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CBC
10 hours ago
- Entertainment
- CBC
What Bruce Springsteen's lost albums reveal about him as an artist
Today, Bruce Springsteen decided to grace fans everywhere with not just one album, but seven albums of previously unreleased music. The box set, Tracks II: The Lost Albums, contains 83 new songs which showcase the Boss's love of country and orchestral music. Today on Commotion, host Elamin Abdelmahmoud chats with music journalists Carl Wilson, Vish Khanna and Niko Stratis to discuss the massive new release from Springsteen. We've included some highlights below, edited for length and clarity. For the full discussion on Serge Fiori's legacy and Lorde's new album, listen and follow Commotion with Elamin Abdelmahmoud on your favourite podcast player. WATCH | Today's episode on YouTube: Elamin: Niko, this is a box set that spans from 1983 all the way to 2018, the vast majority of it recorded in the 1990s. Where was Bruce in this era? Why did he have so much music stockpiled, but not released out to the public? Niko: The '90s are such a funny period for Bruce. He has referred to people saying that that's his lost decade. He has very few records come out in the '90s. He has two come out at the same time, Human Touch and Lucky Town. Lucky Town comes out in '92. He does Streets of Philadelphia in '93. And then Ghost of Tom Joad comes out in '95. And that's kind of it. It's not until The Rising comes out in 2002 that we get anything new from Bruce. So it is this lost period. He's moved to California at this time. He's in Los Angeles, he's having kids, he's having a family — and he's made a lot of music, we just never heard it. Listening through this now, it is interesting to hear: where was Bruce in this era that we didn't really hear a lot from him? What did he sound like? What was he doing? What was he trying to do? And how would this have felt if it came out in the years that he recorded them? Had he put a country record out in '95 when he also did Ghost of Tom Joad, would people have been into it? And it's impossible to know the answer to that question. But now we have 83 tracks through which to wonder: what would have happened if Bruce was just throwing spaghetti at the wall his entire life? Elamin: Suddenly, you get this moment, Vish, where you are not confronted with, but blessed with, shall we say, a gigantic flood of new Bruce Springsteen songs that range in their styles. We have a country-style album. We have some orchestral stuff. He's working with a lot of different styles. What's it like waking up and being like, "Oh my gosh, look at all this, the Bruce bounty?" Vish: I think those of us who follow older artists are becoming accustomed to people putting out outtakes or unreleased material collections. In my memory — and I might be wrong — I can't think of anything like this. I can't think of any artist of his calibre being like, "Here's seven complete albums I made. I put out other stuff instead of this. So here you go." So when these collections come out, one thing beyond just marveling at the music that we get to hear, fans have to reckon with what our favourite artists' decision making processes are, their indecisiveness, their contemplation, the fact that they really think about these things. This particular set had me thinking: what if Bruce and Dylan — Bob Dylan, by the way, is who I'm referring to there — what if Miles Davis, Neil Young, all these people had Bandcamp or SoundCloud? Can you imagine? These days everyone's just like, "Hey everyone, I made a record last week, here you go." These folks sit on these things and I think it's kind of interesting because we're like, "OK, you didn't put this out? It's perfect. This is great." And I think the other thing we wrestle with as fans is: the stuff that did come? I don't know if it's as good as this now. I just think it's fascinating that Bruce and some of the other people I mentioned are able to provide us these alternate histories, while they're alive. That's really unusual to have all these people be like, "Here's what I did, here's what I could have done, here you go." Elamin: Carl, when you look at this box set, what does it tell you about what Bruce Springsteen wants us to know about him right now? Carl: It doesn't tell us anything we don't already know after the last 15 years or more of outtake albums and bonus discs. We're aware that Bruce produced work like a MF at all times. There is this project, I think, in the last decade of really putting the archives in order, alongside telling his story and his autobiography, alongside doing the Broadway show based on the autobiography, alongside making these documentaries. Bruce Springsteen wants to tell the Bruce Springsteen story. And the interesting thing is that he's willing to tell it now in a broader way. When Vish was talking about the choices that were made to put these albums out or not, I think a big part of it is that a lot of those projects here didn't suit the story that Bruce wanted to tell about Bruce Springsteen at particular times. They're not the heroic man of the people, masculine Bruce Springsteen at all times. They're kind of the weird artist Bruce Springsteen, obsessively making stuff in the garage studio. At various points, he veers away from putting out the orchestral pop album, from putting out the synthesizer album, from putting out the more mainstream country album instead of the Woody Guthrie-esque country album. So all of those choices show up here. And there's a romance to the idea of lost albums. And there is also the indications of strategy and fears about public perception and all of those kinds of things that are the backside to all of that.
