Springsteen has long stood at the rally of American disappointment, megaphone in hand, reminding us of the incompleteness, the loss, the failure of the supposed greatest country. He has long avoided the bullets of complacency, attaching a stray, desperate optimism to these negative reminders. It’s an impressive feat for a man whose career is measured on the order of decades rather than years. Wrecking Ball is a hiccup rather than a step into the mud; it is not a failure, nor is it a success. Bruce has a goal, an agenda, guided by anger.

The opening tracks are the simplest of rock anthems, driven by pounding bass drums (he really, really loves them) and repetitive, basic lyrics designed for the arena, the sing-a-long crowd. ‘Easy Money’ tells the story of a banker or similar modern evil in his vapid quest for wealth. Allusions to the economy are neither masked nor ambiguous, as he remarks “There's nothing to it mister, you won't hear a sound/When your whole world comes tumbling down.”

Those averse to overt political messages be warned – this album will grate, grate and grate again. However, there’s no denying the catchiness and melodic sensibility of these protest numbers. ‘We Take Care of Our Own’ and ‘Shackled and Drawn’ are real highlights of this dichotomy, where Springsteen’s anger sometimes interferes with, but never ruins, the fun.

Optimism still forms the crux of many of these tracks, despite the extremity of the disillusionment on show. ‘Jack of All Trades,’ a piano-driven ballad, ends each verse with the poignant reminder “I’m the jack of all trades/Honey we’ll be alright.” The song paints the image of man so wronged and distorted that he has become robotic in problem-solving, never devoid of problems or hardships. The story is unfortunately broken by a bizarrely dark closing line: “If I had me a gun/I’d find ‘em bastards and shoot ‘em on sight." It nearly, so very nearly, ruins the track. It’s a testament to his strength as an artist that it doesn’t, but there are several such moments in which the solid base he has established is threatened by a heavy-handed misstep.

Musically, the most generic is ironically the most successful. A bizarre foray into hip-hop on ‘Rocky Ground’ is so unwelcome it rapidly devolves into a comedy; conversely, ‘Land Of Hopes and Dreams,’ a spiritual rock epic of completely standard instrumentation, succeeds incredibly, with melodic lead guitars and a driving saxophone solo from the late Clarence Clemons in full force.

Ultimately, Wrecking Ball is governed by a central irony. Springsteen has musically fallen victim to the same dangerous game as the bankers and politicians he so violently criticises, one of brinkmanship. He so nearly thwarts his own goals with transient lyrical aggression, saved by the end the track or a well-timed instrumental interlude. Still, through it all, he can write some damn fine rock songs. Not timeless, mind you. But damn fine.