monsoonmartin

As U2 releases its latest studio album, No Line on the Horizon, tomorrow, I got to thinking about how long I’ve been a fan of the band. It turns out it was spring 1984 when I first heard and saw them—it was a clip from Under a Blood Red Sky, their concert film. I was immediately hooked, and have been a devotee for 25 years now.

Twenty-five years. In that time—more than two-thirds of my life—U2 has been there with me for events great and small. (Perspective: only a handful of the very first students I taught were alive when I became a U2 fan.) In the 80s I purchased my U2 albums on cassette (supplemented by vinyl records), and in the 90s I bought it all (including what I’d previously gotten on cassette) on CD. Now I’m in the process of ripping the CDs to mp3 files for the computer and (someday) an iPod.

Before I provide a brief review of their new album, I thought I’d share some reminiscences of how U2 has impacted my life...

I heard “Pride (in the Name of Love)” when it was released in 1984, and was changed. It wasn’t just the music—soaring, sweeping, passionate—it was the discovery. Thanks to my dad and his legendary vinyl collection, I had already been steeped in the music of the 1950s and 1960s in myriad genres: from the Beatles to the Mothers of Invention, from Cream to Captain Beefheart, from Black Sabbath to Jethro Tull, from Jimi Hendrix to the Mahavishnu Orchestra. And my friend Mark Shewchuk had begun getting me into the Red Hot Chili Peppers and punk bands like Black Flag and the Dead Kennedys. But U2 was, for me, a discovery. I felt as though I had stumbled onto something truly unique, something transformative. In a middle school Industrial Arts class during a printmaking unit, when we had to choose a mast to print at the top of a notepad, I blocked out “U2 – Bono Vox.” My teacher, Mr. Eckel, was as perplexed then as he was when I just couldn’t seem to figure out how to make a goddamned jewelry box.

I bought The Unforgettable Fire as soon as it came out in late 1984 and was captivated by its moody soundscapes, interspersed with epic compositions like “Pride,” “Bad,” and “A Sort of Homecoming.” I listened to the cassette constantly, and I can vividly remember sitting alone on the balcony of our motel in Ocean City, NJ in the summer of 1985, looking out at the sea on a gloomy day, listening to the album’s atmospheric, instrumental cuts on my Walkman as though something heavy was on my mind. I was emo before there was emo, baby.

When The Joshua Tree was released in 1987 to rave reviews, wild popularity, and eventually a Best Album Grammy award, I was ecstatic. It was like a brilliant, talented friend had finally gotten the recognition he deserved. I consumed every bit of U2-alia I could: magazines, books, interviews, b-sides. (The b-side singles released with this album are among the best b-sides I’ve ever heard—songs like “Spanish Eyes,” “Silver and Gold,” and “Walk to the Water” could have made on The Joshua Tree or even Rattle & Hum.) The album is not only the best in U2’s impressive catalog, it’s one of the best ever made—the deepest, the most resonant. Two of my favorite songs from the album are lesser-known: “Red Hill Mining Town” and “Trip Through Your Wires.” The former is special because I remember excitedly playing the song for my father—who grew up in Red Hill, PA, though the song is about a Red Hill in Ireland—during a particularly difficult time for our family. And I remember stating with absolute certainty while playing the latter for my mom, “This is the first U2 song to ever feature harmonica.” (I think that’s so, but still—what a dork.)

In 1988 when U2 released the Rattle & Hum album, I remember going to the movie theater with a huge group of people to see the film. It was like a concert, with people singing along and hanging around for a long while afterward.

U2 left the stage for a few years to, in Bono’s words, “dream it all up again.” In 1991 they released the long-awaited Achtung Baby. My new roommate at Albright, Dave, and I had bonded over our mutual love for U2, so we hurried out to the record store on the day it was released (I believe it was Record Revolution in Reading, R.I.P.) and brought it back to the dorm room to give it a listen. From the first treble-heavy, feedbacking guitar riffs, we knew we were in for something different. We looked at each other quizzically as we forwarded from track to track to track, searching for something familiar, something that was instantly recognizable as U2. The only song that was instantly palatable to both of us was one of the great U2 songs of all-time, “One.”