Globe and Mail
09-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Globe and Mail
For writer Niko Stratis, ‘dad rock' was a lifeline
While the title of Toronto-via-Yukon writer Niko Stratis's memoir might be tongue-in-cheek, her story is anything but – as the author wrestled with her gender identity growing up in a hypermasculine environment in the nineties, music proved to be her lifeline. By turns tough and tender, The Dad Rock That Made Me a Woman takes readers through Stratis's youth in Whitehorse, where she spent two decades working as a glazier – like her father before her – before coming out as a trans woman in her late 30s and establishing a career as an essayist with a knack for sharply observed personal narratives that draw on a lifelong passion for music. Stratis has compiled the songs that serve as the thread tying her book together into a playlist, on Apple Music and Spotify. Books we're reading and loving this week: Globe readers share their picks Amid some anxiety about releasing a debut book with a U.S. publisher and embarking on her first promotional tour during a crackdown on transgender rights and increased anti-trans rhetoric, Stratis spoke to The Globe and Mail about how telling her own story meant drawing on the songs that saved her. As a fellow music writer – albeit one who resolutely never writes in the first person – I'm curious how you first came to music writing and how you marry criticism and memoir. I was flying somewhere, and I stopped at a bookstore before I left and grabbed Hanif Abdurraqib's Go Ahead in the Rain: Notes to a Tribe Called Quest and read it on the plane, and I remember thinking, 'Oh, so you can write about music in this way that's incredibly beautiful.' And it kind of broke my brain in this perfect way. As I got more into writing essays, I was always thinking about Hanif's book. And then amazingly, the very series I wrote my book for is published by the same press. Editor Jessica Hopper messaged me and asked if I had an idea for a book for the series – I really didn't, but right away when the title came to me, I realized I could build something around that concept. You offer up some deeply personal stories in the book. How did you decide just how much you wanted to share with the reader? With some of it, the story isn't really mine to tell – so where it's not fully my story, I didn't want to make it about me, but those [narratives] really did deeply affect me or impact me in some way. Even with my family, when I sent them the book, it was the first time I got really panicky about it: 'I didn't ask them if this was okay.' But I mostly just tried to figure out what I wanted the narrative of the book to be, and then I chose what I thought were the most compelling ideas and memories that I could thread together to tell the story I wanted to tell. I could have easily made the book four times as long – I think I was initially afraid of a lot of my memories, but those things happened a long time ago and I've sort of defanged them over the years. And now that I'm less afraid of them, maybe now is the time to process this stuff out loud in a way that hopefully is helpful for other people. 'Dad rock' seems to have become a bit of a catch-all genre that often gets a bad rap for being maybe a little too heart-on-sleeve – how do you define it? I've been kind of cagey about answering this question – I very pointedly in the book don't outright say, 'This is what I think' – and I do want to divorce it from gender, because I want to have a conversation around how there are different sides to what might fall into this genre. The term was first coined by a writer in reference to the band Wilco. And when I started writing this book, I thought, 'Why are we using 'dad rock' as a pejorative?' Because I don't think it is. So I started working from that place of, 'How do I take this on and show it the love and deference I think it deserves?' And it's hard, because I think even when people see the book title, they think of it as this funny thing – and it is! – but I think it's great that people who are getting older and have been through a lot have survived long enough to be making a damned rock record. It's lovely that a book about dad rock is also, in many ways, an ode to your own dad. I gave my parents the book, and I don't think my dad has even read it – when my mom started reading it, my dad asked her, 'Well, how is it?' And my mom said, 'You come across really well in here.' And she told me he was surprised to hear that. [Laughs] My dad's a really private person – he keeps his feelings close to his chest. Last year when he turned 70, for his gift, I printed out and framed the first page of the book where I'm writing about his truck. And my partner got this great photo of him looking at it – and, as she said, 'Okay, that really got him.' How do you feel like your relationship with dad rock has changed over the years, especially now that you're in a different place than when the music you write about in the book first impacted you so strongly? I once got asked to take part in a roundtable about trans women and their relationship with dad rock, and I thought, 'I didn't realize this was a thing – now I want to have, like, a doctorate in this, because I feel like I've stumbled upon something here.' [Laughs] I've become so protective of it because it's a thing that's unfairly maligned, and I think there's a lot of beauty there. And I hope everyone just accepts it into their own heart by finding their own definition of what it means to them. This interview has been edited and condensed.
