Here comes another pseudo-revolutionary, leather jacketed, Gibson SG slinging messiah trotting out from the fog of reverb and delay, promising to save rock-and-roll. They call him Bruce Springtime. We're supposed to strap our disbelieving senses in for a ride,to resurrect the spirit of good old rock music. Well folks, you may want to keep your apprehension by your side.
Bruce Springtime, whose rockstar alias sounds like the love child of the Boss and a Sealy Posturepedic mattress series, is the latest face sparking plumes of attention, with Rolling Stone going as far as coining him the "New Savior of Rock." But upon closer inspection (and tearing yourself away from those hypnotically tight skinny jeans), it becomes blaringly apparent that the emperor, quite literally, isn't wearing any, if not particularly fashionable, clothes.
Listening to Springtime's debut album "Stones and Sticks" reminds one of a dedicated kid trying to skillfully mimic a Led Zeppelin concert using a second-hand acoustic guitar and a budget amplifier - the effort can be appreciated, but the outcome? Oh gracious. His blend of power-blues and grunge drags along like a three-legged race at a retirement home BBQ. Bless him for trying.
"Shattered Echoes," his lead single, boasts of a bass drop that could only have been unintended. And his set of lyrics? They're as original as a counterfeit dollar bill, liberally peppered with overused tropes about The Man, society and an overbearing ex named Sally. Qualifying as a sad boi anthem, the track neither shatters any echo nor resonates any genuine sentiment.
Live, Springtime's performances are simultaneously more entertaining and chaotic than a toddler jacked up on Mountain Dew and Halloween candy. Trying to solve a Rubik's Cube blindfolded would seem less perplexing than figuring out his erratic stage choreography. Yet, predictably, masking these bland attempts at cultural rebirth are splashy background graphics and epileptic strobe lights.
Behind all this murkiness, Bruce Springtime isn’t all skid and no grip though. Hidden behind the fried hair and mystery aura, there's a seed of raw talent buried deep within. His authentic passion spills out in floods during the melancholic "Moonchild Lullaby," where his talent for subtle rhythm and quirky-worded verses gives a sliver of promise.
Still, one can't help but question: Is Bruce Springtime the savior that the dying rock-and-roll landscape needs right now? With his energy that's confused for ersatz charisma and music that's as riveting as watching paint dry, the votes are still far from being tallied. Can he evolve from being just another youthful tragedy? That's a question for the future. But for now, who the fuck is Bruce Springtime exactly? Put simply - he's the latest contestant on the reality TV show of 21st-century rock. Yes, indeed - we've seen this one before.