Soon, though, we both came to love the album for its daring cosmopolitan flavor, and went to see them in concert (with the Trabants hanging from the rafters). Dave “slept out” for tickets at Boscov’s with his girlfriend at the time. Four of us went to the concert—Dave and his girlfriend, and her friend, and me. (I was already “attached” to my beloved by then, so it wasn’t a double date.) I remember that the four tickets we got were in different parts of the same section—two here, two there. Instead of sitting with his girlfriend, Dave sat with me, leaving his girlfriend and her friend to spend the concert in bewildered exile in another part of the section while Dave and I belted out song after song side by side, basking in each other’s friendship and the headiness of the night.

Subsequently, U2 had some strange experiments (Zooropa; Passengers) that had as many moments of self-indulgent bombast as they had moments of brilliance. They went back to straight-ahead rock in 2000’s All That You Can’t Leave Behind and 2004’s How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, the stronger of which, by far, was Atomic Bomb.

U2 has been there, marking life—its passage, its meaning, its milestones—in many more ways, ways I haven’t even considered. Sure, I’ve sometimes cringed a bit when Bono seems to linger a bit too long in his superhero tights. But for twenty-five years, I have found them to be the most captivating band there is. (That, and I think I would honestly pee in my pants and scream like a little girl if I ever met Bono.)

A little “brush with greatness” tale with a twist: a few years back my mother-in-law returned from Hershey, where she had traveled for a conference and stayed in a nice hotel.  She said, “Oh yeah, hey, I rode up the elevator with that guy you like. What’s his name—Boner?” I don’t recall if I ever peeled myself off the ceiling long enough to explain this to her, so: Con, it’s “Bono” (nee Paul Hewson) and he’s only the lead singer of the greatest band in the world!!!

For now, allow me to present my exclusive Monsoon Martin ranking of the U2 oeuvre from most accomplished to least (and the lowest U2 album is still better than most of the rest of what’s around):

1. The Joshua Tree (1987) – as I said above, this is one of the best albums of all-time. From the first chiming notes of “Where the Streets Have No Name” to the furious “Bullet the Blue Sky” (which has only gotten better in concert), from the rueful “Running to Stand Still” to the infectious “In God’s Country,” this is a classic.

2. Achtung Baby (1991) – Bono was at his peak lyrically here, and the band took chances by incorporating sparer compositions and more distortion of the instruments. The risks paid off, with some of their greatest songs: “One,” “Love is Blindness,” “Mysterious Ways,” “Until the End of the World,” and on.

3. War (1983) – it was close for second place between Achtung and War. This album saw the lads find their voice as rockers with a conscience. Best songs are, of course, “Sunday Bloody Sunday” and “New Year’s Day,” but lesser-known but no less accomplished are “Drowning Man” and “Two Hearts Beat as One.” There’s not a stinker in the bunch. 

4. Boy (1980) – U2’s first studio album; best songs, “Out of Control,” a celebration of youthful exuberance, and “Shadows and Tall Trees,” which takes its name from a chapter in William Golding’s Lord of the Flies.

5. The Unforgettable Fire (1984) – it was critically panned, but I liked it, and still do—mainly because it’s the first studio album of theirs I bought. It’s when they first collaborated with Brian Eno to expand their sonic landscape, and the effect was uneven, but tremendous. There are well-known cuts from their catalog like “Bad” and “Pride,” but songs like “Homecoming,” the title track, and “Indian Summer Sky” stand the test of time too. (The 1985 EP Wide Awake in America had nice live versions of a couple of Unforgettable songs, as well as two very good b-sides, “Love Comes Tumbling” and “The Three Sunrises.”)

6. How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb (2004) – this album is a burst of furious energy—creative, musical, lyrical—from a band that had been together already for 25 years. “Sometimes You Can’t Make It on Your Own” is a moving, riveting song; “City of Blinding Lights” was used by the Obama campaign right after his nomination speech; “Miracle Drug” and “One Step Closer” are other standouts. Even rollicking flirtations with 100+ beats per minute like “Vertigo” and “All Because of You” are gratifying. And the concert I attended (again with Dave) when they were touring in support of this album is one of the best I’ve ever seen.

