Thoughts on Bruce Springsteen's Streets of Philadelphia Sessions
Probably almost a decade ago, when I was first exploring the catalogue of the Irish rock band Thin Lizzy online, I came across a stunning 1985 synth-pop demo by the band’s lead singer Phil Lynott called “One Wish” that he worked on with Huey Lewis before Lynott’s untimely death in 1986.
In contrast to Thin Lizzy’s ripping guitar workouts, “One Wish” is a tantalizing morsel of refined sophistipop—one that I’ve enjoyed throwing on playlists and mixes in the ensuing years and that I’ve used as a kind of secret handshake with other extremely online music fans interested in archival oddities involving Boomer rock icons experimenting with (then-new) ‘80s and ‘90s sonics.
I thought about “One Wish”’s chiming synth accents and addictive beat while immersing myself in Bruce Springsteen’s unreleased 1993 album, the Streets of Philadelphia Sessions, that finally sees official release this week as part of a massive seven-disc archival set, Tracks II: The Lost Albums. According to Springsteenian lore1—with which I am, I have to say, only minimally well-versed—SoPS was an entire album of material recorded in the same vein—hip-hop-indebted beats and loops, moody synths—as the Boss’ smash, Grammy-and-Oscar-winning song, “Streets of Philadelphia,” that he had contributed to Jonathan Demme’s 1993 AIDS drama, Philadelphia. Springsteen recorded the album in his home studio and added finishing touches from a small group of collaborators with the intention of releasing it in 1995. The album ultimately never saw the light of day, however, as the famously exacting artist wasn’t sure if his fanbase would abide a “fourth record in a row about relationships” that was also this sonically experimental. Commercial pragmatism prevailed in the Boss’ world, and he reconvened The E Street Band in January 1995 to work on new tracks to flesh out a Greatest Hits release before shifting to work on his final ‘90s album, the sombre The Ghost of Tom Joad. The only song that would be officially released from SoPS would be a reworked version of “Secret Garden” that was popularized once it was included on the Jerry Maguire OST in 1996.
From the opening moments of the album’s first track, “Blind Spot,” which was released as a single back in April, the experience of listening to SoPS is completely fascinating. Calling SoPS Bruce’s “lost hip-hop album”—as some have over the years—was clearly a misnomer, but the more precise descriptor that better suits several of the more beat-heavy tracks on the album could plausibly be trip-hop. “Maybe I Don’t Know You,” a brooding, beat-driven track with blistering guitar work about estrangement from a partner is a Bruce song that actually bangs.
Another sonic vein on SoPS is less overtly trip-hoppy and more gauzy mid-tempo rock not entirely dissimilar from Bruce’s moody 1987 breakup record, Tunnel of Love, a personal favourite of mine. “Waiting on the End of the World” fits this mold, as does “One Beautiful Morning,” and the gorgeous “Between Heaven and Earth.”
In terms of music-critical historiography, an interesting thought experiment presents itself when one tries to imagine if SoPS would’ve been well-received in 1995 had it actually been officially released then—say, instead of Tom Joad. 30 years later, synth-dappled heartland rock and soft-rock has become fashionable in the work of acts like Adam Granduciel’s outfit, The War on Drugs—who have a penchant for covering Bruce and Dylan rarities live—Wild Pink, and, most recently, with Sam Fender’s acclaimed record, People Watching, from earlier this year.2 Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon also contributed to this critical reappraisal, of course, with his own revitalization of Bruce Hornsby and the Range-esque sonics on songs like 2011’s beloved “Beth/Rest,” and even on a track like “There’s a Rhythm” from his 2025 record, SABLE, fABLE.
Given all of this, there’s almost something kind of hypnagogic(?) to the experience of listening to SoPS. The music sounds, quite plausibly, like something that I imagine Granduciel would love to release in 2025, exploiting the sonic anachronism of his own, Springsteenian vocal delivery over a bed of gauzy synths and crude, programmed beats.3 Another idea tangentially related to all of this, I think, is Jake and Dave Longstreth’s shorthand term of “Eileen’s car” music on the cult internet radio show, Time Crisis, where the two brothers use the term to refer to “the musical and emotional palette of songs they heard in their babysitter's car as kids.” Something like “We Fell Down” or the original version of “Secret Garden” off of SoPS feel like they could be in the wheelhouse of “Eileen’s car” for elder millennials, yet the songs were never released when they would’ve actually made sense as such.
Would the most historically authentic, grounded-in-1995-music-cultural reaction to SoPS actually have been incomprehension at a brooding, goateed Bruce singing over sonics that weren’t too far away from (excellent!) contemporaneous work by Sarah McLachlan? As a counterpoint, given the success of the “Streets of Philadelphia” single, would SoPS potentially have been embraced? This is, of course, impossible to know definitively, but it’s fun for a certain subset of music beardos like myself to think through.
Bracketing all of this meta-discourse, I can’t recommend SoPS enough for all the other reasons, too. It is deeply felt and delivered music by Bruce. The writing is also classic Boss. It’s not overlaboured, and still manages to be full of arresting imagery like the opening lines of “Blind Spot”:
We inhabited each other
Like it was some kind of disease
I thought that I was flyin'
But I was crawling on my knees
SoPS has instantly become my favourite of his ‘90s projects, and I hope that others will come to love it now that Bruce has, at last, decided to share it with the worldwide audience that it so thoroughly deserves.
For a very thorough overview of the full context behind Springsteen’s Tracks II: The Lost Albums release, I would highly recommend Boss scholar Sam Sodomsky’s review in Pitchfork, Steven Hyden’s new piece in The Ringer, and Jon Pareles’ new Bruce profile in The New York Times.
People Watching was actually produced by Granduciel, too.
I actually joked with a friend that Granduciel should just release “Between Heaven and Earth” as his next single and see if anyone notices that it’s not by him.