HelloAngel
ONE love, blood, life
Ed. Note: In the weeks since "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" was released, fans have already begun measuring it against U2's best. One song in particular, "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own," seems destined to be a U2 classic. Proving this point, we have two different reviews of the new single, one from Amjad M. Khan and one from Sharon Swadis.
Amjad M. Khan
2004.12
"Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own," the third track off U2’s latest album, already ranks as one of the band’s most memorable ballads. A gut-wrenching, soulful lament about the death of Bono's father, the song delves into the frustration, hopelessness and desperation that accompany the death of a loved one. Every aspect of the song reflects that theme; The Edge's mournful guitar, Adam Clayton's haunting bass line, Larry Mullen Jr.'s indifferent drum beats, and Bono's somber, eulogizing vocal.
"Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own" is an epic journey. The ballad's first word is a defiant metaphor—“tough.” Bob Hewson, Bono's late father, is somewhat dehumanized here; he's not a person in this song but an idea, so much so that Bono originally considered calling the song "Tough.” "You think you've got the stuff," Bono sings, "You're telling me and anyone you're hard enough." But there emerges an opportunity that Bono's father and Bono himself have heretofore ignored. Bono pontificates: "You don't have to put up a fight, you don't always have to be right." Beneath the stubbornness outwardly manifested in their lives lies the faded recognition that Bono himself could have been his father's protection as he sings, "Let me take some of the punches for you tonight" It's a recognition that Bono yearns to have felt when his father was alive, crying out: "Listen to me now, I need to let you know, you don't have to go it alone."
The song then shifts to a majestic falsetto from which emerges Bono's tender confession: "And it's you when I look in the mirror, and it's you when I don't pick up the phone." Bono next alludes to what seems to be a major characteristic of his relationship with his father—unending quarrelling. But where before Bono may have considered his insurmountable differences to be at the heart of their disagreements, he now offers another explanation: "We're the same soul," he solemnly concludes. In fact, the reality is that it is Bono's similarities with his father that are the source of the tension and not the differences: "If we weren't so alike, you'd like me a whole lot more.”
The song takes a dramatic turn as Bono seems to confront himself, wondering why his father won't answer back and why he couldn't tell his father what he meant to him. The answer is captured in the most memorable line of the song: "You're the reason why the opera is in me" While Bono's father was known to be an opera singer, the line also refers to the frenzied beauty of opera itself, a medium that may encapsulate the substance of Bono's relationship with his father.
Attempting to bring closure to his father's death, Bono concludes by asking the fateful question: "Where are we now?" All that remains is the physical grave of Bono's father, a cold, stone exterior. But "a house doesn't make a home," Bono reminds himself and his father. Weary, alone and in despair, Bono can only deliver an adolescent cry: "Don't leave me here all alone!" Finally, as if attempting to regain courage, he comforts himself by deception. "The best you can do is to fake it," Bono reminds all those who believe they can live their lives comfortably without the help of a lost loved one. To Bono, it's simply an undeniable fact that "Sometimes you can't make it on your own."
By Sharon Swadis
2004.12
The wait is over—the album's hit the charts, a new video's hitting the airwaves and a tour has been promised. There's even an updated official website. For me, the release of "Vertigo" marks the start of U2 mania once again, and it's been too long in the making.
As early reviews came in, I was happy to hear this album marked a return to a more ‘80s U2 sound. When I first became a U2 fan it was very much an Edge thing, and hearing the guitar-driven "Vertigo" was just fine with me. But while I'm currently busy trying to play along with every guitar riff on "Vertigo," my favorite song, as it turns out, is not centered on Edge's guitar work—instead it's a ballad.
"Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own" is a song that instantly touched my soul— an ode to Bono's father, Bob Hewson, who died three years ago. I also lost my father a few years ago and when I listen to this song I feel Bono's pain as it becomes my own.
