I’m cheating a little bit on this one–when I went through my Bruce-buying spree a couple months ago, I accidentally ordered the CD version of this. But never fear: a proper LP is on its way. But until then, the music’s the same.

The most immediate thing about this record is how much less immediate it is than his other releases. While the rest of his catalogue is pulled along by the E-Street Band’s locomotive pulse, Nebraska is void of any players besides Springsteen himself. The way the story goes, the songs were recorded onto a four track cassette as demos, but the purity of the stripped down recordings won out over the full band versions, and the demos were released as is. As a result, we have a record that is described with words like “sparse” and “haunting.” And the surprising thing is that the Boss does sparse as well as he does sprawling, and the album has become one of his most beloved offerings.

But in this context, Springsteen’s love of Dylan becomes obvious. Strumming alone on his acoustic guitar (not counting the one undistorted electric track), the Boss spins tales of despair or weariness or crime, punctuating the spaces between verses with a softly played harmonica. Even before this album, people had suggested that Springsteen was the heir apparent to Dylan’s throne as American poet, but this is the record that closed the case.