Michael Griffiths
Rock n' Roll Doggie
The best modern interview I've ever read with Bono came out in Hotpress just before the release of HTDAAB. Surprising how fitting it still is. A great read, very thought provoking, and touches on just about every subject you might want to know about the current U2 mindset... Should answer a few questions for anyone who hasn't read it before...
U2 are about to unleash their new album How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb. The world’s media are descending on Dublin. And Bono is back at the punch-bag, getting into fighting shape before the shit storm really explodes. The gloves are off. He’s got work to do. And he’s going to do it.
Paul McGuinness’ house, just outside Annamoe in the Wicklow mountains, on a gorgeous autumnal afternoon in November. Sunday lunch is over and some of the guests have begun to head back to the city. The rest are repairing to the sitting room for a preview of the new album from the biggest rock band in the world.
Dave Fanning is here, as well as Gerry Ryan, from 2FM. Edna Gunderson is in town to do a story for USA Today, accompanied by Lori Earl from Interscope Records. Susan Hunter from Principle Management, Ali Hewson, Moira Ryan, Dave Fanning’s partner Ursula Courtney, Mairin Sheehy from hotpress and McGuinness himself make up the rest of the party.
Oh, and there’s your man. He’s been entertaining the guests before and during dinner, trying – where possible – to throw his arms around the world. Looking at the photo of himself in the Sunday Times with a white as well as a black iPOD over his eyes and wondering where that came from. (“Why would they do that? I didn’t have a picture taken holding a white iPOD,” he says. “We’ll have to find out what that’s all about!”). Sitting the lovely Mariella Frostrup of The Observer, in Dublin to promote her new book, on his knee. Regaling the even lovelier Robert O’Byrne with anecdotes. It’s what comes naturally. But when all of that preamble is done, and the record is pressed into the CD player, well, the singer in the wraparound shades really comes into his own.
It is one of Bono’s most endearing qualities. When a new U2 record is ready to roll, he is more than ready to roll with it. He exudes a level of passion and enthusiasm for what has just been created – with his name prominently attached – that’s utterly and uniquely him.
“Already, ‘Vertigo’ is U2’s biggest ever record on US radio,” he shouts over the huge opening riffs of the first single from the album. Even if you hadn’t predicted it, there’s no mistaking why. The chord changes, in what is also the opening track on How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, are gloriously, triumphantly, gorgeously right. “Here’s the bit from ‘Out Of Control’,” he signals.The noise needs no further elucidation. It’s a monster of Zeppelin-esque proportions, shot through with U2 magic.
As the playback progresses, Bono is like a man possessed. He takes you through the songs like an especially expressive conductor, in charge of a wild and wonderful orchestra.
“Now listen to this,” he says. “Every album has to have an outlandish couplet and this is it…”
We push on to ‘A Man And A Woman’ and he makes like a magician about to pull off his ultimate party piece, a conjuring trick to end all conjuring tricks.
“Wait till you hear this,” he yells again. “No one would know it, but I’m about to show you where this song came from – where it was stolen from. I’m going to sing it in a Phil Lynott voice and you’ll get it. This is Thin Lizzy. Listen.”
The languorous guitar strum and Latinised feel of ‘A Man And A Woman’ pour from the speakers. Bono starts singing. Through his nose, just a little bit, and in a Dublin accent. It’s fucking Philo. And you recognise the antecedents of the song, you see them perfectly. Caramba!
“People won’t see where it comes from. They won’t get it. But that’s it. It’s Thin Lizzy.” And he goes back into character, in a way that is both funny and lovely and moving. The original Dublin rocker’s presence fills the room. And a wonderfully beautiful song about “the mysterious distance between a man and a woman” – how come no one ever expressed that idea so perfectly before? – becomes even more mysterious and beautiful in the re-telling.
“It’s a song for adults, for people who have been together for a long time and who are still together,” he reflects.
