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"Warcould be the story of a broken home, a family at war. Instead of putting tanks and guns on the cover, we've put a child's face. -- Bono |
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"Warcould be the story of a broken home, a family at war. Instead of putting tanks and guns on the cover, we've put a child's face. -- Bono |
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Arms Around the WorldOn how four Dublin schoolboys became rock 'n' roll icons
Irish Times Magazine,
August 25, 2001
In the autumn of 1976, a piece of paper was pinned to Dublin's Mount Temple school noticeboard by 15-year-old pupil Larry Mullen Jr. Written on the note was an enthusiastic inquiry as to whether like-minded individuals would care to form a rock band. This note was, perhaps, rock music's most pivotal free advertisement, as the formative band -- now featuring Paul Hewson (aka Bono), Adam Clayton and Dave Evans (aka Edge) alongside Larry -- went through a series of name changes from Feedback to the Blazers to the Hype, and, eventually, to U2. (The band name was suggested by their long-time friend, collaborator and designer Steve Averill. Borrowing wholesale from a number of corporate product sources -- but also using his innate design experience to conjure up a simple graphic device -- he felt that the juxtaposition of U and 2 would be translatable into virtually any language. Smart man.)
Formed in the heat of punk rock idealism, but frustrated by the lack of anything approximating a music scene in Dublin, U2's immediate inspirations were the likes of the Boomtown Rats, Horslips and Thin Lizzy, three Irish bands that would later provide for the fledgling band an array of technical and social introductions. Early sightings of the band proved them, inevitably, to be gauche, unfocused and overly polite (despite forming in the punk rock era, and despite their fascination with the Sex Pistols and Johnny Rotten, they were never punk rock -- their Mount Temple manners to blame). Nascent attempts at songwriting were bolstered by a range of cover versions -- the Moody Blues' "Nights in White Satin," Thin Lizzy's "Dancing in the Moonlight," Peter Frampton's "Show Me the Way" and the Ramones' "Glad to See You Go." They played support to other Dublin bands such as Radiators From Space (featuring Steve Rapid, nee Averill), Revolver and Modern Heirs; they supported visiting bands such as the Thin Lizzy/Sex Pistols castoffs the Greedy Bastards, and the Stranglers. Throughout this period allies such as Hot Press's Bill Graham and his Trinity College friend and soon-to-be U2's manager Paul McGuinness could see in the band a rare combination of guile and determination, an artistic stance that challenged the conventions of punk. The more acerbic commentators of the day loathed the band, however. They disliked U2's notions of themselves, considered the band brash and artificial. In truth, U2 existed beyond the restrictive Dublin scene clique, having a crucial and well positioned allies in a mere handful of observers. Their personal backgrounds -- two members Catholic, two Protestant; two English by birth, two Irish; Mount Temple was then Ireland's first comprehensive, co-educational and multi-denominational school -- made them different by nature if not by inclination. The difference was made all the more divisive by (Adam Clayton excepting) U2's growing involvement in Born Again Christianity, notably with the Shalom Bible group, whose theme of ego-less self-surrender would remain a continuous U2 motif for some time, much to the chagrin of critics, and to the bemusement of the fans. Slowly but surely (and despite their overt religious leanings in a business where morals mean very little), U2 achieved focus and a firm foothold. Their first major career step was taking part in a talent contest in Limerick, on St. Patrick's Day, March 1978. Their subsequent victory led one of the judges, Jackie Hayden (then of CBS Records, now General Manager of Hot Press magazine), to offer them a much-needed helping hand. "All I could think of at the time," recollects Hayden, "was being impressed enough to feel that they could make some kind of impact on the international music scene. I also wanted to see them going further than they actually were at that time -- they were just a baby band. I don't think anybody could have foreseen the heights they would scale in the future." Come 1979, the band had played a series of gigs at the Dandelion Market, a small indoor car park at St. Stephen's Green. By doing these, they gained a strong foothold in the Dublin music scene, enabling them to play to an under-18 audience restricted from seeing the band in other Dublin venues. Stagecraft was also growing, as Bono learned basic theatrical techniques from Irish actors Mannix Flynn and Conal Kearney. Slowly, but surely, record companies came a-calling: