American Beauty (2014)
1. American Beauty
2. Mary Mary
3. Hurry Up Sundown
4. Hey Blue Eyes
Originally released as a limited edition to coincide with one of those increasingly nostalgic “Record Store Day” events, American Beauty is a four-track EP—a format itself a relic from another time—that arrives more as an afterthought than an artistic statement. While its intended function may have been to galvanize foot traffic into dwindling brick-and-mortar music retailers, the subsequent digital release somewhat undercut the physical exclusivity. The gesture, though noble in principle, was always going to be undermined by reality.
The material, culled from the same sessions that yielded High Hopes, carries with it all the inconsistencies and stylistic drift that plagued that parent album. The critical point to consider is this: if High Hopes was broadly perceived as a middling affair—and it was—then one must temper expectations accordingly when approaching songs that didn’t quite make that particular cut. As such, American Beauty presents itself less as a coherent work than a short-form miscellany, a curious footnote in the ever-expanding Springsteen archive.
The first pair of tracks, Mary Mary and Hey Blue Eyes, appear spiritually closer to the Devils & Dust period—sparse, brooding, and lyrically political. The former bears an uncanny resemblance to “Leah,” both in melodic contour and mood, and does little to distinguish itself from the earlier template. Hey Blue Eyes fares somewhat better; its protest roots are clear and compelling, though its impact is hampered by an unfortunate production choice—namely, the backing vocals, which echo the divisive additions made on High Hopes. One is reminded, painfully, how delicate a balance it is to integrate personal life into professional output, particularly when the voices in question do not blend to advantage.
The remaining tracks—American Beauty and Hurry Up Sundown—appear cut from the same cloth as 2007’s Magic, echoing its polished veneer and brisk rock arrangements. Yet, while competent, they never quite ignite. There’s craftsmanship, certainly, but little of the narrative force or emotional immediacy that defines Springsteen at his best. These are songs that suggest possibility, rather than fulfill it.
As an isolated artefact, American Beauty is hardly offensive. But it is, equally, not essential. There is a sense of minor obligation in its release—both from artist to fan and fan to artist. Had this been made available only in physical form, many Springsteen devotees might have dutifully sought it out, if only to maintain a sense of completeness. As it stands, the digital release provides a more accurate reflection of its real worth: four modest compositions, best sampled once or twice on a streaming platform before being quietly shelved.
Not a misstep, exactly—merely a modest, if ultimately forgettable, detour.
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