One of my favorite pop lyrics is Cat Stevens’ Father and Son (1970). “You’re still young, that’s your fault.” It’s the kind of line you struggle against: “How can it be my fault?” The older I get, the more I understand. I realize that youth was, and still is, my fault.

Toby Scott’s entire job lately seems to consist of bringing joy to Springsteen fans. Back in 1984, we waited years between Springsteen releases and now every six weeks brings another gift, miraculously cleaned up, mixed and presented whole… The very best way to experience Springsteen is to listen to one of his concerts start to finish, and ride the ups and downs to the inevitably ecstatic conclusion.

Awesome use of superlatives; also, wisely differentiates between “opinion” and “official” pronouncements. The writer clearly has anger issues but apologizes, a welcome folksy touch. Concludes with hope, something too many critics neglect (although said hope might arguably be more clearly communicated with the interrogative possessive pronoun “whose;” still, it is unlikely the target audience will be confused.)