EMI, A&M, CBS (whose Irish wing released U2's debut single U2: Three), none of them truly interested, all of them put off by the band's arrogance and Bono's effusiveness. Island Records, however, broke the run of bad luck and signed U2 in March 1980. It wasn't long before U2 began to make their mark. In 1980, their debut album, Boy, was received positively; a record more widely Celtic by virtue of its cultural roots than anything specifically Irish. It set the band on a touring treadmill from which they have only sporadically distanced themselves, and led quickly into the release of the follow-up record in 1981 -- October. Awash with Christian doubt and brimming over with the kind of internal confusion that might have felled lesser bands, October was devised in probably the band's most fraught period, and one which has never been fully explored (Edge informed Rolling Stone that the situation was so intricate he was unable to explain it; Bono later spoke of the time as a two-year period where U2 could have easily broken up due to conflicting religious beliefs). Neither Boy nor October, however, made any huge commercial impact. In 1983, the band's third album, War, proved to be their breakthrough record, particularly in the most important marketplace of all -- America. The United States would soon open up its gates for U2; the band's mixture of barely contained evangelical zeal, Bono's on-stage bluster, thoughtful anemic songs and general gung-ho attitude quickly winning them fans on the ground and on the airwaves. War was the album where flags, politics and religion were entwined together in one of those unbreakable skeins. On the War tour, three large white flags unfurled, symbols of truce and non-violence. To many people, however, the album's key song, "Sunday Bloody Sunday," was used as a battering ram; it gave them the excuse they needed to target U2 in general as political dilettantes and Bono in particular as a gravely flawed spokesperson. Yet U2 were essentially a live experience. This was made all the more apparent by the live record Under a Blood Red Sky, a mini-album featuring eight tracks from three separate concerts from the War tour, and which -- in tandem with their appearance at Red Rocks, a natural amphitheatre site in the middle of Denver's Rocky Mountains -- ensured their burgeoning success in America. The self-same War tour placed U2 in an enviable position, one they would grasp with a steely blend of nerve and verve; gaining them worldwide respect and popularity that would provide them with a golden opportunity to turn their backs on the past three studio albums, and to allow them to experiment with new production techniques, musical forms and ideas. The first sign of this new-found, transitional vision was with the 1984 single "Pride (In the Name of Love)," for U2 a startling song in that it was the mingling of a valid verse/chorus/hook with a fuller, more complete sound. Taken from the band's fourth studio album, The Unforgettable Fire, "Pride (In the Name of Love)" stood out as being the only recognisable rock song on the record -- the remainder floating between spontaneous ambient tracks, musical lullabies and impressionistic melodies. Produced by the Brian Eno/Daniel Lanois team that would be used for all their subsequent records, the album can be viewed as the point where U2 circumvented the dangers of their newfound popularity, choosing instead to align themselves to their art. It was a brave, textured step and one that worked significantly for them, causing their critics to begrudgingly allow them a degree of credibility. The album nonetheless showcased recurring themes that remain the lyrical and musical motifs of the band: passion, humanity, political awareness (however misplaced it might seem to some) and an overriding requirement to connect on emotional and physical levels. Bono has said it was during the making of The Unforgettable Fire that U2 rediscovered the spirit of their music and a confidence within themselves. Such confidence was borne out by the time it took U2 to record and release the follow-up to The Unforgettable Fire. For the millions who bought the new record, The Joshua Tree, the wait until 1987 was worth it. Where previously U2 were a mite unclear and abstract, here they were crystal clear. Even the key song titles come equipped with self-explanatory notes: "With or Without You" is a love song, as honest and personal as it gets; "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" is an unsatisfactory quest for some kind of personal enlightenment. Undoubtedly the band's most mature work up to that point, it eschewed political matters to uncover a sensuality sorely missing from their earlier records. Now that the band had long grows vet of their teen years and were in steady relationships, exploring mental conflicts (as opposed to physical conquests) was something that began to interest them. Although not