Billy Joel “Storm Front”
If Bruce Springsteen sounds like he works really hard, Billy Joel sounds like he tries really hard. Once you see the comparison — between Bruce and Billy — it’s impossible to look away from. The prides of near-New York City came up together, thrilling tri-state area fans and daring critics to name “the next Dylan.” From the very start, they were both exceptional songwriters, musicians and showmen. And, in time, both became megastars, sold out stadiums and achieved the highest levels of pop success. In more ways than I can count, Bruce and Billy are twin flames.
So, why, then, in 1989 when Billy Joel kicks off his eleventh studio album, “Storm Front,” with a “one, two, three, four” count off — clearly invoking The Boss — does it sound so atrocious? Why does it annoy me so much? But — not just me — why do most critics adore Bruce and roll their eyes at Billy? Why does The Boss Incorporated chug along, minting money, while Billy has retreated into the safe confines of Madison Square Garden? After all — and it might bear repeating — Billy Joel has written a lot of great songs. Songs that mean so much to so many. Songs that you want to sing along to. Songs that begin, middle and end elegantly. Songs that rock. Songs that tell endearing and enduring stories. So, why did Bruce win and Billy lose?
The answer is, I think, complicated. Some of it obviously has to do with their psychologies. For Bruce, music, performance and audience are like therapy. They feed the parts of him that are depleted by doubt and neuroses. However, for Billy, it seems that those passions and achievements were never enough. His yearning appeared more desperate — and bottomless. Bruce can take on broad themes and characters — separate from himself — and spin them into musical poetry that sounds personal but not egotistical. To our ears — and more so to our hearts — he was working in the factory even though he absolutely was not. Billy, meanwhile, was the opposite. He seemed perpetually mired in the myth-making of his own persona. It was always either the Piano Man Billy or Romantic Billy or the Angry Young Billy. Whether he’s singing about supermodels or big shots or Anthony at the grocery store or Russian clowns, it always feels like Billy is taking center stage. Everything is code for “Me, Me, Me!”
To restate the obvious, Billy Joel is beloved by millions. And, among his fans, my suggestions are either false, irrelevant or part of his appeal. But, many years ago, he lost the admiration of the music cognoscenti — I think — for the reason I suggested at the outset: because it was too obvious that he was trying so hard to impress everyone. Objectively, there is nothing at all wrong with that. It can be an admirable trait. But anyone who has felt insecure or craved validation can see a little bit of their worst self in Billy Joel; wanting to sound smart; wanting to sound important; wanting to sound contemporary; wanting to sound talented. All of that oozes from every Billy Joel album, and especially the later ones.
By 1989, Billy Joel had settled down, but had not really matured. Even in middle age, he sounded adolescent. As with most people living in the tri-state area during the Eighties, I once liked Billy Joel. But, later on in the decade, around the time of my adolescence, alongside everything else that was changing, my Joel affection began to curdle. In retrospect, I think the answer to why that happened is quite simple: the part of me that was ashamed of my own desperate need to be liked — a feeling that can be both profound and profoundly unattractive — could not stand Billy Joel. I heard “Storm Front” screaming “I am a wiser, married man!” I heard every one of the twenty-five musicians, including Itzhak Perlman, but not counting the Hicksville High School Chorus telling me “This is an important album!” Its desire to be taken seriously had the inverse effect on me.
Topics on “Storm Front” include (obviously) Billy’s inner turbulence, (predictably) the plight of working fishermen, (surprisingly) a Russian clown, (inevitably) his supermodel wife and (patronizingly) his also supermodel ex-girlfriend. Oh wait — did I mention that he also attempts to retell the history of the second half of the twentieth century by shout rapping famous names and memorable headlines for five straight minutes? That song, “We Didn’t Start The Fire” was a number one hit — one of several from the album (“That’s Not Her Style,” “I Go To Extremes,” “The Downeaster Alexa” and “And So It Goes”). It was as ubiquitous as it was maddening.
Robbed of his pitch and range, “Storm Front” leans on the players, which is a good thing, and the words and ideas, which is not such a good thing. “That’s Not Her Style” is un-embarrassing. “I Go To Extremes” is dynamic, expert, white guy Soul, notwithstanding the unforgivable “right at this moment I’m totally cool” line. In the history of history, has any genuinely cool person ever called themselves cool? “We Didn’t Start The Fire,” however, is the real sin — a charmless, ear-splitting ear-worm.
The nicest moments on “Storm Front” are the simplest ones, songs wherein Joel’s considerable craft outpaces his considerable ego. “Leningrad” is not as good as most of “The Stranger” or “Piano Man,” but it’s an absolutely lovely tune nonetheless. “And So It Goes” is a plaintive closer — short and sweet and timeless. And — by the way — written in iambic pentameter to remind us that — yes — Billy Joel is a poet. To its credit, “Storm Front” sounds like the work of a band — and a good one at that — rather than that of an auteur. It possesses the grown man Rock edge that Billy introduced with “Glass Houses,” but then set aside for a while. My suspicion is that he avoided the gentle melodicism of his past (“She’s Always a Woman",” et al) for the simple reason that his middle-aged voice was shot. Whereas Bruce could always shout and howl in tune, the louder Billy Joel got, the more it hurt. Loud Billy Joel is flat and uninteresting. It strains like a middle-aged man on the toilet, frustrated but still trying to impress girls and critics.
Between 1979 and 1981, Billy Joel won five Grammys. I get the sense that really mattered to him. He never won another Grammy after that. “Storm Front” was nominated four times but...no dice. An album of “serious depth,” it was Billy showing us how much he’d grown up. When the album first came I was fifteen years old and in the peak of my Punk Rock arrogance. I remember hating “Storm Front” back then. Now, older than the age Billy Joel was when he recorded it, I absolutely do not hate it. It’s not especially enjoyable. It’s not thrilling. It’s not groundbreaking or revelatory. No, its competence and its exertion actually make me kind of sad. Sad at the idea that such a talent and success still sounded desperate for approval. In 1994, Billy Joel released his final album of pop music, the abysmal “River of Dreams.” Then he retired as a Pop recording artist. It’s a great irony to me that the man whose entire discography was both a premature and prolonged mid-life crisis, retired before the depth of middle-age.