By Danielle Lee Aderholdt
Entertainment Writer
The legend is back.
With POP, their first studio release since 1993, U2's longtime status as The Biggest Band In the World is still quite safe. The release of a new record from U2 is always a watershed event deciding the course the music business will take.
While U2 hides away in studios all over the world deciding the fate of their profession, all other bands just seem to wait idly by, wondering where the masters will lead them next. Get ready kids. You're in for a wild ride.
The rumors of this record being a continuation of the techno flavors first tasted on Achtung Baby and then explored more deeply on Zooropa are just that: rumors. Don't let the first single fool you. Bono himself said, "'Discotheque' is to get people dizzy so we can take advantage of them for the rest of the album."
And therein lies the beauty of U2: "Discotheque" makes you think you're listening to another techno record, but from the second track, "Do You Feel Loved," to the last strains of the closing song, they completely pull back, turn around, and run howling back to their rock roots. I swear I hear a bit of War in there somewhere. The techno, trip-hop, hip-hop, emotive, Eno-pop sound of yore has become old news. To explore the trend a bit further would be too comfortable, too familiar. They tease you, trick you into believing they're one thing, but at the last second, shift gears, point in your face and laugh, "Ha ha! Gotcha!" They're daring us to stick a label on them.
POP is, as a work of art, a mockery of everything Bono, The Edge, Larry Mullen and Adam Clayton have always hated. They don't buy into the puffy, pretty-boy image many critics have heaped on them in years past. They're famous for their collective ego the size of your little finger, and apparently what was left of that ego has disappeared.
Here they give a tongue-lashing to pop culture, pop art, pop icons, pop music, and really, their own public image as pop stars. Andy Warhol is probably spinning in his grave. Every trace of Mr. Macphisto, Bono's most recent onstage persona, is gone. Fans will no doubt shout a loud "thank you!" to realize that U2 is no longer "Bono and company," but four distinct, incredibly talented musicians, four regular boys from Dublin, four equal parts of one whole, the way it used to be. The way it should be.
In addition to the slam on everything material, the lyrics on the whole record explore the faith that Bono, Edge and Larry have never been ashamed to exhibit. It certainly would be nice if their fellow Christians who intentionally label themselves as "Christian artists" could write lyrics so brutally honest, so soul-searching, so earnestly calling out to their Savior.
"Hey if God will send His angels/And if God will send a sign/And if God will send His angels/Would everything be alright?" "If God Will Send His Angels" is one of those painfully beautiful songs that can only be compared to, well, other U2 songs. Think "One" or "With Or Without You." That kind of painfully beautiful.
Bono reels against secularism with "It's the blind leading the blond/It's the cops collecting for the cons/So where is the hope and where is the faith...and the love?" And later, "Jesus never let me down you know Jesus used to show me the score/Then they put Jesus in show business now it's hard to get in the door."
"Staring At the Sun" showcases what makes U2 the best rock band around: Edge's acoustic prowess, Larry's mean drum and Adam's smooth bass. And -- oh my goodness guys, you just made my day -- the song starts out sounding so much like "New Year's Day" that you'll think it's the 80s all over again. "I'm not the only one starin' at the sun/Afraid of what you'd find if you took a look inside/Not just deaf and dumb I'm staring at the sun/Not the only one who's happy too blind."
With such a worldly title, you may at first think "The Playboy Mansion" is the picture of debauched glory, but remember U2's intentions with POP, remember what they're making fun of.
In reality, they're ripping apart fleeting pleasures and American society's obsession with the latest trend: "If O.J. is more than a drink/And a Big Mac bigger than you think/If perfume is an obsession/And talk shows ... confession/What have we got to lose/Another push and maybe we'll be through/The gates of that mansion." After a litany of what such pleasurable things of the flesh have to offer, the song stabs you in the ribs with honesty at the last minute: "Then will there be no time of sorrow/Then will there be no time for pain/Then will there be no time of sorrow/Then will there be no time for shame?"
The closer, "Wake Up Dead Man," is one final cry, one last plea of a man desperately needing his Savior to show him the way, give him some answers: "Jesus, were You just around the corner?/Did You think to try and warn her?/Or are You working on something new?/If there's an order in all of this disorder/Is it like a tape recorder?/Can we rewind it just once more?/Wake up dead man..."
After 17 years of albums, touring and the scrutiny of life in the public eye, U2 has never sounded better. I predict history to call POP their best album-so far, that is. Also, they've never looked better; all four, now in their mid-thirties, get more fiercely handsome with each passing year.
Most importantly, though, it's obvious they've never been closer. They're best friends, practically brothers, with an unconditional love you can hear in every note, every harmony, every improvised guitar and bass lick. The Biggest Band In the World is still the most innovative, still the most genuinely human, and still the best.