as intimate as he would eventually become, Bono's role as the band's lyricist was considerably more concise on The Joshua Tree. A growing interest in the blues confirmed to Bono that the physical mattered as much as the spiritual; indeed, that in many ways they were inextricably linked, that having one without the other would lead to a diminished experience. Finally discovering a heritage of sorts to attach his ideas onto, sexual politics was finally thrown into the melting pot. Bono as a lyricist became far more interesting -- his songs drawing the listener in with their mixture of base physical instincts, humanitarian ideals, political ideologies and suspect religious impurities. The Joshua Tree is also the U2 record where Bono began to sing -- bittersweet, soulful, impassioned but always in control; occasionally, such as on "Red Hill Mining Town," magnificent. The album was duly recognised at the time as U2's finest moment, a crafted piece of work from a band at the height of its powers. The album was also their most successful record (and so it remains to this day), one of the fastest-selling albums in the U.K. and Ireland as well as topping the charts here, there and everywhere. Now fully aware that they had arrived, that they were being looked upon as leading lights in the realm of international rock music, U2 embraced success with their usual measured sense of calm. On the cover of every magazine from underground to international, if the band were lauded as saviours for a mid-1980s generation of stadia-loving rock fans, then Bono was quickly drafted into the pole position as rock music's latest messiah -- a post he has filled with no small amount of vigour. Touring the album brought its own rewards: an extensive stint in America consolidated the band's visual image as Preachers of the New Age, their dusty cowboy chic combining with a prolific creativity that showed no signs of stopping. Just over a year later, the double album Rattle and Hum was released. Amalgamating live tracks, new studio songs and some injudicious cover versions, the album was released on the back of the live concert film/documentary of the same name and a best selling (if not wholly accurate) biography by Eamon Dunphy. It is another example of the way U2 are capable of soaking up influences (in this instance blues, rhythm 'n' blues, gospel, country, essentially American music) and making music that sounds interesting. Yet it was by no means a successful record in creative terms. Leaving aside the live tracks (which only make sense in the context of the movie) and the covers (to a song a perfect example of how U2 should stick to their own material), the album nevertheless hides some absolute gems that beg for rediscovery. Inevitably, the album divided critics and fans alike. Was it a self-indulgent mess cast into the world by a band that didn't care less about recording a real follow-up to The Joshua Tree? Was it a band flying well below their quality-control radar? Whatever, it was certainly a band at the top of their game writing music that was hardly the most original of their career. Larry Mullen Jr.'s comment of this period? U2 was turning into a jukebox. Bono's retrospective remarks? U2 are the world's worst wedding band. A return to form and originality would come with the next album. But first U2 had to do something quite courageous, something that not many bands in their position would ever want to. For the second time in their existence, U2 would go off somewhere and drastically evolve their career trajectory; they would also alter the perception of themselves as a band in both musical and imagistic terms. They would, in Bono's words a the final concert of four at Dublin's Point at the start of 1990, "go away and dream it all up again." It was the band's audio director, Joe O'Herlihy, who came up with the name of U2's first record of the 1990s, Achtung Baby, a record title that no one could ever take seriously, yet an album that has proved to be one of U2's most somber and start. Chopping down The Joshua Tree was the prevalent phrase at the time, but it proved to be as much a truism as a cliché. Taking more time than usual to determine where exactly it was they want to travel to, creatively, the band eventually moved to Berlin, eager to once again clash with the perceptions of stereotype. In the studio and in the hotel rooms all the talk was of jettisoning preconceived notions. Producer Daniel Lanois (assisted by regular consultation visits from Brian Eno) eventually nailed down his own feelings on the change of direction. On one of his early visits, Brian Eno scribbled down buzzwords that he designated as good and bad; the good, which was the aesthetic direction they would aim toward, were trashy, throwaway, sexy, dark and industrial. The bad, which he said would remind people of the old U2 and were therefore to be avoided at all costs, were earnest, sweet, polite, rockist, linear