Woke last night to the sound of thunder. How far off, I sat and wondered…
Heady in leather, Night Moves is a veritable display window for Seger’s wrong side of the track credentials. Utilizing a nonexclusive symbolic vocabulary, Night Moves feels delightfully accessible, albeit charmingly elusive. Seger presents us with the generational, aspirational sartorial moves of a bygone era with his breezy aloofness and his tactile mullet. There is a nebulous sensuality to Seger’s posturing, a come hither of the back alley variety.
The magic of Night Moves is that it should be a caricature of itself but rather it is suspended in an almost endearing earnestness where pastiche and pretension have no air time. As a jaded postmodern observer we could read Night Moves as a travesty of the traditional codes of appropriate representation (ex: the hair). But that would be an incorrect interpretation. Night Moves is a confident, self aware spectacle: a bonfire of niceties, a revel room of the brazen.