It is a song about loss, but more so about love. Bono's bittersweet lyrics run deep, spanning the gamut of gratitude, mournful sorrow and eternal frustration. When Bono says, "You're the reason I sing/You're the reason the opera is in me," he's immortalizing perhaps his greatest debt to his father—his voice. Bob was a singer, a tenor, who loved opera. Debt aside, Bono doesn't pretend they had a perfect relationship. Bono says "A house still doesn't make a home," a reference to how, as Bono has said in many interviews, his father tried but couldn't make up for the loss of Bono's mother, who died when he was a teenager. Bono says "We fight all the time," but, "that's alright," even as he says he doesn't need to hear his father tell him he'd like him more if "we weren't so alike." It really is all right, though. What relationship is perfect? I didn't have a perfect relationship with my father, either, and my gratitude and love for him is tinged with bittersweet memories. But you're still family, you still love each other, and by the time Bono says, "Don't leave me here alone," I'm crying for him, and with him every time I listen to the song.
This song has many similarities to U2's earlier classic "One." "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own," like "One," is a song about a relationship between a parent and child. But also like "One," "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own" is a song that transcends the literal and becomes your song, too. The song touches me as a daughter who lost her father, but it could be about losing a father or mother, a brother, sister, friend or lover. It's a song anyone who's ever felt a deep loss can relate to.
Much of "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" is blissfully Edgian in its guitar riffs (thank you, Edge) a blatant celebration of the U2 sound, matured and refined with age, and more than willing to change with the times, but still U2. "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own" starts out as a mellow ballad but soon soars to familiar U2 heights. Bono's voice soars with wings of its own, as it always does when he's singing from deep within his soul. Whether it's the emotionality of "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" or the mournful plea of "With or Without You," his voice tells the story.
In 2000 Bono told The Irish Times, "I've been playing with some masks and that's been good fun, but for a U2 song to succeed in performance I have to climb right inside it. Or else I can't hit those big notes. I have to be lost in it." In this case, he is the song, there's no hiding behind Fly shades here. Whether or not Bono chooses to wear shades on stage for the upcoming tour, he'll be wearing his heart on his sleeve when he sings "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own." I personally hope the shades are off.
There's always one special U2 song I hope they play live when they come to Philadelphia, and this is it. I have a feeling I won't be the only one singing and crying with Bono and for him.
Amjad M. Khan
2004.12
"Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own," the third track off U2’s latest album, already ranks as one of the band’s most memorable ballads. A gut-wrenching, soulful lament about the death of Bono's father, the song delves into the frustration, hopelessness and desperation that accompany the death of a loved one. Every aspect of the song reflects that theme; The Edge's mournful guitar, Adam Clayton's haunting bass line, Larry Mullen Jr.'s indifferent drum beats, and Bono's somber, eulogizing vocal.
"Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own" is an epic journey. The ballad's first word is a defiant metaphor—“tough.” Bob Hewson, Bono's late father, is somewhat dehumanized here; he's not a person in this song but an idea, so much so that Bono originally considered calling the song "Tough.” "You think you've got the stuff," Bono sings, "You're telling me and anyone you're hard enough." But there emerges an opportunity that Bono's father and Bono himself have heretofore ignored. Bono pontificates: "You don't have to put up a fight, you don't always have to be right." Beneath the stubbornness outwardly manifested in their lives lies the faded recognition that Bono himself could have been his father's protection as he sings, "Let me take some of the punches for you tonight" It's a recognition that Bono yearns to have felt when his father was alive, crying out: "Listen to me now, I need to let you know, you don't have to go it alone."
The song then shifts to a majestic falsetto from which emerges Bono's tender confession: "And it's you when I look in the mirror, and it's you when I don't pick up the phone." Bono next alludes to what seems to be a major characteristic of his relationship with his father—unending quarrelling. But where before Bono may have considered his insurmountable differences to be at the heart of their disagreements, he now offers another explanation: "We're the same soul," he solemnly concludes. In fact, the reality is that it is Bono's similarities with his father that are the source of the tension and not the differences: "If we weren't so alike, you'd like me a whole lot more.”
