|
 |
|
|
|
|
"The others don't count me as a musician. In fact the only way to get Edge to play the guitar is when I start playing it." -- Bono |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"The others don't count me as a musician. In fact the only way to get Edge to play the guitar is when I start playing it." -- Bono |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
 |
 |
Like a Song: In God's Country
@U2,
January 16, 2010
[Ed. note: This is the 43rd in a series of personal essays by the @U2 staff about songs and/or albums that have had great meaning or impact in our lives.]
I was blessed to grow up in the beautiful state of Oregon, where even as a city kid I was surrounded by trees and views of snow-capped mountains. The air smelled wonderful, and finding a trail to hike was as easy as locating a McDonald's. Many of my family's summer vacations were spent on the breathtaking Oregon coast, and I always looked forward to the drive getting there almost as much as the trip itself. There was something magical about the part of the ride where we would round a curve at Cannon Beach and suddenly be met with the mammoth site of ocean waves crashing against Haystack Rock. My older sister and I would peek our heads up over the back of the canopy truck where we were seated to look through the windshield and squeal with delight. Or maybe the squealing was just me. Anyway, being exposed to such raw, natural beauty throughout my childhood gave me a great appreciation for the outdoors and all of the wonder it holds. When The Joshua Tree was released in 1987, I was especially curious about a place Bono sang about: I wanted to know what it felt like to be in God's Country. Sure, if you're the faithful kind, all of our earth is arguably God's Country, but I knew U2 were also getting at something specific. Desert sky With a little research, and a thorough study of the liner notes/cover photo, I soon realized they were talking about the desert. Though I became obsessed with California in the following years, begging my parents to vacation and/or move there, they didn't give in. And once I was old enough to attend journalism school, I went east to Missouri, not south to the Golden State. But when I got older, I still wanted to make the pilgrimage to Death Valley. I yearned to see the actual tree that was featured in the album artwork and experience what the land was really like. I pitched the idea to some friends in college who were also U2 fans and they said it sounded like fun, but I could tell they really weren't crazy enough to do it. In those years, we instead took the train to Chicago to see a comedy performance at Second City, and even road-tripped all the way to the Florida coast, stopping at several Southern landmarks. But we never went west. After college I made a spontaneous decision to move to the desert. I would head to Arizona, where I had a temp job waiting, and land somewhere in the vicinity of Mesa, because I found an apartment complex that was named for the title of a Beatles song. I figured it was meant to be. I packed up my Chevy Cavalier (“True Blue” was her name) and drove into the hot August sun, having no idea the turn my life was about to take. Set me alight It was about 112 degrees the day I arrived, and the air conditioner in my car gave out. I should have taken that for the bad omen that it was, but instead I struggled to make the best of what became a bad situation. I worked three jobs to pay my rent and the monstrous student loans that were piling up. I slept on a mattress on the floor and ate standing up over my kitchen counter because I couldn't afford furniture. I didn't admire the magic or peace of the desert -- I became consumed by its loneliness. The dreams I had of taking a solo road trip to the legendary Joshua tree soon faded. After some shady experiences coming back from late-night jobs in rural parts, I became frightened to drive long distances alone in the desert. My new goal was to save up as much money as I could and find a job elsewhere, someplace closer to an ocean and nearer to friends. She is liberty Thankfully, I did save up, and with additional help from family, a year later I was headed north for a new job in Seattle. When I settled in here, I became much more involved in the online U2 fan community, which is ultimately what led me to become a writer for @U2. I made friends with several staffers and casually brought up the Joshua tree road trip idea to a few of them. Apparently the conversation long preceded me, but no concrete plans had been made. I decided that I would make the trip alone for my 30th birthday if it hadn't happened by then. As the magic date approached it hadn't, but I had fallen deeply in love and thought maybe I could talk my boyfriend into taking the journey with me when the weather got better. I probably could have, but by the time winter was over, so was our relationship. I was "burned by the fire of love" all right, and could barely get out of bed. So again, the trip was shelved. Fast forward to last summer: Our fearless leader Matt wants to organize an @U2 staff trip to Death Valley when many of us would be in town for the Vegas 360 show. It was perfect. I wouldn't have to attempt the drive alone and better yet, I'd be going with a whole gang of people who love U2 as much or more than I do. The mood of our trip was jovial, if not giddy. The early wake-up call only invigorated our spirits as we caravaned into the unknown, U2 songs blaring. We played games car-to-car via walkie-talkies, took photos out the windows and marveled about how beautiful the day was. During our first stop at Zabriskie Point, we were all our usual chatty selves, talking with strangers and taking videos of each other standing on the edge of the scenery. Really, we were conversational right up to the point where we reached the fallen tree. Then a silence overtook us. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but we all suddenly quieted down, our hearts pounding as we walked the unclear path. The land was commanding its respect and we were gratefully obliging. Once the artifacts (U2ube, "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" plaque, etc.) and the actual relic were in view, we all politely took turns approaching it. Some of us signed the notebooks other fans had begun in the time capsules, others touched the tree gently as if it were a holy site. We may have all teared up. It was as if the 20-something ghosts of U2 were there with us, shivering as they posed for photos, exploring the desert on their own for the first time. Soon we lightened up and arranged ourselves in the same trademark poses that U2 had struck so many years ago for their most famous photo shoot. Some of us even dressed for the occasion. It didn't matter if we were the wrong height, or wrong ethnicity or even the wrong gender: we were going to create the ultimate souvenir. And in doing so, we were all rewarded with uncontrollable laughter. Our mystical day had come to a close, and soon we were embarking on the reverse journey, with hearts full of wonderful memories. Having experienced Death Valley firsthand, I can understand why U2 would find that "sleep comes like a drug in God's Country." There is an inescapable peace about a place so remote that is nearly indescribable to those who haven't felt it. There is also a loneliness and a danger that lingers within that calm, which is perhaps what makes it so special. Leave it to U2 to capture space and time -- that's what they did when they wrote "In God's Country," and every time I hear that song, I'll remember that magical place. © @U2/Kokkoris, 2010.
|
|
|
||||||
|
||||||||
