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U2, How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb
By Bernard Zuel
Years at the top haven't dampened the band's passion or innovative spirit.
U2, How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb (Universal)
It's sobering for some at the older end of the music fan spectrum - those for whom it comes naturally to declare the Rolling Stones or the Who to still be the greatest rock band in the world - to recognise that, while those bands have kept touring, their years of writing and recording music that sounded fresh and still mattered lasted little more than a decade.
Compare that with acts such as Midnight Oil, Neil Young, Elvis Costello and David Bowie, whose years of making vital new music went, or are still going strong, into their third decade.
U2 are another one. Nearly 25 years after their debut, they've made How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, an album that bristles with energy and passion, that is still striving for something new to say and different ways of saying it. It isn't without its problems, but it feels alive rather than timelocked and contractually obligated.
Probably not coincidentally, the album's most noticeable element is the reinvigorated love of The Edge for his guitar and its possibilities as a noisemaker. On Love And Peace or Else, he cranks it up into a glam weapon, all stomp and slash; in the opening track, Vertigo, it delivers the kind of power riff he has never really assayed, not even on October; on All Because of You, he sends little sirens rippling out; while in Crumbs from Your Table, and particularly Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own, the echoey chimes will be familiar to anyone who bought a U2 album in the 1980s.
The emotional heart of the album is Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own, a song written before but recorded after Bono's father died. It is one of those grand, reach-for-your-heart ballads that have dotted U2's career (there's another example later, One Step Closer) with some of Bono's most unadorned and direct lyrics about a complex and difficult, but vital, relationship.
Oddly, though, if we were to do a U2 album checklist - got the drive and rhythm; got the ballads; got the signature Edge atmospheric guitar; got Bono in husky form - one thing we'd not be able to check off is choruses. Save for one or two tracks, these are songs in search of a centrepiece, a pay-off.
Often, just when things look ready to soar, they turn inwards or extend the tease. It isn't fatal but it is nobbling, enough to mark this as a solid but not top-drawer U2 album.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/CD-revie...b/2004/11/19/1100838208347.html?oneclick=true
By Bernard Zuel
Years at the top haven't dampened the band's passion or innovative spirit.
U2, How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb (Universal)
It's sobering for some at the older end of the music fan spectrum - those for whom it comes naturally to declare the Rolling Stones or the Who to still be the greatest rock band in the world - to recognise that, while those bands have kept touring, their years of writing and recording music that sounded fresh and still mattered lasted little more than a decade.
Compare that with acts such as Midnight Oil, Neil Young, Elvis Costello and David Bowie, whose years of making vital new music went, or are still going strong, into their third decade.
U2 are another one. Nearly 25 years after their debut, they've made How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, an album that bristles with energy and passion, that is still striving for something new to say and different ways of saying it. It isn't without its problems, but it feels alive rather than timelocked and contractually obligated.
Probably not coincidentally, the album's most noticeable element is the reinvigorated love of The Edge for his guitar and its possibilities as a noisemaker. On Love And Peace or Else, he cranks it up into a glam weapon, all stomp and slash; in the opening track, Vertigo, it delivers the kind of power riff he has never really assayed, not even on October; on All Because of You, he sends little sirens rippling out; while in Crumbs from Your Table, and particularly Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own, the echoey chimes will be familiar to anyone who bought a U2 album in the 1980s.
The emotional heart of the album is Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own, a song written before but recorded after Bono's father died. It is one of those grand, reach-for-your-heart ballads that have dotted U2's career (there's another example later, One Step Closer) with some of Bono's most unadorned and direct lyrics about a complex and difficult, but vital, relationship.
Oddly, though, if we were to do a U2 album checklist - got the drive and rhythm; got the ballads; got the signature Edge atmospheric guitar; got Bono in husky form - one thing we'd not be able to check off is choruses. Save for one or two tracks, these are songs in search of a centrepiece, a pay-off.
Often, just when things look ready to soar, they turn inwards or extend the tease. It isn't fatal but it is nobbling, enough to mark this as a solid but not top-drawer U2 album.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/CD-revie...b/2004/11/19/1100838208347.html?oneclick=true
