51: U2, the Clintons of Rock and Roll

Learning to see what is and isn't bullshit in the 1980s

Why I Eventually Came to Hate U2

U2 came out of the same scene as the Boomtown Rats – Dublin kids inspired by punk. Like Geldof, U2’s Bono had intense moralistic feelings AND a lusty drive to be famous and run the world. Neither had any real connection to the heavier punk idea that power was inherently corrupting, not to be coveted. Bono admired Joe Strummer – watch him suck the air out of The Future Is Unwritten telling us that – but I can’t imagine Strummer returning the admiration. But who knows? Bob Geldof, at least, seems to know he’s marginally important, despite his forays into world-fame. U2 became so big that they’ll never go away, and we’ll always have to sigh at them. They are the Bill and Hillary Clinton of rock music.

If you’re younger than me, you might hate U2 for their obnoxiously corporate iPhone thing, where you were “gifted” an album that you didn’t ask for nor have room for on your phone. Or you might hate U2 for Bono’s beyond-naïve idea that Africa Could be Saved from AIDS if you just shopped with two percent more “consciousness.” But for me, it began with U2 in the 90s, who by then had shed what had seemed like a genuine ethic in the 80s for a vacuous performance of Stupid Rock Star.

I really did love Under a Blood Red Sky and The Unforgettable Fire and The Joshua Tree. All three of those records were powerful and inspiring, all musically forward-moving, all still great to listen to (although I fault no one who can’t enjoy the third one anymore; if you were there for it, The Joshua Tree was like Thriller, but more bloated with “importance,” and U2 singing on rooftops and comparing themselves to the Beatles all year was pretty exhausting).

The 80s Were Not as Empty as Their Reputation Suggests

If you were into it, there was a true idealistic and hopeful spirit in the music of the 80s to be experienced. The opposite was clearly huge: hair metal and Madonna and cola commercials and certain terrible synth pre-sets, etc. But perhaps because of the mentally shuttered Reagan/Thatcher vibes, the heartless investors and coke-addled greed freaks, there was also a pretty evident opposition.

I’ve mentioned Live Aid and those ridiculous “save Africa” singles. They were a cooption of the ideas I’m shining light on, not evidence. They did try something, in their American way: they did re-introduce the idea of collective action concerts like Farm Aid. They maybe seemed hollow, but not when compared with the total meaninglessness of the big corporate event tours of the 90s, climaxing in Woodstock 99, lol.

Even at the top of the pop charts, there were voices: Springsteen, even in his plastic muscle era, taught a lot of people who Woodie Guthrie was, shone light on the plight of American veterans, told Reagan he disapproved of his bullshit. He married a model, and he posed with a certain insidious flag in a way that allowed him to be misunderstood, but he also released this strange single, which was impactful to 15-year-old me.

Peter Gabriel’s videos never stopped showing, but he used his platform to be cool: his incorporation of African music wasn’t a one-album dalliance or a questionable use; it was mind-opening and respectful. Showing American kids the music their music sprang from (and letting them know there WAS other music), and shining light on apartheid – those actions a real impact. His Amnesty Tour, same.

American punk raged righteously throughout the decade: The Dead Kennedys and their nasal leader Jello Biafra pushed back on Reaganism, shat hilariously on Tipper Gore, partnered with hip hop early. Fugazi and their friends modelled community and countercultural ethics for a lot of kids. Public Enemy and NWA warned us all that the LA riots were coming (it didn’t help).

Tracy Chapman sang her experience with soul and whispered about consequences for the disgusting idea that some people deserve the drippings of prosperity. Bruce Cockburn and Midnight Oil both had hits about returning stolen land to Indigenous people.

Beautiful Billy Bragg sang about unions, abuse, collectivism, and injustice without ever stopping. Idealism was there if you wanted it. The 1980s are supposed to have been stupid and vacuous and plastic, but that opinion was superimposed, largely, by bought-and-paid-for 90s cynicism.

U2 rode atop all of this, beaming vaguely like philosopher Jesuses without ever really saying anything. They weren’t Madonna – they sang with passion about economic destruction and addiction and Martin Luther King, they covered “Maggie’s Farm” and constantly, constantly aped John Lennon – but it was a costume. They revealed that as soon as the 90s hit, when Bono put on his sunglasses and some vinyl pants and embraced a schlocky nihilism. The rest was revealed for what it was: cynical or at least naive posturing – and U2 were still, somehow, able to maintain a reputation for more, at least for the masses.

In about 2000, when I was educating myself about the history of rock and roll, I revisited U2. I had ignored them for a decade – I thought I would check in. I rented a video of a performance (in Boston, I think) and was impressed to see that they could still really engage with a stadium-sized audience – not easy or common. Hmm, I thought: maybe I’m wrong.

And then I tuned in to see their performance at the Superbowl that followed 9/11. I turned on the tube and they were playing their anthemic “Where the Streets Have No Name” in front of a giant backdrop of a black sheet, projecting the names of people who had died in the Twin Towers. What? I thought, What? It’s been, like, four months!

And then, at the musical climax of the song, as an emotional special effect, they let the giant black sheet filled with names collapse to the ground – you know, just like those other sheets, I mean skyscrapers, filled with terrified humans had fallen.

The crowd went wild, and I gasped. Bono started singing a bit from “All You Need Is Love,” and then, as self-satisfied as any successful terrorist, opened his jacket to reveal a surprise: an American flag silk lining!

He might have had a boner, posing with this huge, tasteless, powerful gesture. It was perhaps the emptiest thing I have ever seen. Go, Football Team! I mean Country. Whatever. Where are we tonight? Are you with me, Cincinnati? Are you ready to rock?!

There was a real spirit in the 80s. It may have been obscured by pretenders, but that doesn’t erase it. That spirit was not in U2, and we would all do better to learn to recognize the difference.

Thanks for reading. Sorry this one is so grumpy. I love you. Good luck with Omicron.

Peace out

jep