bone Billy, they’ll be coming up for air
We’re gonna play some pool, skip some school
Act real cool, stay out all night, it’s gonna feel alright
At this point, it becomes difficult to discern whether Rosie is already out with the speaker or he is continuing to implore her to join the festivities, but it doesn’t really matter either way. There is the implicit sense this has all happened before, Ferris Bueller’s day off on repeat, whether figuratively or literally as the song takes a brief pause, musically and lyrically, for a few lines that actually make sense, even managing to seem somewhat autobiographical:
Now, I know your mama, she don’t like me, ‘cause I play in a rock and roll band
And I know your daddy, he don’t dig me, but he never did understand
Your papa lowered the boom, he locked you in your room, I’m comin’ to lend a hand
I’m comin’ to liberate you, confiscate you, I want to be your man
Beneath the bombast and bravado that defined much of Springsteen’s first two albums, we see some of the clever character moments and songwriting that was to come in the future. The verse changes direction again, as though the speaker himself looks into their future and can see the absurdity of the situation laid bare:
Someday we’ll look back on this and it will all seem funny
But now you’re sad, your mama’s mad
And your papa says he knows that I don’t have any money
Oh, your papa says he knows that I don’t have any money
Oh, so your daddy says he knows that I don’t have any money
Well, tell him this is his last chance to get his daughter in a fine romance
Because a record company, Rosie, just gave me a big advance
Springsteen, even at a tender 23 years old and armed with limited songwriting experience, has managed to rather deftly set an all too familiar scene. The doggerel of the early verses is substantially dialed back and the situation is put more plainly, something we can all imagine and easily remember from the days of our youth. A mother and father disapprove of the boy their daughter’s dating because he dreams of being a rockstar, but is dead broke at the moment. It’s simply not a good match, and one can imagine the father’s repeated lectures to his daughter about the importance of meeting a young man that will be able to provide for her, a person who is stable, and has a good head on his shoulders. Lyrically speaking, the earlier part of the song’s reliance on whimsical language underscores that the speaker is not that man, but as we progress, we see glimmers that he might well be one day, given a chance, both in the words Springsteen chooses and the overall content. The speaker himself understands the parent’s concerns. He might not agree with them, but he has a plan and it’s not to be a derelict his entire life. For better or worse, he’s simply not there yet, however. Instead, his “tires were slashed” and he “almost crashed,” saved only because the “Lord had mercy.” Beyond these mechanical failures, “my machine, she’s a dud, out stuck in the mud, somewhere in the swamps of Jersey.” Still, the speaker will not be denied. He urges Rosie to “hold on tight, stay up all night,” and insists he’s coming on the “strong, by the time we meet the morning light, I will hold you in my arms.”
The song closes with lyrical vision of their future together, completing the transition from fantastical imagery to something bordering on poetry, where you can picture the entire scene in just a few words, especially in this early part of Springsteen’s career:
I know a pretty little place in Southern California, down San Diego way
There’s a little cafe, where they play guitars all night and all day
You can hear them in the back room strummin’
So hold tight, baby, ‘cause don’t you know daddy’s comin’
Ultimately, “Rosalita’s” enduring appeal doesn’t come from the lyrics alone, however. They are interesting in their own right and the song would not be the same without them, but Springsteen used a similar mode in other work from that era. “Blinded by the Light,” which had more success covered by Manfred Mann, uses effectively the same approach, beginning with “Madmen, drummers, bummers, Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat,” but has not had nearly the replayability of “Rosalita.” Springsteen himself has only played it around 85 times. What makes “Rosalita” special is the fun-factor. The entire purpose of the song appears to be simple enjoyment, taking the listener on a musical journey purely for entertainment purposes. The chorus is itself a call to dance, “Rosalita jump a little higher, Senorita come sit by fire,” and the lyrics culminate in asking everyone to sing, literally “Everybody sing.” There is an infectious energy to it that, to me at least, is undeniable as the rhythm takes over and you cannot help but sing along by the end however many times you’ve done the same before. The song exists entirely in the moment, purely for the unrestrained joy of what music can do for you in a single moment. It’s a party in seven minutes. Most classics aren’t built this way, however. They tend to take the listener on a journey of ideas and emotions, prompting you to think and feel beyond the moment itself. Who hasn’t considered the implications and inspiration of “Hotel California’s” reference to “You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave” or wondered what led the lady in “Stairway to Heaven” to that point? These classics and others endure at least partially because they linger, leaving something behind in your mind. This is a critical part of their appeal, but it also contributes to wearing you out, knowing the journey by heart and being reluctant to listen for the ten thousandth time.
