(for the bazillionth and very last time ever in this forum: i love u2. i love achtung baby the best. i love "ultraviolet" the most. so the equation of givens from here on out is U2+AB+UV=oline.)
chicago is loveliest in november. i don't know why. it just seems to have its fancies on. but late september and october aren't too shabby either. there are these beautiful, chill days- where the breezes blow through the leaves and people are still sitting outside at the cafes and the flower shops keep their doors open so the petals go skipping down the street. there's an electricity before the winter hits and the winds come and the snows fall. it feels like october 23, 1929.
it's an electricity that requires the perfect soundtrack played at appropriately deafening levels. for some reason my u2 love has very much been an indoor affair in the last few months. a whole slew of others have been taken out on the town while the lads were left at home. today, because my city was looking mighty fine, i took them out and was duly rewarded with a breakthrough.
achtung baby has always been my favorite album and i didn't ever really understand why. it's not an unconditional affection. i would argue it hasn't held up quite as well as the much-maligned pop, which- though it's a far less solid album- has such an avant garde sound that it could be released tomorrow and floor everyone. am also not a fan of the album version of "who's gonna ride your wild horses." the temple bar remix was better. but narratively speaking, achtung baby is without flaw. and we know how i love to speak narratively.
as a writer, i have to "read" everything- music, novels, poems, etc. and i know we're not supposed to read anything but biography as biography, but- and this could be why i'm a biographer- i think it all is. (a maddening conundrum since while i emphatically believe that, i also emphatically hate to think anyone reads what i write and takes it all as utmost truth. it is but it really isn't but it mostly is, y'know?) so while i can think of achtung baby as not necessarily being bono's journey, i can't see it as just a random collection of kick ass songs. as with a book, there's a cohesive plot. however unintentional or haphazard, there is a story.
as though it were sweet valley high, i can no longer read u2's oeuvre as anything but a continual narrative. because it so obviously is a continual narrative. the continental american tour of the joshua tree and rattle & hum leaves the protagonist dazed and exhillarated, stumbling about the berlin subway system in the opener of achtung baby. he's done with the past and he's frantic for something new. he fucks it up and it takes him thirty-four songs to recover. you could love "mysterious ways" without ever having that context. but, to me, u2 is an important band because of that context.
reading the complete u2- ie. playing their albums in a chronological cycle- my favorite chapter comes between pop and all that you can't leave behind. when the page is turned from the defeated, exhausted plea of "wake up dead man," where the protagonist is literally on his knees begging for the second coming, to the total euphoria of "beautiful day." obviously to get to the beautiful day, you have to plod through a whole hell of crap. lyrically, u2 spent all of the 90s doing this and i'd never before realized how that pulled together to make a central point.
in the grim little trip of achtung baby, there's infatuation, adultery, manipulation, desperation, treachery, forgiveness, euphoria, resignation, love, hope, a phone call from hell and a whole lot of sex. it's about taking a risk and getting burned and wounding everyone around you. it's no accident that the protagonist continues reassuring himself with the line "it's alright." the ticking bomb in "love is blindness" leaves him paralyzed, numbed- by images, the past, the future- in the hypnotic zooropa. for nine tracks, he is "faraway, so close!" yet he cannot let go. he wanders away and doesn't even have the heart to sing the last song himself. instead he hands it over to johnny cash and winds up in the discotheque of pop, the glitzy tangle of conversational tidbits born from a month-long bender in the south of france.
the narrative cohesiveness between these albums has fascinated me ever since all that you can't leave behind was released. all the critics said u2 were "getting back to their sound." what resonated with me was that their protagonist, after falling and crawling and pleading and running and wandering, had finally dragged himself to the ledge and made the jump. the jump that is laid out in "zoo station" when he says he's ready for what's next. when he repeats that he's ready for the push.
and we believe him and we think achtung baby is that jump but it isn't. listen to "mysterious ways" and you hear the line while you can stand there, you could move on this moment, follow this feeling. he wasn't ready for the push in track 1 and he stayed put through track 9. achtung baby and the two albums after are all the scary shit that happens when you don't jump, when you hold back, when you run away, when you try to throw your arms around the world. it's only with the final plea of "wake up dead man" that he at long last takes the leap (i swear he's gliding through the air in the last 40 seconds). and it's only in "beautiful day" that he realizes the leap wasn't so scary after all. that after the flood, all the colors came out.