7. No Line on the Horizon (2009) – see review below.

8. Rattle & Hum (1988) – it came off as too self-congratulatory and redundant to be a classic U2 album, but there are highlights here. “Van Diemen’s Land” showcases the Edge’s strong (and underused) tenor, and live versions of “Silver and Gold” and “All Along the Watchtower” are stirring. “Angel of Harlem” is a nice one, too. And two of my favorite U2 songs of all-time are “Heartland” and “All I Want is You,” either of which would have been right at home on The Joshua Tree.

9. Zooropa (1993) – this bit of euro-trash contains the only U2 song I always fast-forward past: “The Wanderer” featuring Johnny Cash. It also contains Bono’s ill-advised extended foray into falsetto (“Lemon”) and the silly, monotone “Numb.” High points include “Dirty Day,” “The First Time,” “Stay (Faraway, So Close!)” and the title track.

10. Pop (1998) – this is the nadir of the band’s glitzy Mephisto period, and on this tour they emerged from a giant, mirrored lemon onstage. They’d lost control of their own caricatures. There are some high points—“Gone” and “Do You Feel Loved” among them—and some interesting ideas like “Miami” and “Please,” but over all, they blew it. (I’ll also comment here on Passengers: Original Soundtracks I, which was an avant-garde release that contained music predominantly by U2. I remember reading somewhere that drummer Larry Mullen was particularly peeved about this foray into Eno-land. There are a couple of good songs—“Miss Sarajevo” and “Your Blue Room”—but otherwise it’s an amorphous, incoherent waste of time.)

11. October (1981) – this album was a rush job during a turbulent period for the members of the band—spiritually and interpersonally. Best songs are “I Threw a Brick through a Window,” “Tomorrow,” and the sparse piano-and-vocals piece “October.” Almost every U2 song has a special place in my memory, but you can safely skip “I Fall Down” and “Is That All,” which are subpar.

12. All That You Can’t Leave Behind (2000) – I can’t really explain what I don’t like about this album. It does have its finer points, like “Beautiful Day” (in moderation) and “Walk On” (there’s a remix that’s better than the album version). But for an album that was, according to Bono, U2’s application for the job of “best band in the world,” it felt a little forced and designed for broader appeal. Songs like “Wild Honey,” “Kite,” and “Grace” seem intentionally harmless and lack the “bite” of the best U2 work. 

The new album, No Line on the Horizon, is an interesting departure of sorts for the band. On the one hand, it’s very different from the taut, straight-ahead commercialism of the previous two albums this decade. On the other hand, its elements are unmistakably U2, just bent in a different direction. There are high and low points, as with any album. The ridiculously titled “I’ll Go Crazy If I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight” and “Get on Your Boots” are subpar, with too modern and derivative a sound, and they're almost out of place on this mostly meditative, sweeping album. “Stand Up Comedy” is a delightful surprise with witty lyrics like “stop helping God across the road like a little old lady.” “Fez – Being Born” begins with sound samples and little too much Eno, but becomes something lovely and piano-driven (like a lot of this album). The title track marries the guitar riff from “The Fly” with the slinky philosophy of Atomic Bomb’s “Original of the Species” to interesting effect.

But the best four songs on the album are the ambitious, lovely “Magnificent”; “Unknown Caller,” which sounds as though it could have been lifted from October but with a sharper, distorted guitar; the spare, folk-inflected, Mark Knopfler-esque “White as Snow”; and “Cedars of Lebanon,” the almost spoken-word final song describing the life of a journalist in a war-torn area. The lyric “this shitty world sometimes produces a rose” is at first blush heavy-handed, but has a resonance in this song that delves beneath the hackneyed. It also contains what might be Bono’s best lyric of the decade: “The worst of us are a long, drawn-out confession / The best of us are geniuses of compression.”

So am I recommending No Line on the Horizon? Of course; it’s a U2 album. Which edition—the digipak, the CD only, the magazine, the box set? It’s all bells and whistles. Just get the bonus tracks and skip the DVD film by the pretentious, overblown Phil Joanou (I haven’t seen it, but he directed Rattle & Hum, so one can only imagine). The cover image alone—by Japanese artist Hiroshi Sugimoto—is a gorgeous, minimalist achievement.

Enjoy!

Monsoon