Open All Night: the Lone Ranger of Rockabilly

“Open All Night” by far the most up-beat number on all of Nebraska, seems to show Springsteen breaking the persona of the album and slipping back into the imagery and attitudes (read: hopeful and defiant) of the previous three or so albums. The song itself, which is an up-beat rockabilly jam played on the album’s lone electric guitar, is in many ways a parody of, or less-likely an homage to, the music of early rock’n’roll/rockabilly artists like Bill Haley, Chuck Berry, and Jerry Lee Lewis. While this comparison is justifiably made, the guitar intro smacks with the sound of Chuck Berry licks, the goal of this stylistic parody may not be as apparent. What does become apparent, especially if one studies the lyrics, is the illusion which this narrator is creating for himself, the illusion of having a destination with human contact somewhere down the road. Immediately one is forced to draw a comparison between this track and “State Trooper,” which has a similar setting, narrator, and sequence of events. Through this comparison one is able to see into the psyche of this narrator and how stranded he really is, despite his upbeat tone. Ultimately, as the song progresses and the rockabilly allusions begin to stack up, the song becomes a dark commentary on the illusory relationship people have with their dreams, and the way in which people refuse to look beyond themselves to see their reality.

This song, which quickly draws many parallels with the haunting “State Trooper”, starts with a lone narrator describing the catalogue of improvements and checks he has run on his car. This movement is an illusion which allows Springsteen to continue with his allusions (which started with the Berry-esque guitar intro), in this case ending the verse with “rock that joint” a reference to a song in which rock’n’roll has as it’s result an abundance of chaotic violence (“tear down the mailbox, rip up the floor, smash out the windows”), Bill Haley and the Comets’ “Rock the Joint.” The opening verse also shows the amount of time the narrator has on his hands to prepare for this trip, an amount of time which will seem to contradict him later in the song. In the following verse the narrator situates us once again on the New Jersey Turnpike, like his “State Trooper” comrade he is all alone out on the road, but unlike his counterpart he is nervous and unfamiliar with the isolation and bleakness of the turnpike, which thus becomes to him as foreign as the surface of the moon. Unlike his inevitably solo counterpart, this driver believes he has somewhere to be, that someone is waiting for him somewhere and that he had better call and reassure them of his arrival as soon as possible.

In the following verse, the third thus far without a chorus, Springsteen shifts gears, giving a bit of exposition about this drivers situation before slipping into a verse almost identical to the third verse of “State Trooper.” Beginning with “The boss don’t dig me…” this verse has a meta-narrative twist which begs the listener to question who the Springsteen they’re listening to really his, seeing as how “the Boss” put him on the night shift, where, like the narrator of this song, it would be nearly impossible to reach anyone. The fact that this driver is on an “all night run” to get back to another yet unnamed “baby” figure comes before Springsteen takes a direct quotation from “State Trooper.” These identical lyrics, which contain another Chuck Berry allusion which will become more important later, become most interesting when one reads them as the narrator of each song putting his faith in a string of relay towers rather than their own wavering psyche. Except, as the state trooper becomes a reality, hitting his spot light as this driver flies overhead, this song takes a turn from it’s counterpart, the narrator here can’t afford to be stopped and thus must drop a gear and push his faithful machine to the limit. Next, as the narrator hurls onward, his mind slips into a dream-like memory of how he and his baby, “Wanda,” met. In a song whose sound and feel is so contrary to the rest of the album, this verse goes over the top with such ridiculous, idyllic, and clichéd, images that it forces one to question the truth of it all. Instead, it seems more like this driver, in his demented, lonely, state, has created a memory which is more reminiscent of George Lucas’ “American Graffiti” or Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl” than any New Jersey reality. The unreliable nature of this verse certainly forces one to question whether Wanda knows he is coming, and how long it has been since he has seen, or even met, her (seeing as how according to the first verse he had his car up blocks for some time).

The next verse brings us back to reality as we learn that the car is beginning to suffer the consequences of such a full-bore run, namely it’s eating oil faster than gas and the windshield is getting hazier than the narrator’s mind. In the second line of this verse Springsteen makes another Chuck Berry reference, quoting “Too Much Monkey Business,” a lighthearted song about the daily struggles between man and the machine of society. Next, Springsteen confirms the suspicious nature of the journey as the narrator explains that he still needs to find a phone and call his love, who may know he is supposed to return, but likely has no idea when. Before moving into the unsettling final verse the listener learns that despite driving all through the darkness, this driver still has a long way yet, three more hours on the lonely turnpike.

By far the darkest, the final verse begins with a pair of allusions, the first another reference to the Chuck Berry song “Wee Wee Hours,” which, interestingly enough is a bluesy number about a loner who sits in small room, pining and pondering over the fading memories of his one true love. The second allusion, “the red ball risin,” is more of a nod than anything else, to Jerry Lee Lewis and his perennial hit “Great Balls of Fire.” Following these references Springsteen slips back into the voice and lyric of “State Trooper,” casting a doubtful shadow across the end of the song. Similar to his lone counterpart, this narrator turns to the radio for relief only to be thwarted by talk once again. This time, though, it’s “lost souls” calling radio evangelists to have their hearts uplifted that clog the airwaves. Ironically, these people are in a state similar to that of the narrator, so isolated that instead of turning to other people, as in the church congregation, they turn to “long-distance salvation.” Finally, the verse concludes with this loner calling out to the leader of rock’n’roll society, to the deejay, hoping he will hear his final plea and play the rockin’ music that will keep him sane until he can escape his lonely prison. Immediately after this the narrator, echoing “State Trooper” yet again, begins vocally expounding his situation with a nonverbal string of syllables, sounds that are the proper accompaniment to a desperate rock beat pounded out on the steering wheel.

* * *

Ultimately, the song, which strikes a certain parallel to the title track of Born in the U.S.A., is easily misunderstood. With such a fun sound it is easy to mistake this for a song of hope on an album of isolation and meanness. Despite the sound, it is another song about being alone on the highway. An apt companion to “State Trooper,” the narrator of this song is inevitably bound to the road, always in between places he is never arriving of leaving, just moving again. Despite his best efforts and his hopeful dreaming, he is stuck in a failing car and most likely will never escape the disparaging eyes of the refineries.

Ironically, this song also parallels the careers of the legends it parodies, particularly in the way the reality of the situation is ignored in favor of the rock’n’roll dream. In the case of Chuck Berry, the fall from grace came early in his career. Arrested for hiring a fourteen year old girl, then firing her and turning her loose on the streets (she was brought in for prostitution), Berry fell from grace and served a four year sentence. Jerry Lee Lewis fell after a similar bad choice when he famously married his teenage second cousin, this combined with drug abuse and alcoholism has permanently tainted his legendary status. Bill Haley was even an admitted alcoholic. In their lives, as in the life of the narrator of “Open All Night,” the dream of living like it’s always Friday night has failed, and now they are stuck, caught between the glory of the rock’n’roll lifestyle and the reality of being a flawed character in a cutthroat world.