The song takes a dramatic turn as Bono seems to confront himself, wondering why his father won't answer back and why he couldn't tell his father what he meant to him. The answer is captured in the most memorable line of the song: "You're the reason why the opera is in me" While Bono's father was known to be an opera singer, the line also refers to the frenzied beauty of opera itself, a medium that may encapsulate the substance of Bono's relationship with his father.
Attempting to bring closure to his father's death, Bono concludes by asking the fateful question: "Where are we now?" All that remains is the physical grave of Bono's father, a cold, stone exterior. But "a house doesn't make a home," Bono reminds himself and his father. Weary, alone and in despair, Bono can only deliver an adolescent cry: "Don't leave me here all alone!" Finally, as if attempting to regain courage, he comforts himself by deception. "The best you can do is to fake it," Bono reminds all those who believe they can live their lives comfortably without the help of a lost loved one. To Bono, it's simply an undeniable fact that "Sometimes you can't make it on your own."
By Sharon Swadis
2004.12
The wait is over—the album's hit the charts, a new video's hitting the airwaves and a tour has been promised. There's even an updated official website. For me, the release of "Vertigo" marks the start of U2 mania once again, and it's been too long in the making.
As early reviews came in, I was happy to hear this album marked a return to a more ‘80s U2 sound. When I first became a U2 fan it was very much an Edge thing, and hearing the guitar-driven "Vertigo" was just fine with me. But while I'm currently busy trying to play along with every guitar riff on "Vertigo," my favorite song, as it turns out, is not centered on Edge's guitar work—instead it's a ballad.
"Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own" is a song that instantly touched my soul— an ode to Bono's father, Bob Hewson, who died three years ago. I also lost my father a few years ago and when I listen to this song I feel Bono's pain as it becomes my own.
It is a song about loss, but more so about love. Bono's bittersweet lyrics run deep, spanning the gamut of gratitude, mournful sorrow and eternal frustration. When Bono says, "You're the reason I sing/You're the reason the opera is in me," he's immortalizing perhaps his greatest debt to his father—his voice. Bob was a singer, a tenor, who loved opera. Debt aside, Bono doesn't pretend they had a perfect relationship. Bono says "A house still doesn't make a home," a reference to how, as Bono has said in many interviews, his father tried but couldn't make up for the loss of Bono's mother, who died when he was a teenager. Bono says "We fight all the time," but, "that's alright," even as he says he doesn't need to hear his father tell him he'd like him more if "we weren't so alike." It really is all right, though. What relationship is perfect? I didn't have a perfect relationship with my father, either, and my gratitude and love for him is tinged with bittersweet memories. But you're still family, you still love each other, and by the time Bono says, "Don't leave me here alone," I'm crying for him, and with him every time I listen to the song.
This song has many similarities to U2's earlier classic "One." "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own," like "One," is a song about a relationship between a parent and child. But also like "One," "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own" is a song that transcends the literal and becomes your song, too. The song touches me as a daughter who lost her father, but it could be about losing a father or mother, a brother, sister, friend or lover. It's a song anyone who's ever felt a deep loss can relate to.
Much of "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" is blissfully Edgian in its guitar riffs (thank you, Edge) a blatant celebration of the U2 sound, matured and refined with age, and more than willing to change with the times, but still U2. "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own" starts out as a mellow ballad but soon soars to familiar U2 heights. Bono's voice soars with wings of its own, as it always does when he's singing from deep within his soul. Whether it's the emotionality of "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" or the mournful plea of "With or Without You," his voice tells the story.
In 2000 Bono told The Irish Times, "I've been playing with some masks and that's been good fun, but for a U2 song to succeed in performance I have to climb right inside it. Or else I can't hit those big notes. I have to be lost in it." In this case, he is the song, there's no hiding behind Fly shades here. Whether or not Bono chooses to wear shades on stage for the upcoming tour, he'll be wearing his heart on his sleeve when he sings "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own." I personally hope the shades are off.
There's always one special U2 song I hope they play live when they come to Philadelphia, and this is it. I have a feeling I won't be the only one singing and crying with Bono and for him.
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this song... great reviews 
