As U2 was ending its improbable ascendancy to the pop music stratosphere in the 1980s -- understandably tired and jaded, after a decade of relentless touring and recording -- Bono said something remarkably prescient. Surveying the success while foreseeing the future he told fans at a Dublin concert on December 30, 1989: “It’s no big deal, we have to go away and just dream it all up again.” Nearly thirty years later, still intact, the band might again consider such sentiments.
The seeds of change actually had been sown and germinated a bit earlier. Guitarist The Edge told Rolling Stone in March 1988 that “I think we’re about to reinvent rock and roll. That’s our challenge.”
When U2 reemerged in the early 1990s, however, few could have anticipated the extraordinary metamorphosis of a band that completely reconsidered and rebooted every aspect of its existence. It reimagined its music, persona, touring presentation and, to a degree, its politics. (Changes in ticketing and management would come later.)
Gone were the songs that acted and sounded like paeans to Americana -- the roots music of blues, folk and country-western -- that saturated, like a summer squall over the fruited plain, the albums “The Joshua Tree” (1987) and “Rattle and Hum” (1988). Those songs were replaced by the ambitious industrial Euro-crunch of the albums “Achtung Baby” (1991) and “Zooropa” (1993). Anything overtly anthemic was discarded in favor of the ironic and metallic. Trashy and shiny became buzzwords. Even more jarring, The Edge’s ringing, echo-laden guitar – the signature U2 sound -- was turned off. A new decade. A new direction.
(Bono famously quipped during this period that this radical shift in sonics was “the sound of four men chopping down the Joshua Tree.)
But the transformation went beyond music.
The quiet temperament of four seemingly miserable and overly earnest, po-faced Irishmen -- too stupid to enjoy fame, affluence, and their unique contribution to rock and roll evangelism -- evaporated in 18 months’ time. Perhaps as a means of self-preservation U2 became (outwardly, at least) the embodiment of bona fide rock stars, with all the trappings. Angst gave way to assurance (arrogance?). Spiritual gave way to existential. Sincerity gave way to irony. Denim gave way to leather. The cowboy gave way to The Fly and Mr. MacPhisto. And, with a wink and a nod, substance gave way to artifice.
In late 1992, Bono told journalist David Fricke, “Rock and roll is ridiculous. It’ absurd.” In the past, he said, “U2 was trying to duck that. Now we’re wrapping our arms around it and giving it a great big kiss.”
Gone too were simple stage props -- who remembers, “There is but one flag, the white flag!”? -- and a couple of spot lights. The grand madness of the “Zoo-TV Tour” spanned 157 shows over five legs between 1992-1993. As drummer Larry Mullen told MTV, (with each member interviewed on his own vidi-wall on the stage at Yankee Stadium) people were going to a rock and roll gig and watching television.
With painted Trabant cars hanging and satellite transmissions beaming, U2 pioneered, among other things, the use of multi-screen video reinforcement, a dedicated “B-stage,” and in-ear-monitors. With the advent of global communications and advances in technology, coupled with the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the mad extravagance of the tour captured perfectly the zeitgeist of an era redefined by geo-political upheaval, especially in Europe. (Only U2 could broadcast live feeds from the war in Sarajevo at its concerts during the Zooropa leg.) For concert-goers, it was a massive sensory blitzkrieg; a full assault of sound, sight and senses. Opening acts included rap bands and the back stage flowed with champagne and super models. During encore interludes, Bono would routinely call world leaders or simply order pizza -- for the entire audience! Rock and roll had seen nothing like it before. Post-punk to post-modern. Indeed.
U2 would also start engaging more directly in the political arena as opposed to merely commenting about social and political matters. Certainly, they were opposed to the conservative policies of President Ronald Reagan and Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in the 1980s. And early on they stood in solidarity with the likes of Amnesty International. But by 1992 the band ingratiated itself with the campaign of Bill Clinton and later in the decade would become active in the Northern Ireland peace talks.
In retrospect, the decisive and intentional revamping of the U2 juggernaut proved to be a wise move overall, despite some unforced errors (notably the disastrous early days of the “Popmart Tour” with the debut of unrehearsed new songs). Minor setbacks aside, U2 was driven more than ever to remain current and relevant in the ever evolving idiom of pop music -- with the short shelf life of artists and even shorter attention spans of listeners.
The band’s music continued winning commercial and critical acclaim (U2 stills hold the record for most Grammy Awards, 22, by a band). Subsequent tours set attendance records and were recognized by fans, peers and industry watchers alike for their breathtaking innovation (“360 Tour”). The front man frequently boasted that the band was reapplying for the job of best band in the world. U2 also partnered with Apple, realizing early on that digital music was disrupting the traditional music business.
