Even before his first album was released, Bruce Springsteen was already hard at work on his second.
Greetings From Asbury Park made its under-the-radar debut on January 5, 1973. Over the following six weeks, Bruce recorded at least that many new songs–none of which would make his next album.
“Janey Needs a Shooter” and “Song for Orphans” would eventually see the light of day in the form of modern recordings almost a half-century later, but the rest are still locked away in Bruce’s vault (officially, anyway).
That’s too bad, because those early, pre-fame recordings are worthy of collection, and “Winter Song” is among the most impressive of the bunch.
Bruce recorded “Winter Song” in late January 1973, arranged as a solo piano showcase for the accomplished guitar hero. And while Bruce has always been more competent than dazzling at the piano, his artistry here is breathtaking.
“Winter Song” sounds like the season it’s named for. Bruce evokes a lonely, barren emotional landscape for his red-light tale of sexual fascination. Musically, Bruce beat Windham Hill to the punch by many years.
Lyrically, let’s just acknowledge that “Winter Song” isn’t Bruce at his most enlightened. This is a story about a young man who appears to be a regular at a local brothel, torn between two hostesses–one submissive and one dominant. But as the song progresses, our experimenting narrator finds himself increasingly intrigued by the house’s mysterious madam.
From their northeast source the sour wind roars
Their gifts fresh from the valley waters
“Hello” echoes strip Pennsylvania mountain walls
With their corsets and their old Betsy ruffle
And their slips with pearly white
They stand bulging up against the screen door
And bid you “good night”
Summer’s sweet and she brings me water
But give me Winter, that old icy whore
While Summer lies meek and follows orders
Winter cries “me” and pulls you through the door
The lymph node tramp cries metal flake tears
They drip like honey down soot mama’s leg
You lay watching a moth eat a hole in his cloth
He’ll ask, but he don’t beg
Said I’d like to see the mademoiselle
Who holds the keys to all these doors around her waist
And rings the bell
Summer’s sweet and she brings me water
Give me Winter, that old icy whore
Summer lies meek and follows orders
Winter cries “me” and pulls you through the door
With scuffling sound the knot-voiced matron makes her rounds
Knocking on each and every door
With a look like white heat, she sways, salty, sweet
And leads me ‘cross her Persian floor
She squeezed my hand and before her I stood
I was scared, it was dark but it was good
Summer’s sweet and she brings me water
But give me Winter, that old icy whore
While Summer lies meek and follows orders
Winter cries “me” and pulls me through her door
“Winter Song” delivers its inexperienced narrator to the madam by the song’s climax, but Bruce concludes the encounter with an understated “it was good.”
But while “Winter Song” may not be remarkable for its lyrics (or even its clever seasonal/sexual metaphor), it’s nothing short of revelatory for Bruce’s performance. Bruce’s vocals manage to convey fascination, fear, passion and even disconnection in turns, and his performance at the piano is astonishingly delicate.
The entire effect is a haunting one, and “Winter Song” lingers in the memory long after it ends.
Winter Song
Recorded: January 29-30, 1973
Never released
Never performed
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