CBC
06-05-2025
- Entertainment
- CBC
Sometimes songs can save us — just ask Niko Stratis
Social Sharing It's a well-known cliché that music has the power to heal. But perhaps what's less talked about is the artform's power to reveal truths about yourself before you even recognize them. That's one aspect of culture writer Niko Stratis ' debut book, The Dad Rock That Made Me A Woman. Through a collection of essays each titled after a song, Stratis unpacks her story from journeyman glazier to music writer, with a gender transition along the way. Today on Commotion, she joins host Elamin Abdelmahmoud to talk about how songs can help you find a different story about yourself. We've included some highlights below, edited for length and clarity. For the full discussion, listen and follow Commotion with Elamin Abdelmahmoud on your favourite podcast player. WATCH | Today's episode on YouTube (this segment begins at 15:10): Elamin: You said that you chose every song that you wrote about in the book because it saved you in some kind of way. This is a book about how songs can help you maybe find a different story for yourself, and about yourself. I'm curious about how you see music and identity maybe intertwined in your life. Niko: I was a really isolated, introverted and very insular young person, from a very young age probably until I was in my 20s. Elamin: And now you're cool and you have tattoos and you write about music. Niko: At least one of those things is true…. But music was a thing I could withdraw and escape into. I grew up in the Yukon, which is a very removed place from the rest of the world. I couldn't get in a car for a weekend drive and go to a city. It just wasn't an option. Elamin: You couldn't just go see R.E.M. Niko: Exactly. To this day, I've never seen R.E.M. in concert. But I could listen to these songs and these artists, and I could imagine worlds that maybe I could be real in. I knew a lot of secrets about myself, and I was very scared of them from a very young age. And music allowed me a space where I could explore a lot of complicated ideas that I didn't fully have words for. I could ask answers for questions I didn't fully know how to vocalize. It was these little spaces I could explore in. And that's, I think, why they've lingered with me for so long. It's being able to look back with grace at my younger self and be like, "OK, well, you were searching. Now here we are. I'm in my 40s now. We made it." Elamin: "I'm in my 40s now and we made it," it's not a light sentence. You're not saying that lightly. Niko: No, not at all…. I never thought I would be in my 40s. Honestly, I think that is a really easy thing to talk about. I never thought I would be here. Elamin: Tell me about that — the idea of listening to these songs and saying, "If there's a future, these songs will get me to that place." Niko: I think when I had them then, I was just trying to live in the world that I could imagine for the time that I thought I would have. And I never really saw a future for myself. Like I never saw myself being in my 40s and being a writer, because I never imagined a future for myself at all, because I just didn't think it was possible. So I was living in these songs because I thought, "Maybe this is enough."... And now I'm an adult in a world I never imagined.
CBC
28-01-2025
- Entertainment
- CBC
Why do people keep starting — and listening — to rewatch podcasts?
For practically every TV show from the early aughts that earned a loyal following — think Suits, Gilmore Girls, The Office and more — there is now a rewatch podcast trying to recapture its former glory, often hosted by the series' stars or creative team. While there is fun to be had in hearing behind-the-scenes stories and cast reunions, the sheer number of rewatch podcasts available today has us asking: has nostalgia bait gone too far? Today on Commotion, culture critic Niko Stratis joins host Elamin Abdelmahmoud to share why she got into the world of rewatch podcasts, both as a host and as a listener. WATCH | Today's episode on YouTube (this segment begins at 16:25):
