by Stephen Klugewicz
Dear “The Gift”
An Ode to Bruce Springsteen
In a world of oaths forsaken,
In a time of prophets bought and sold,
To the faithful along the avenue
You offered a gift of the purest gold.
Politician declares, “So help me God,”
Priest proclaims, “Let no man put asunder.”
But your whispered sweet sounds,
Were a bond sealed with thunder.
At once a stranger and yet a friend,
At once young and always old,
Singing the silent song of our souls,
Like that between mute lovers in the cold.
Now years are dissolved into dust,
Into the wind, into the mist.
Meaning made deep by memory,
Like a lover long and tenderly kissed.
You might have gone forever home,
You might have instead quietly slept,
Leaving us alone, betrayed and broken.
But you proved the gift a promise kept.
You proved the gift a promise kept.
When psychedelia and blues came together in Cream’s quickfire trio of studio albums in the late 1960s, it created a blueprint for blues-respecting bottom-heavy rock that would rule the airwaves for at least a decade. In their roots and early trajectories, the Winter brothers, emerging out of the heartland of Beaumont, Texas, were not unlike north Florida’s 
Jack White has released the most awesomely prog album of his career. You were probably expecting blues roots rock, but instead you get a wildly experimental mutation of rock and roll tropes with nutso synth sounds and drum loops.
Progarchy 