And Bono himself gained international respect for his efforts in badgering global leaders for results-oriented social justice. He led efforts for Jubilee 2000 (debt relief), The One Campaign, and was active in seeking anti-retro-viral drugs for AIDS reduction in Africa. He met Pope John Paul II in 1999 (where the pontiff actually wore The Fly shades). He would later go on to lobby three presidents (Clinton, Bush and Obama) in the span of a decade (2000-2010). And his excursions saw him speak at American campuses (among them, the commencement address at University of Pennsylvania in 2004) and receive numerous awards for his work. Bono would go on to discover capitalism outside of U2 with the formation of the private equity firm, Elevation Partners, in 2004 (an early investor in Facebook). Nice work if you can get.
Most importantly, the band remained the original four and they remained friends. The game plan worked for a long time. But much has changed in 30 years…
Is it now time to dream it all up again?
That is a fair question to ask in 2018 as the band -- well into its fifth decade -- will likely wrap up this decade’s musical endeavors this fall with the final shows of its “Experience and Innocence Tour” in Europe. As U2 considers the next cycle of its resilient career, the band seems unusually unsure of where it fits in today’s world. Worse, where it wants to go. (Does it still even want to go?) Legions of fans must think that the band once again has reached a critical crossroad. Only this time, the next phase may be the last call.
They find themselves in unchartered terrain. No rock band has survived this long with its original lineup still the same. But there is a growing sense that things have stalled out.
Unless the U2 releases a long-rumored album of ethereal sketches known as “Songs of Ascent” (the last of what would be a trilogy of “Songs of…” collections; despite the thematic notions, they are not companion albums) by the end of 2019, this decade will have been the band’s least prolific in releasing new music. Ever. In fact, if nothing new is released before next February 28, the band will have only released two albums in the span of a decade.
It is nearly inconceivable that the band got bogged down with the Innocence/Experience project for so long. There were memorable songs, for sure, but the output surprisingly yielded no hit singles (unless you count the recent Dance Club single “Love is Bigger Than Anything In Its Way,” which peaked at No. 1 on the Billboard Chart). Despite their efforts to sound hip, hardly any new U2 material of the last 15 years has been played on the radio. “Songs of Experience” showcased the talents of no fewer than half a dozen hot-shot producers -- something U2 may wish to reconsider going forward. The end result is that U2 sounded modern, but oddly generic all the same. At times, The Edge sounded like a background session player. After endless sessions, it all sounded indecisive and overdone. Too much refiguring, reconsidering, and refining.
Has U2 run out of musical ideas? Is there nothing new to say? Or is it that the rest of pop music hijacked and replicated the U2 formula (big sound, big ideas), diluting what made U2 special? (One Republic, Coldplay)
In his December 2017 Podcast (“After 40 years, U2 Is Still Huge. Why?”) longtime New York Times chief pop music critic Jon Pareles (who has followed U2 since 1980) said that he wanted the “Experience” album “to be less Hillsong and more The Clash.” His wish is equally damning and equally wanting. Nevertheless, that brutal assessment captures the quandary U2 find themselves in late 2018.
In the mid-1960s, The Beatles stopped touring to focus exclusively on producing music. For the last nine years U2 has reversed that concept. The 2000s alone have seen four distinct tours (“360,” “Innocence & Experience,” “Joshua Tree 2017,” and “Experience and Innocence”) and just two albums. In their unrelenting drive to find new ways to connect with fans in big places, the first two tours (one stadium, the other arena) were highly innovative approaches to rock concerts (omni-directional), utilizing state of the art toys and production techniques.
But as the diversionary “JT” and hereditary “E&I” tours wore on, it became apparent that U2 relied more and more on technology and choreography and less on spontaneity -- a large component that made it a ferocious live act. The Innocence-Experience shows fused elements of performance art, theatre, and rock show. But the action was meticulously scripted to ensure that it was synched up with the audio and video. All of this was done, obviously, to also ensure adherence to pre-ordained gestures and laid-out themes during the “innocence” and “experience” phases of each show. Clever, perhaps, but such strict fidelity to the production meant that set lists were, according to a chorus of reliable fans, unreasonably static. This was ironic given that The Edge told Rolling Stone that the “E&I Tour,” in particular, was really meant for hardcore fans, who would, presumably, better understand the band’s larger motivations and be sympathetic to the conceptual aspects of the show. And who understood that showcasing artistic narrative was more important than playing a back catalog of deep-cuts. Well.
What will the next tour look like? A rehash of the “Achtung Baby” album, in 2021?
Forty years ago, in a fortuitous move, Paul McGuinness became U2’s manager. His contributions to the stunning success and stability of U2 as a business enterprise (not to mention his overall advisory) earned him the deserving title as the “fifth member” of U2. If the band looks like it is cast adrift these days, that may be a consequence of the void left by McGuinness, who effectively retired from management in 2013.
A statement released by the band read: “Perhaps more than any music management operation in history, Paul, alongside Trevor, Keryn and the team at Principle Management has always fought for our rights, for our music, for our fans and for the principles that we and he believe in. His central lesson was that if you cared for your ‘art’, you must also ‘take care of business’ as historically with rock and roll bands, the latter has undone the former.”
Enter the tangled era of Guy Oseary, Live Nation and Ticketmaster.
