For sheer, raw emotional power in song, I’m not sure it’s possible to top the gut-punch of Bruce’s “Daddy Trilogy.”
In 1978, Episode One–“Adam Raised a Cain“–introduces us to a young man who feels the gravitational pull of his father’s fate and rages against it, feeling resentfully trapped and predestined to follow in his father’s footsteps.
Two years later, Episode Two–“Independence Day“–re-introduces us to a slightly older and somewhat wiser protagonist, who now realizes that he has the power to escape and is on the verge of using it. He no longer resents his father; instead, he pities him. He recognizes the similarities that cause them to clash and knows he has to leave, not just to realize his own dreams, but to honor what’s left of his father’s dreams as well.
And that brings us to the conclusion: 1987’s “Walk Like a Man.”
Unlike the previous two chapters, there’s no musical introduction to set the stage. “Walk Like a Man” has a cold open, and we’re immediately in the moment, but unsure of where and when.
Time and place don’t matter in this song, because we’re listening to the son years later, reflecting back on his wedding day. Most of us (if we’ve been married) remember our wedding days in vivid detail, but it’s notable that this day looms large in our narrator’s heart more because of its significance to his relationship with his father than to his bride:
I remember how rough your hand felt on mine on my wedding day
And the tears cried on my shoulder… I couldn’t turn away
Well, so much has happened to me that I don’t understand
All I can think of is being five years old following behind you at the beach, tracing your footprints in the sand… trying to walk like a man
Our parents loom large in our lives, never more so than on the days that mark a transition in our own.
In that first verse, the son is struck by the juxtaposition of the roughness of his father’s hand–strong and callous, worn from age and experience–and the unexpected tears and tenderness of his father’s embrace. He’s paralyzed by the unexpected emotion, overwhelmed on an already overwhelming day.
As he flashes back to his boyhood, Max’s percussion kicks in like a metronome, and the son begins a lifetime of walking in his father’s footsteps, first literally, then figuratively.
Well, by Our Lady of the Roses we lived in the shadow of the elms
I remember ma dragging me and my sister up the street to the church whenever she heard those wedding bells
Well, would they ever look so happy again, yeah the handsome groom and his bride
As they stepped into that long black limousine for their mystery ride
Well tonight you step away from me, and alone at the altar I stand
As I watch my bride coming down the aisle I pray for the strength to walk like a man
I’m not sure if Bruce has ever written a verse that packs so much nostalgia, foreboding, wonder, awe, fear, strength, and love into a single verse as this one: the mother, captivated by the glimpse of love at its peak; the son, mystified and frightened by the unknown journey of marriage; the father, fully aware of the significance of the moment and surrendering his child to it; and the bride, who will test her new husband’s readiness for a shared life.
And if there were any doubts about whether our narrator is indeed the same son of “Adam Raised a Cain” and “Independence Day” the last verse erases them:
Well, now the years have gone and I’ve grown, yeah, from that seed you’ve sown
But I didn’t think there’d been so many steps I’d have to learn on my own
Well I was young and I didn’t know what to do when I saw your best steps stolen away from you
Now I’ll do what I can, I’ll walk like a man
It’s years later, and the son hints that his father may not be around any more–not physically at least, but his influence lives on, and the son does his best to honor his father.
Each episode of the Daddy Trilogy builds in power and culminates in a killer couplet. Traced across time, they form an arc that we all play out with our parents and our children.
Adam Raised a Cain: Daddy worked his whole life for nothing but the pain; Now he walks these empty rooms looking for something to blame.
Independence Day: Papa, now I know the things you wanted that you could not say; I swear I never meant to take those things away.
and finally, Walk Like a Man: I was young and I didn’t know what to do when I saw your best steps stolen away from you.
When we first start to realize that our parents have their own lives and their own dreams–both realized and unattained–it’s a frightening and bewildering awakening, particularly if our parents haven’t fully come to terms with their choices and sacrifices yet. We sense their anguish and frustration–their search for “something to blame,” and we internalize it. We feel guilt, even though we “never meant to take those things away.”
But when we grow into adulthood and parenthood ourselves, we find ourselves in our parents’ position, and we realize that the clashes and the resentment were simply the symptoms, reflections, and shared pain of loving them but not knowing what to do when we see their best steps stolen away from them–and their fear of us never having our best steps at all.
So we push, we clash, we walk away… but we never let go.
And we keep on walking.
—
If there’s a bone to pick with “Walk Like a Man,” it would have to be its dated, synth-heavy musical track. Max Weinberg (the only other musician on the track besides Bruce) is perfectly restrained and mechanical, but I can’t help but wonder how much more powerful and timeless this song would have been if backed by Roy’s piano rather than Bruce’s keyboard. There are some clever flourishes (most notably, the wedding bells in the second verse), and the extended outro brilliantly represents the endless walk of life–but otherwise, “Walk Like a Man” begs for re-arrangement.
Unfortunately, Bruce almost never performs it. It was a mainstay of the first leg of the Tunnel of Love Express Tour, but it was dropped before the tour reached Europe. Still, you can see and hear a restrained full band treatment below.
In 2005, however, Bruce resurrected “Walk Like a Man” for a pair of solo acoustic performances on electric and acoustic piano. Spare and unadorned, the lyrical power of the song shines–even the wedding bells are subtle rather than distracting.
In a brilliant stroke, Bruce switches mid-song from the electric to acoustic piano at the point when the scene shifts from the past to the present. The acoustic piano sound is grander, richer, and more resonant. The absence of percussion and the addition of harmonica make our walking less mechanical and more deliberate, determined, and brave. In my mind, this is the definitive arrangement of the song.
Walk Like a Man
Recorded: January 20, 1987
Released: Tunnel of Love (1987)
First performed: February 25, 1987 (Worcester, MA)
Last performed: August 1, 2005 (Cincinnati, OH)
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