Revisiting The Rising: How the Meaning of Springsteen’s 2002 Album Has Evolved Over Time

It seemed clear from the moment that Bruce Springsteen released The Rising in 2002 that the album would become a kind of musical shorthand for 9/11. Not for the terrorist attacks themselves, but for the aftermath, as we collectively grappled with the weight of shock and grief, and discovered a reservoir of strength and resilience that had gone largely unnoticed before the attacks.
At the time, I wasn’t sure having an overarching mass-culture artistic representation was such a great idea. The airplane hijackings that resulted in the destruction of the World Trade Center in New York, gouged a hole in the Pentagon outside Washington DC and plowed under a field in western Pennsylvania were highly public displays, to be sure. But the effects of that day on me, and my memories of where I was and what I was thinking and feeling, were unique. Though 9/11 was very much a shared experience for people around the world, my relationship to it was—like many people’s, I suspect—personal. That seemed like something worth preserving, safeguarding lest its power diminish from conflating my perspective with a bird’s-eye retelling constructed for anyone who cared to listen, by a singer who “gives voice to thousands, even millions, who have no platform of their own,” as I wrote in my review of The Rising for the Hartford Courant.
Of course, The Rising has invariably reminded me of 9/11 ever since, particularly the title track, “My City of Ruins” and “Lonesome Day.” They’re the best songs on the album, and also the only tracks that I have frequently returned to over the years, apart from hearing the occasional live rendition of one of the others when I’ve seen Springsteen in concert. In fact, until last weekend—the 15th anniversary of 9/11—I hadn’t listened to The Rising in its entirety since probably 2003.