Oseary, the wunderkind talent manager of Madonna and, later, Maverick Management, became U2’s second manager. As part of the change in leadership, he sold Maverick and Principle Management to a new management venture of the corporate colossus Live Nation in 2013. Incidentally, U2 already had a relationship with another side of Live Nation. That arrangement was hatched in 2008 when Live Nation entered into a 12-year deal with the band whereby it would handle all touring and merchandising, including taking over U2’s fan club, under the moniker U2.com. While financial terms were not disclosed, it was believed to be similar to the deal struck by Oseary between Madonna and Live Nation in 2007 (valued at $120 million). To add more confusion to the mix, Live Nation purchased Ticketmaster in 2009. The industry and U2 would never be the same.
Except for its music publishing, U2 ceded control over most of its business to the sprawling new company that dominated virtually every aspect of the music business: management, promotion, merchandising, venue ownership, and ticketing. The Live Nation behemoth was a public company where its shareholders -- not artists or fans -- were its biggest concern. While U2 was paid sums beyond the dreams of avarice, two realities quickly emerged in order for Live Nation to return its investment to shareholders: one, the emphasis shifted from recording to touring; two, the public (fans), became mere commodities upon which to finance the ludicrously generous contracts between Live Nation and the likes of Madonna, U2 and Jaye-Z. In a weird way, artists -- itself a bit of a euphemism today -- have been reduced to commodities too. (You’ll likely find Bono in the board room instead of on the bar stool.)
The ticketing side alone may be the most un-fan-centric piece in this haphazard puzzle for which U2 (at least its no-nonsense drummer) should be red-faced with shameful embarrassment. Its life-long fans are subject to “Verified Fan” and “dynamic pricing,” not to mention a pitiful lack of transparency. Its corporate-controlled fan club is built around capturing data points more so than selling reasonably priced tickets. For all the collective outsized egos of the band, it must have been humiliating to play in some American venues this past summer that had large areas cordoned off with black tarps due to lack of ticket sales. But all the insiders went home happy with their achieved revenue targets. This whole operation would have been intolerable to the old Larry Mullen.
With an exquisite irony that only a Zoo-TV-era U2 could appreciate, the unholy alliance between U2 and Live Nation puts the band in an appalling dilemma. How does it square the fact that throughout its entire career it has sought and demanded equality and diversity of, by and for people in all their daily engagements yet it works for one of the biggest corporate monopolies that stifles creativity, competition and fairness? For this iteration of U2, “freedom of choice” is a subjective media friendly hashtag, no longer a core philosophy. But the true sign of moral decay is the laughably absurd prospect -- now rumored -- of U2 resigning another multi-year deal with Life Nation, in what must only be seen as another uber-money grab. To quote the lead singer from a more innocent time, “Where’s the glory in that?”
Finally, it may also be time for U2 to reconsider its politics, too.
Part of U2’s motivation for touring the entirety of “The Joshua Tree” and delaying the release of the “Experience” album was because of the election of Donald Trump to the presidency in 2016. For a band wholly disengaged with its global fanbase, the event gave U2 an excuse to once again engage the American progressive political base (after the relative calm, in its estimation, of eight years with Barack Obama).
The Edge told Rolling Stone last year, “The election [happened] and suddenly the world changed…” He went on to harp about how rise of Trump was akin to the dreadful time 30 years ago when Reaganism and Thatcherism were ruining the world. A time when U2 felt compelled to resist and correct those conservative policies. Suddenly, Joshua Tree songs became relevant again and the Experience songs needed rewrites due to the pending apocalypse. The world was on fire again. And U2 could once again save the world and rekindle the old spark of 1980s idealism.
Notwithstanding their loud protestations, U2 got the Reagan-Thatcher politics of the 1980s mostly wrong. The world was largely better off.
Due in large part to these two world leaders (along with Pope John Paul II), the world became freer and certainly much more affluent. And, arguably, the rise of the “Celtic Tiger” in the 1990s and 2000s, was, at worst, an indirect result of the words and deeds of the president, prime minister and pontiff.
(Doesn’t U2 smell the stench of hypocrisy with this gem?... As Bono was traipsing around the globe looking for handouts (read tax dollars) from world leaders (particularly American leaders) last decade -- seeking a greater share of local GDP for his various causes -- U2 in 2006 moved a chunk of its business empire out of Ireland and into Holland, for tax reasons.)
Today, most Americans adults probably think, “What was so bad about the 1908s?”
American politics is much more polarized than it was in that period. And it remains to be seen, going forward, how long Americans will accept Bono thanking them for giving U2 “a great life” with Americans’ “hard earned” as he bashes -- with moral certitude -- a president (and his conservative policies) who is still popular with 50 percent of those very Americans. To most Americans who grew up with the band in the 1980s, though, the incessant rantings are proving to be redundantly tiresome. They’ve heard it all before.
The Edge also told Rolling Stone it now “feels like we’re right back there [30 years ago] in a way.” U2 must feel like they’re stuck right back in the late 1980s, too. They need, to borrow a phrase from 1980s corporate world -- a concept Bono surely grasps as a corporate globalist -- a paradigm shift as they ponders their next steps.