I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with U2. Their earnestness is galling, and their religiosity never fails to remind me of what Bud says to Otto in Repo Man: “I don’t want no commies in my car! No Christians, either!” I’m really not that hostile to religion, and it has never mattered to me what kind of spirituality U2 practiced—only that it turned them into optimistic jerks, prone to uplifting and grandiloquent anthems that irked the fatally jaded idealist in me no end.
But over the years they’ve put out songs so good they’ve forced me to throw up my hands and surrender, Christian or Buddhist or moral force or what-the-hell ever. They simply beat me into submission. Fortunately I can still vent my spleen over their early albums, like 1980’s Boy, which rock crit Robert Christgau called “As dumb as Uriah Heep at worst.” Or 1981’s October, which led Christgau to opine, “What a stupid band to expect purity from.” There isn’t one irresistible song on October, and it’s pure melodrama, with Bono’s echoing vocals making like hark the herald angels sing while the Edge and Company consistently fail to come up with any impossible-to-resist melodies.
Opener “Gloria” isn’t a cover of the great Van Morrison tune, but Gregorian Disco, and a horror to the ears. Bono is at his most pompous, Edge plays the only riff he knows, and the band sounds beholden, as it does on most of the songs on the album, to some synthpop band I fear I’ll someday hear. Is that Latin Bono’s singing? Yes, unbelievably, it is. Because this one’s a rock mass, and unfortunately not a black one.
“I Fall Down” boasts a half-decent melody, and some moments of half-assed bombast—it seems to lack the courage of its grandiose convictions—with Bono hamming it up like Moses parting the Red Sea. A negligible song at best. The title of “I Threw a Brick Through a Window” is promising, but all Bono does is keep repeating “He’s my brother” while the Edge plays his riff and the song fails to impress, although the drumming is good. The Edge plays some vaguely Led Zep riff but it lacks menace, while Bono sounds so unbearably sincere I want to pull a Hells Angel/Marty Balin and punch him in the nose. As for the melody, it’s subsumed by Bono’s vocal pyrotechnics. And, on the positive side, by the impressive drumming of the guy with perhaps the dullest name in rock history, Larry Mullen, Jr.
“Rejoice” sounds like classic U2 but is unbearable, as Bono implores us to rejoice, but over what? I see no cause to rejoice about anything, but Bono’s soaring lyrics say otherwise, while the band moves slowly towards its classic sound. I’ll throw in another kudo for the drumming, and for Bono’s admission that, “I can’t change the world,” but beyond that I can’t go further, for the simple reason that rejoicing is beyond my spiritual pay grade. As for “Fire” it’s full of echoing vocals and sounds like a synthpop tune to me, and what’s worse it’s set to a melody that is simply noxious. Avoid at all costs. “Tomorrow” opens on a spacy Irish note, then Bono comes in and bores the shit out of me. He’s a force of nature, sorta like a sinkhole of saccharine, and his spiritual vocals cloy on this lugubrious ballad that livens up a bit towards the middle, but not enough to save the song.
“October” opens with piano, and it’s pretty, especially since Bono isn’t around to pomp things up until the song’s midsection, when he sings a few down-in-the-mouth lyrics and the song ends. A blessing, this one. “With a Shout (Jerusalem)” is more religious hocus pocus about wanting to be by the side of Jesus at his crucifixion, and Bono repeats that “Jerusalem” like it’s a magic word, but despite everything this may be the LP’s best song, thanks in part to a cool instrumental section and Bono’s sheer repetitiveness, which wears you down and breaks you after about the 4,000th “Jerusalem.” “Stranger in a Strange Land” opens on a promising fast note but slows down for Bono to utter some inchoate cries and for Adam Clayton’s bass to lay one hard beat on you. But, oh how Bono cries to the Heavens! And shows off his vocal chops! “I wish you were here,” he repeats, “To see what I can see,” as the song fades out, and I’m not sure what he sees, but I’m pretty certain I don’t want to see it.
“Scarlet” is simply a replay of “Rejoice,” only more subdued, and for once I like the Edge’s guitar and the great drumming, although Bono’s religious fervor is a bit hard to take, especially the second time around. As for “Is That All?”, it sounds like a U2 song from the future and actually rocks, although Bono’s extended vocal lines irk me as they always do. When I’m looking for transcendent spirituality I turn to Van Morrison, who sought to break through the wall that separates him from the infinite by power of his vocals alone. Bono on the other hand just drags his lines out to no higher end, although he may suffer from the delusion that his vocals are soaring straight to the Heavens.
U2 would go on to follow a path that led them to some honest-to-God great tunes, although I find all their LPs hit and miss. And this had much to do with the shift of Bono’s focus from songs of devotion to songs of pure spiritual yearning, such as “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” I see nothing to rejoice about but yearning I can understand; if we’re honest with ourselves, none of us has found what we’re looking for on this awful planet.
Bono has the good sense to suspect this—which is why Christgau described one U2 album as “Pop music as spiritual balm—there are worse ideas”—but his faith seems to prevent him from understanding that none of us will ever find the answer, because the world is absurd and the answer isn’t to be found anywhere. Which brings me back to his optimism, which galls me. I may love some of their songs but I’ll never love U2, because like any good Dadaist I agree with Tristan Tzara, who said, “For us there is no redemption.” Just good songs, and I thank U2 for providing us with a fair share of them, even if you’ll find none of them on October.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
C-