The genius of music, however, is that it combines both. It can take you to a party or it can make you reflect. Springsteen’s choice of pure party for “Rosalita” makes it stand out from all the rest.
ROSALITA
Spread out now Rosie, doctor come cut loose her mama’s reins
You know playin’ blind man’s bluff is a little baby’s game
You pick up little dynamite, I’ll pick up little gun
And together we’re gonna go out tonight and make that highway run
You don’t have to call me lieutenant, Rosie, and I don’t want to be your son
The only lover I’m ever gonna need’s your soft, sweet, little girl’s tongue
And Rosie, you’re the one
Dynamite’s in the belfry, baby, playin’ with the bats
Little gun’s downtown in front of Woolworth’s tryin’ out his attitude on all the cats
Papa’s on the corner, waitin’ for the bus
Mama, she’s home in the window, waitin’ up for us
She’ll be there in that chair when they wrestle her upstairs
’Cause you know we ain’t gonna come
I ain’t here on business, baby, I’m only here for fun
And Rosie, you’re the one
Rosalita, jump a little higher
Senorita, come sit by my fire
I just want to be your lover, ain’t no liar
Rosalita, you’re my stone desire
Jack the Rabbit and Weak Knee Willie, don’t you know they’re gonna be there
Ah Sloppy Sue and Big Bone Billy, they’ll be coming up for air
We’re gonna play some pool, skip some school
Act real cool, stay out all night, it’s gonna feel alright
So Rosie, come out tonight, little baby, come out tonight
Windows are for cheaters, chimneys for the poor
Oh, closets are for hangers, winners use the door
So use it, Rosie, that’s what it’s there for
Rosalita, jump a little higher
Senorita, come sit by my fire
I just want to be your lover, ain’t no liar
Rosalita, you’re my stone desire, alright
Now, I know your mama, she don’t like me, ’cause I play in a rock and roll band
And I know your daddy, he don’t dig me, but he never did understand
Your papa lowered the boom, he locked you in your room, I’m comin’ to lend a hand
I’m comin’ to liberate you, confiscate you, I want to be your man
Someday we’ll look back on this and it will all seem funny
But now you’re sad, your mama’s mad
And your papa says he knows that I don’t have any money
Oh, your papa says he knows that I don’t have any money
Oh, so your daddy says he knows that I don’t have any money
Well, tell him this is his last chance to get his daughter in a fine romance
Because a record company, Rosie, just gave me a big advance
And my tires were slashed and I almost crashed, but the Lord had mercy
And my machine, she’s a dud, out stuck in the mud somewhere in the swamps of Jersey
Well, hold on tight, stay up all night, ’cause Rosie, I’m comin’ on strong
By the time we meet the morning light, I will hold you in my arm
I know a pretty little place in Southern California, down San Diego way
There’s a little cafe, where they play guitars all night and all day
You can hear them in the back room strummin’
So hold tight, baby, ’cause don’t you know daddy’s comin’
Everybody sing
Rosalita, jump a little higher
Senorita, come sit by my fire
I just want to be your lover, ain’t no liar
Rosalita, you’re my stone desire
Hey hey hey hey
Hey hey hey hey
Hey hey hey hey
Hey hey hey hey
Confessions of a Conservative Atheist 