There is an extent to which, as he conducts those privileged enough to be within listening distance through How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, he is like a barker from a carnival, drumming up business. Or a song and dance man, who knows that his livelihood depends on how people respond to his – or rather to U2’s – latest creation.
(continued...)
U2 are about to unleash their new album How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb. The world’s media are descending on Dublin. And Bono is back at the punch-bag, getting into fighting shape before the shit storm really explodes. The gloves are off. He’s got work to do. And he’s going to do it.
Paul McGuinness’ house, just outside Annamoe in the Wicklow mountains, on a gorgeous autumnal afternoon in November. Sunday lunch is over and some of the guests have begun to head back to the city. The rest are repairing to the sitting room for a preview of the new album from the biggest rock band in the world.
Dave Fanning is here, as well as Gerry Ryan, from 2FM. Edna Gunderson is in town to do a story for USA Today, accompanied by Lori Earl from Interscope Records. Susan Hunter from Principle Management, Ali Hewson, Moira Ryan, Dave Fanning’s partner Ursula Courtney, Mairin Sheehy from hotpress and McGuinness himself make up the rest of the party.
Oh, and there’s your man. He’s been entertaining the guests before and during dinner, trying – where possible – to throw his arms around the world. Looking at the photo of himself in the Sunday Times with a white as well as a black iPOD over his eyes and wondering where that came from. (“Why would they do that? I didn’t have a picture taken holding a white iPOD,” he says. “We’ll have to find out what that’s all about!”). Sitting the lovely Mariella Frostrup of The Observer, in Dublin to promote her new book, on his knee. Regaling the even lovelier Robert O’Byrne with anecdotes. It’s what comes naturally. But when all of that preamble is done, and the record is pressed into the CD player, well, the singer in the wraparound shades really comes into his own.
It is one of Bono’s most endearing qualities. When a new U2 record is ready to roll, he is more than ready to roll with it. He exudes a level of passion and enthusiasm for what has just been created – with his name prominently attached – that’s utterly and uniquely him.
“Already, ‘Vertigo’ is U2’s biggest ever record on US radio,” he shouts over the huge opening riffs of the first single from the album. Even if you hadn’t predicted it, there’s no mistaking why. The chord changes, in what is also the opening track on How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, are gloriously, triumphantly, gorgeously right. “Here’s the bit from ‘Out Of Control’,” he signals.The noise needs no further elucidation. It’s a monster of Zeppelin-esque proportions, shot through with U2 magic.
As the playback progresses, Bono is like a man possessed. He takes you through the songs like an especially expressive conductor, in charge of a wild and wonderful orchestra.
“Now listen to this,” he says. “Every album has to have an outlandish couplet and this is it…”
We push on to ‘A Man And A Woman’ and he makes like a magician about to pull off his ultimate party piece, a conjuring trick to end all conjuring tricks.
“Wait till you hear this,” he yells again. “No one would know it, but I’m about to show you where this song came from – where it was stolen from. I’m going to sing it in a Phil Lynott voice and you’ll get it. This is Thin Lizzy. Listen.”
The languorous guitar strum and Latinised feel of ‘A Man And A Woman’ pour from the speakers. Bono starts singing. Through his nose, just a little bit, and in a Dublin accent. It’s fucking Philo. And you recognise the antecedents of the song, you see them perfectly. Caramba!
“People won’t see where it comes from. They won’t get it. But that’s it. It’s Thin Lizzy.” And he goes back into character, in a way that is both funny and lovely and moving. The original Dublin rocker’s presence fills the room. And a wonderfully beautiful song about “the mysterious distance between a man and a woman” – how come no one ever expressed that idea so perfectly before? – becomes even more mysterious and beautiful in the re-telling.
“It’s a song for adults, for people who have been together for a long time and who are still together,” he reflects.
There is an extent to which, as he conducts those privileged enough to be within listening distance through How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, he is like a barker from a carnival, drumming up business. Or a song and dance man, who knows that his livelihood depends on how people respond to his – or rather to U2’s – latest creation.
(continued...)