and righteous. Achtung Baby was intended, said Edge, as a reaction to the myth of U2, a myth they might have helped create, but one nonetheless they had no control over. The resulting record represented a riot of eclectic influences, from jagged industrial sounds to hip-hop beats, from aching ballads to electronic-based surges. Berlin itself was a major influence: past and present (decadent and lugubrious, reborn and chaotic) suggested a cultural shift that lent to the overlapping of the album's diverse strands. Let out of the pram by [the] first single "The Fly," Achtung Baby quickly became not only a resounding success but was also viewed as the themed heir apparent to The Joshua Tree. It was a record that broached topics which keep sane people awake at night, an intoxicating stab at maintaining their artistic integrity. The accompanying Zoo TV tour (which started off promoting Achtung Baby and ended up shuttling in 1993's Zooropa) presented the band in a different light altogether. Already laden down by a degree of hype and pre-publicity not witnessed since the last time U2 played a world tour, Zoo TV had its share of critics, not least for its nightly satellite links to Sarajevo. For several minutes each night, Bono played host to humanity and humility, an irony not lost on those people who likened the tour to a huge headache split between four massive egos. U2's attempts -- not for the first time -- to politicise an extravagant rock 'n' roll experience raised the hackles, but, said Bono at the time, it had to be done. Who knows whether leavening of the exhilaration and escapism of rock music with scheduled doses of reality has any lasting effect on an audience. Let's just say that U2 have never been shy about making a point, and that someone, somewhere might just get it. Both Achtung Baby and Zooropa coalesced into directing the audience about the image of media and the medium of images -- of how they can be manipulated to work for or against, how they can undermine, enhance, educate, shock, appeal; how jargon can be as common as much and how clichés can quickly turn into fact. It was certainly a heady combination, one that transfixed as much as tired. Surely nothing they could do could top the sensory overload factor? Think again -- come 1997, U2 released their final album of the 1990s, Pop. Flirting with dance rhythms across several tracks, the largely unsatisfactory Pop proved to be U2's last installment in their 1990s trilogy. Accepting themselves that Pop wasn't a "finished" record in terms of songs, the resulting PopMart tour knocked the spots off Zoo TV in that it was the most technologically complex the band had ever embarked upon. Despite the bells and whistles, the Big Mac arch and the gigantic lemon, it failed to hit the mark with the audience. The feeling in the U2 camp was that whatever took place next shouldn't distance the band from the people who paid money to see them. The feeling, also, of recapturing lost ground -- not through ineptitude or laziness or naivete, but through following their instincts -- was of paramount importance to the band. Which brings us to last year's All That You Can't Leave Behind, the record that looks set to emulate the commercial success of The Joshua Tree. Described by Bono as the fight between U2 and obvious route (ergo mediocrity), the album succeeds on a creative level by virtue of its downright passion, its often highly emotional content. It transcends its original simplistic, working concept of four guys in a room playing music together because, if anything, it reminds the listener of how great U2 the unit can be given the right circumstances. Its themes are personal, domestic, low-key talk about the big issues that affect ordinary lives. It pumps blood through the system ("Elevation") and then siphons it away ("Kite"), leaving you weak in the presence of such beauty. The accompanying live show, the U2 Elevation Tour 2001, reflects, as per usual, the album to a tee. Utilising the primary colours of rock music -- black, white and red; a design composition used by U2 since 1978 -- the tour is an unparalleled Greatest Hits spectacular culled from a set list of more than 50 songs. The band's recurring motifs of politics, religion, love, emotional connection and, most crucial of all, communality are played out with all the urgency of a garage band, except the tunes are ones you've been singing along to for some years. At the beginning of the promotional campaign for their latest album, Bono said U2 was reapplying for the position of Biggest Rock Band in the World. "It's a fight and it's a grudge match," he told Q magazine. "We're going into this like it's our first album, and that's what makes it taut and tight and economic." You can bet your bottom dollar they've got the job. © The Irish Times Magazine, 2001. All rights reserved.
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