Dear Bono,
As a pop music writer at daily newspapers for the past 26 years, I've doled out more stars to U2 albums than are in the 12 constellations of the zodiac.
Now that "No Line on the Horizon," the new U2 album, has landed, I'm stealing 'em back.
For the first time in my life, Bono, I'm skipping a U2 tour. I won't be in the stands when you perform Oct. 9 in Tampa.
Sure, the $253.50 top ticket price had a bit to do with my decision. But really it was art, not commerce, that led to my losing my religion.
Your new album sucks.
As a pop music writer at daily newspapers for the past 26 years, I've doled out more stars to U2 albums than are in the 12 constellations of the zodiac.
Now that "No Line on the Horizon," the new U2 album, has landed, I'm stealing 'em back.
For the first time in my life, Bono, I'm skipping a U2 tour. I won't be in the stands when you perform Oct. 9 in Tampa.
Sure, the $253.50 top ticket price had a bit to do with my decision. But really it was art, not commerce, that led to my losing my religion.
Your new album sucks.
"No Line" is the first U2 album since 2004's "How to Dismantle an
Atomic Bomb." You and your mates took five years -- five years! -- to
write, record and release "No Line." And this is it?
Over 18 months, from December 3, 1965, to June 1, 1967, the Beatles released three masterpieces: "Rubber Soul," "Revolver" and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band."
As for U2: You guys haven't rattled my DNA with an album since 1997's "Pop." Yes, "All That You Can't Leave Behind" in 2000 was ... hmmm, decent. "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" in 2004 was just OK.
"No Line on the Horizon"? Not so good. With your lyrics about "Napoleon in high heels" and "small men with big ideas" and other such uber-self-conscious lyrics, the album sounds like a "Saturday Night Live" parody of U2.
You think that's unfair, comparing you to the Beatles, Bono?
Remember what you proclaimed in 1981, just after the release of the very first U2 album: "I feel that we are meant to be one of the great groups. There's a certain chemistry that was special about the Stones, the Who and the Beatles, and I think it's also special about U2."
But I'm not writing this open letter to you, Bono, as a review of the new U2 album. The issue here is bigger than your Napoleon complex.
The issue here is what your new album has taught me, a lesson I learn and forget and re-learn and forget again, over and over: Art, like everything else in life, will let you down.
I'm not the first critic, or art consumer, to notice this. Any decent scholar's critique of Shakespeare's oeuvre will proclaim some of the Bard's plays are sublime and some stink like the rotting gray matter inside Yorick's skull.
Almost all of my favorite creators -- writers Albert Camus and Kurt Vonnegut Jr., the rock bands Led Zeppelin and Pearl Jam, hip-hop group Public Enemy, painters Georgia O'Keefe and Charles Burchfield -- disappointed me at some point.
Only the Beatles and poet William Butler Yeats have managed to engage me across the breadth of their storied careers.
I should know by now it's absurd to constantly expect immortal work from mere mortals, whatever flashes of genius they've revealed in the past.
Still, it's a bummer to cross U2 off the list of "my bands." For almost three decades -- 30 years! -- I genuflected before U2, faithfully anticipating the sonic booms you were unleashing on the world.
That faith was justified ... until now.
Yeah, Bono, it hurts. Endings always do. This is like losing a friend. The thrill is gone.
Over 18 months, from December 3, 1965, to June 1, 1967, the Beatles released three masterpieces: "Rubber Soul," "Revolver" and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band."
As for U2: You guys haven't rattled my DNA with an album since 1997's "Pop." Yes, "All That You Can't Leave Behind" in 2000 was ... hmmm, decent. "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" in 2004 was just OK.
"No Line on the Horizon"? Not so good. With your lyrics about "Napoleon in high heels" and "small men with big ideas" and other such uber-self-conscious lyrics, the album sounds like a "Saturday Night Live" parody of U2.
You think that's unfair, comparing you to the Beatles, Bono?
Remember what you proclaimed in 1981, just after the release of the very first U2 album: "I feel that we are meant to be one of the great groups. There's a certain chemistry that was special about the Stones, the Who and the Beatles, and I think it's also special about U2."
But I'm not writing this open letter to you, Bono, as a review of the new U2 album. The issue here is bigger than your Napoleon complex.
The issue here is what your new album has taught me, a lesson I learn and forget and re-learn and forget again, over and over: Art, like everything else in life, will let you down.
I'm not the first critic, or art consumer, to notice this. Any decent scholar's critique of Shakespeare's oeuvre will proclaim some of the Bard's plays are sublime and some stink like the rotting gray matter inside Yorick's skull.
Almost all of my favorite creators -- writers Albert Camus and Kurt Vonnegut Jr., the rock bands Led Zeppelin and Pearl Jam, hip-hop group Public Enemy, painters Georgia O'Keefe and Charles Burchfield -- disappointed me at some point.
Only the Beatles and poet William Butler Yeats have managed to engage me across the breadth of their storied careers.
I should know by now it's absurd to constantly expect immortal work from mere mortals, whatever flashes of genius they've revealed in the past.
Still, it's a bummer to cross U2 off the list of "my bands." For almost three decades -- 30 years! -- I genuflected before U2, faithfully anticipating the sonic booms you were unleashing on the world.
That faith was justified ... until now.
Yeah, Bono, it hurts. Endings always do. This is like losing a friend. The thrill is gone.
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