The moment I finally reached adulthood didn't occur when I graduated college or signed the lease on my first apartment. It happened when I realized that I liked Bruce Springsteen more than my mother did. Throughout my adolescence, Bruce had been one of those mom-rock artists I rolled my eyes at, the embodiment of the establishment that the punk bands I listened to railed against. But sometime in the fall of 2003, after Mom took me to a Springsteen concert in Philadelphia, I suddenly found myself craving nothing but Bruce. His metaphors of roads and rivers and darkness seemed to hold the answers to the Important Life Questions I faced stepping out into the post-college void; his gruff voice and big, comfy riffs (particularly on my... More >>>