![]() He always sounds like a handsome horndog with a terrific rap. (He seems like the kind of guy who’d say “motorbike” – maybe he doesn’t.) I don’t know. And he’s forever asking you to put on that cute little dress of yours (you know the one), so he can sit you on the back of his motorbike and ride down suicide streets and whatnot. Bruce always wants you to know he loves you, baby, and that together you’ll make it, despite the long odds. He goes on about highways running, calling his car a “machine,” and talking about all the dangerous guys and tough chicks on street corners that he knows. I even love Steely Dan and Jimi Hendrix and Belly, and The Stone Roses, each of whom must be making some point, but I generally have no idea what it is.īut many of Bruce’s lyrics seem sort of goofy and embarrassing. But I also love XTC, The Beatles, Lucinda Williams, Elvis Costello – artists who can move you with a simple phrase. I don’t need poetry: I love Yes and Van Halen and AC/DC, none of whom are what would be called wordsmiths, or Voice-of-a-Generation types. And whenever it delivers a chorus, as at 1:53, the sense of joy and release and power is inescapable.īut I have to write a bit about the lyrics, because they may be, generally, the reason I can’t get into Bruce. But that rising riff is key to the song, because it keeps coming around. Our ears are ready for something big and new, but instead we get another verse, some nonsense about what Dynamite and Little Gun are up to. At the end of that second half, (1:05, “Rosie, you’re the one!”) Clemons plays a rising sax riff that … doesn’t resolve. ![]() ![]() For example, at 0:27 (“spread out now Rosie …”) and at 0:52 (“you don’t have to call me …”). You’ll need them.) Each verse in the song has two parts – a spirited, wordy, first half and a mellower second. The verses are key to how “Rosalita” works. ![]()
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