For Bruce Springsteen, music has never been just a pastime, a job, or even a passion. It has been a lifeline — the invisible thread that’s carried him from the narrow, working-class streets of New Jersey to the edge of the world’s largest stages, and somehow, in the quiet moments between applause and darkness, brought him back home again. In his deeply personal new interview with Rolling Stone, titled “Music of My Life,” Springsteen peels back the layers of legend and lets us see the man beneath the myth.
What emerges is not the indestructible rock hero we’ve grown up with, but a human being who has stumbled, fought, doubted, risen, and returned — again and again — with music as his compass, his refuge, and his constant truth.
A LIFETIME ON THE EDGE OF SOUND
“I don’t know who I’d be without music,” Bruce begins, his voice low, steady, reflective. “It’s the one place I’ve always felt like myself — the real me, not the version people expect.”
To hear Springsteen talk this way is to understand that the man who built his reputation on muscular rock anthems and marathon concerts carries a quieter internal world than most fans ever realize. He tells Rolling Stone that he didn’t choose music so much as music rescued him — a recurring theme in his life story.
Growing up in Freehold, New Jersey, he recalls being surrounded by chaos: a complicated home life, a distant father, a world that felt both too small and too heavy. Music was the first window out.
“I played guitar before I understood what it meant,” he explains. “I was trying to make sense of myself. I didn’t have the words for it back then, but the guitar let me speak.”
That sense of expression — raw, urgent, and unfiltered — would go on to define his entire career. But as he reveals in this new interview, the power of music for him has never been about spotlight or fame. It has always been about survival.
THE TRANSFORMATIVE POWER OF WRITING SONGS
Springsteen admits that his most iconic songs were often born during some of the darkest chapters of his life.
“People think ‘Born to Run’ is about escape, about youth, about hitting the open road,” he says. “But really, it was me trying to outrun myself, outrun the fear that I wouldn’t make it out of my own head.”
He pauses, laughs softly.
“And I didn’t outrun it. Not then. Not ever. You learn to sit with the things that scare you, and sometimes writing is how you get there.”
As he speaks, it becomes startlingly clear that songwriting for Springsteen is not merely an artistic outlet — it’s emotional excavation. Each lyric holds a memory, each melody a reckoning.
“Music doesn’t lie,” he says simply. “It forces you to see what you’d rather ignore.”
Those truths echo through albums like Nebraska, The River, Tunnel of Love, and even his more recent work. Bruce acknowledges that some songs come from joy, from moments of clarity — but others rise from wounds, shadows, and years of wrestling with depression.
“Some days the music was the only thing that pulled me through,” he shares quietly.
THE WEIGHT OF THE SPOTLIGHT
Despite being one of the most revered performers alive, Springsteen opens up about the emotional cost of fame in a way he seldom has before.
“People imagine the stage is the safe place,” he says. “But the truth is, when the lights go down and the crowd goes home, you’re left with yourself. And that’s not always easy.”
Bruce reveals that his battles with mental health have shaped more of his career than most fans know. He describes long periods of self-doubt, nights where he questioned whether he still belonged in the world he built, and mornings when getting out of bed felt like lifting the world.
“I’ve had incredible highs,” he admits, “but I’ve had lows that brought me to my knees.”
Yet even in those moments, music remained — not as an escape, but as a mirror.
“I could write the things I couldn’t say. I could sing the things I couldn’t face.”
It is this honesty, this willingness to expose vulnerability, that has kept Springsteen’s music timeless. He doesn’t write to impress — he writes to survive, and in the process, millions of listeners find pieces of themselves in his voice.
EVOLUTION OF AN ARTIST, AND A MAN
As he reflects on his evolution, Bruce acknowledges that each stage of his life has reshaped the way he approaches his craft.
“When you’re young, the music is all fire,” he explains. “As you grow, you start searching for different kinds of truth — not just the ones that burn, but the ones that heal.”
He speaks about the influence of aging, fatherhood, loss, and even solitude on his music. He talks about how the quiet moments — walking alone at night, sitting with an unfinished lyric, listening to old records in the dark — have become some of the most important parts of his creative process.
“You learn that silence has a rhythm,” he says. “And if you listen long enough, the music comes.”
But perhaps the most profound evolution Bruce describes is learning to accept himself — fully, fearlessly, and without apology.
“For a long time, I tried to be stronger than I was,” he admits. “Now I try to be truer than I was.”
THE COURAGE TO BE VULNERABLE
Springsteen reflects on why vulnerability matters — not just for artists, but for anyone trying to navigate a complicated world.
“People think strength is about holding everything together,” he says. “But sometimes strength is letting yourself fall apart, at least enough to find the truth.”
In Music of My Life, he emphasizes that the songs that resonate most deeply — his and others’ — come from places of authenticity, imperfection, and emotional nakedness.
“Music reminds us that it’s okay to feel,” he says. “That we’re allowed to hurt, to hope, to want more.”
His willingness to confront these emotions, to channel them into melodies that feel both intimate and universal, is perhaps the greatest reason Springsteen’s music has endured across generations.
Because his songs aren’t just stories — they’re confessions. They’re reminders that beneath everything, we’re all human.
THE LEGACY OF A LIFETIME IN MUSIC
As the interview draws to a close, Bruce reflects on what music has ultimately given him.
“It gave me a life,” he says softly. “Not the career, not the fame — the life. The understanding of who I am and who I’ve been trying to become.”
He talks about the audiences who have carried him through decades, the bandmates who became brothers, the nights onstage when he felt more alive than anywhere else in the world.
And he talks about gratitude — deep, unwavering gratitude — for the one constant that has never abandoned him.
“When everything else felt unsteady,” he says, “the music stayed.”
WHAT ABOUT YOU?
Springsteen ends the interview with a question that feels as personal as the stories he shares:
“How does music help you through life’s hardest moments?”
It’s an invitation — to reflect, to connect, to feel. And it reminds us that behind every chorus, every lyric, every guitar riff that has ever carried us through pain or joy, there’s a story. A heartbeat. A lifeline.
Just like his.
