|U2 at The Spectrum, April 1985|
As I approached 50, I knew that I should probably consider treating myself to something. Tonight, exactly six months after my birthday, I get my treat: I am going to see U2.
Now, I realize that, to some — even many — going to a concert, much less a U2 concert, might not look like a treat. To me, it is.
U2 released their first album when I was 15 and in the process of figuring out my own taste in music. I still remember a friend coming up to me in the hallway at school, telling me about these “Irish kids who started a band.”
My parents were teachers but both had been performers, an actress and a dancer, so I feel like I grew up with a fair bit of show tunes in the house. Of course, it was also the 60’s, my parents were beatniks-turned-hippies and I heard a lot of “that” kind of music.
By the time I was 15, I had gone through a heavy AM radio Top 40 phase (can you say “Guardians of the Galaxy” soundtrack???) and I found myself listening to quite a bit of classic rock — even though it wasn’t going by that name back then.
Rock and roll is music for angsty teenagers. It seemed odd to me even at that point, to be listening to so much music rooted in the 60’s and ’70’s, music that people who were 15 five or ten years before me had listened to. Don’t get me wrong, I continue to have a deep and passionate love for Led Zeppelin, am in awe of “Born To Run”, still enjoy Motown and take pride in sharing my hometown with The Sound Of Philadelphia.
Still, the music always felt like it belonged to someone else, that it had always been there, waiting for me to discover it. That’s the point, it was archival.
I guess that, even then, I was looking for the music I could grow up with, music that was new to the time, new to me, not something I was borrowing from a teenager who was now an adult.
So, how did my musical taste develop? Someone gave me an ELO album when I was 12 so I guess I liked ELO whether I did or not. I went to a KISS concert when I was 12 and, well, it was pretty hard to be a boy that age at that time and not get wrapped up in the spectacle, if nothing else. 12 to me equals KISS, Star Wars and Steve Martin. It was a pretty great year.
When I was 13, my father and three younger siblings took a six month cross-country trip. I was lonely much of the time (even though I did manage to experience my first real kiss — in northern California with a girl in her bedroom covered with posters of Star Wars, The Bee Gees and John Travolta) and found myself staring at the radio, trying to find a “good” station in whatever town we were in. “Just What I Needed” by The Cars popped out at me and struck me as especially contemporary. 1978: I saw “Grease” six times in the theater. I also saw “Halloween.”
Somewhere in there, either very late ’78 or very early ’79, I heard The Police for the first time.
At that point, I was already a bit of a media junkie, especially interested in following the exploits of the notorious Sex Pistols, eagerly awaiting The Ramones movie “Rock And Roll High School” but also acutely aware of the snowballing mainstream Disco culture — it seemed every movie or TV show had to have a disco sequence. The cheesy 1980 horror movie “Prom Night” deftly combined two dominant trends in late 70’s pop culture — slasher movies and disco.
Even though these things were happening around me, were contemporary, I knew I didn’t fit in. I’m not inclined towards discos, don’t dance well and, much as I liked the music, culture and aesthetic I am not a Punk.
If I am completely honest with myself, I was a pretty happy, well-adjusted kid with very little to be angry about or rebel against. I simply could not play dress-up and make believe. Many people around me managed to assume the persona quite well. Good for them.
Let’s be honest, the worst of punk was frequently as vapid and empty as the worst of disco, too much of it strained to give the impression of being meaningful — as if yelling and playing loud enough was somehow equal to saying anything. They were opposite sides of the same coin.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate punk, maybe even more today than I did back then. As a film professor, I frequently refer to Jean-Luc Goddard’s 1958 rude, crude and groundbreaking “Breathless” as “cinematic punk rock” because, long before punk shook up the music industry, it did the same thing to Hollywood —- stripped movies down the bones, cut away the excess, made them vibrant, spit in the face of the over-produced tame product that Hollywood was selling.
I think that almost every great movie or filmmaker since 1958 owes something to “Breathless.” Goddard took to the streets with a camera in his hands, no money, no script and managed to slap something special together with sheer will.
In the early 90’s, I took the same approach with “The True Meaning Of Cool” and I have taken to calling “Stomping Ground,” my feature film, a “punk rock production” because it is so lo-fi, was shot at such a breakneck pace, fueled by passion, DIY spirit and, in my own way, a desire to comment on what bothers me about too many movies.
So, back to 1980, I heard U2, I saw The Police and someone gave me “Remain In Light” by Talking Heads. To paraphrase a much later U2 song, I think I found what I was looking for. Always conscious, for better or worse, of the transient nature of music, I frequently found myself in record shops, trying to decide to part ways with my money, asking “am I really going to be listening to this album in ten years?”
In 1982, I saw The Police for the third time (followed by fourth and fifth times in ’83 and ’84), saw The Clash twice, Talking Heads, The Specials and so on.
I was doing a play in 1983 when U2 played the Tower Theater so I couldn’t go. It was a great play and I was good in it but a big part of me still wishes I could have gone to that concert.
Thirty years ago, in 1985, I finally saw U2. Back then, it was just four guys on a stage — no special lighting, no video screens, no costumes. I was 20, they were 24 and 25. It was amazing.
Approaching their 40th anniversary as a band, it is sometimes easy to forget that U2 is a band and not a mouthpiece for superstar singer/activist provocateur Bono. As a longtime fan, it can be hard to experience their often painful very public growing pains. Sometimes, you just wish they’d shut up and play some music.
Prone to grandiosity (onstage and off) even early in their career — “The Unforgettable Fire” might be one of their more forgettable efforts even if the title song is one of my personal favorites — the frequent attempts at “reinvention” or, from another perspective, admirable attempts at artistic growth and “not standing still” have been awkward at times.
From the somber, strained Americana-esque “Rattle and Hum” to the wildly revisionist but wholly successful “Achtung" Baby and “Zooropa” era to the overblown and almost embarrassing “Pop” (Hey, I like “If God Will Send His Angels”) phase and back to staggering new highs with “All That You Can’t Leave Behind” I have stayed with the band, sort of growing up together.
“Moment Of Surrender” from 2009’s politely received “No Line On The Horizon” is, to me, absolutely one of the best pieces they have ever produced.
Now, eight or nine months after the infamous “Apple drop” where they “released” the new “Songs Of Innocence” collection to every iTunes subscriber regardless of popular demand, some of those new tunes have gone into heavy rotation on my internal playlist.
Evolution is tough. If I look back over the past 40 years of my life I see more than a few missteps, awkward moments and stuff I’d rather forget. However, like the band, I also have an interest in not standing still. Part of me wants to defy that demographic study and, to that end, I have discovered plenty of new music since I turned 20. Of course, I am acutely aware of not being 15 in 2015 and I have little interest in pretending to be.
I know U2 is struggling to remain relevant. They are one of the few bands out there that has lasted this long with their original line-up intact. As I transition into the second half of my life, I still wonder what I mean to anyone. It’s way too late to be the hot, new youngster on the scene so I can only hope to become the wise old man who still has some gas in the tank.
People who went to see a teenage Sinatra also went to see an 80-year-old Sinatra.
Relevance is relative. U2 is relevant to me. Tonight is my treat.