Songs of Innocence
(Interscope)
So Bono has now apologized for foisting the new U2 album upon everyone via its automatic appearance in iTunes collections worldwide. It was one of those non-apology apologies. The ever-earnest singer seemed on the level, even mentioning megalomania, then pushed it into untenable territory, saying yes, they got carried away, but it was in part because of “deep fear that these songs that we poured our life into over the last few years mightn’t be heard.” This from one of the biggest rock bands in the world, whose last album sold several million copies and whose last tour filled massive stadia worldwide.
That said, I’m nowhere near an objective reviewer—I’ve revered the work of the Irish quartet since, under the spell of the then-new War, I cut the sleeves off my best flannel shirt in imitation of the Edge. I joined Amnesty International thanks to Bono’s oft-maligned political preaching. Still, even I find his apology disingenuous. It won’t keep me away from Songs of Innocence, though. Its appearance for free hardly troubled me, and the music stands on its own merits.
In the band’s three decades-plus, U2 has gone from sublime and transcendent originality to, at times, uninspired flatness (the worst of it in the electronica-flavored doldrums of Pop). Since that nadir, the band has defied the irrelevance and repetitiveness that plagues most aging rock stars, bobbing and weaving through a set of albums extraordinary for their vitality and re-invention. But then, re-invention has always been one of U2’s most captivating qualities. Even as the bandmembers hit their 50s, they’ve still got a musical restlessness that serves them well. Sure, the Edge will probably always chime triumphantly and Bono always soar his way through majestic, emotion-fueled anthems. But every album embraces a new revision of U2 rock, and even if every tune isn’t successful, it’s ongoing proof of the band’s remarkable inventiveness.
Get past the folderol surrounding Songs of Innocence (a William Blake-inspired title) and actually listen to the thing, and you’re greeted with a set of songs that takes a few listens to reveal its complexity. With most U2 albums, there’s a break-in period for even the most rabid fans, a time of getting comfortable with the new parameters of the band’s sound. That’s particularly true here. There are some very un-U2 tropes; many songs employ multi-part vocal harmonies that, oddly, bring to mind the Beach Boys. At a few points, electronic sounds take over, and occasional reverb-drenched sparseness seems to hail from studio productions of the ’70s. Bono has never shied from falsetto, but on “Sleep Like A Baby Tonight,” his falsetto gets such a raw, unadorned treatment it’s almost uncomfortable to listen to.
That’s par for the course in a metaphorical sense on the album—the lyrics feel like the product of introspection and forays into sometimes difficult emotional territory, often via stories from Bono’s youth, including the loss of his mother. Nonetheless, U2’s trademark triumphalism breaks through in strong melodies that stick with you, and uplifting vocals that emerge from moody soundscapes and rock borrowing the feel of its stout, pounding passages from the guitar-centric likes of Zeppelin and Jack White. The album took an unusually long time, and it’s the product of several producers. At the end of the day, though, U2 has delivered the goods. There are tunes here whose sophistication and emotional wallop place them among the best of the band’s anthemic catalogue. And for that, Bono shouldn’t feign contrition.