Earn This

Rating: 5 stars (out of 5)

With War, U2 build skyscrapers upon the foundation of their debut album Boy.  If the startling cover art—the same young boy staring at the viewer, only with a face of righteous anger replacing innocence—wasn’t enough of an indication, these men, just 23 at the time of release, expand upon the sound they had already established while incorporating new, striking elements.  The first of a holy trilogy of U2 albums, War begat the vastly different Unforgettable Fire, and it would be the last time U2 would reside in the realm of such crunching hard rock.

War, in standard U2 fashion, opens with a heavyweight, “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” which has only improved with time.  Larry Mullen Jr.’s propulsive drum beat is the best thing he’s ever done, and Bono’s anti-war lyrics (“And the battle’s just begun / There’s many lost, but tell me, Who has won?”) have never before or since sounded so revelatory.  The band shrewdly places the calmer “Seconds” afterwards, but don’t let the acoustic guitar and groovy bass line fool you, for Bono is still fiery as ever—“London, New York, Peking / Yes, the puppets pull the strings.”  But it’s the next two tracks that announce War as an album to withstand the test of time, not because either is better than “Sunday,” but because they reassure the cautious listener expecting a one-song album, worried that nothing else would resonate in a similar way.

“New Year’s Day” was the band’s first U.S. hit, and it remains a concert favorite to this day.  Adam Clayton’s instantly recognizable bass line, mixing well with the piano, underscore the Edge’s penetrating guitar, which seems to fill up vacuums of space, be they in an arena or in your head.  Then, on “Like a Song…” the band revives the punkish energy of Boy while cranking up the volume, resulting in a delightful mash-up that’s a more political and slightly smoother version of The Unforgettable Fire’s “Wire.”  Bono never forgets his purpose, but his voice is so beautiful that one would be forgiven for allowing it to take him away.  When he cries, “Angry words won’t stop my fight / Two wrongs won’t make it right / A new heart is what I need / Oh, God, make it bleed,” it’s pretty damn impossible to deny his sentiments.

If the latter six songs of War were as good as the first four, we’d be talking about one of the eight or ten best albums ever made, but they’re nevertheless able to change the tone while still maintaining the feel of the entire album.  The lovely “The Drowning Man” and quirky “The Refugee” are U2 originals that feel at home here.  Every song is worthy in its own right, from the dance-rock of “Two Hearts Beat as One” to the glorious breathy vocals on “Surrender.”  It all rocks, and it all works.

What helps make the album so successful is the way Bono delivers his messages passionately, but not in a way that overwhelms the listener.  I have gotten just as much pleasure out of quietly listening to the album at night, paying more attention to softer songs like “The Drowning Man,” “Red Light,” and “40,” than in those times when I want to revel in the music’s rage and unbridled power.   Of course, the band behind the frontman makes it easy to take him seriously, as every member contributes and no song is underdeveloped.

Rolling Stone avowed that the songs on War match up, pound for pound, with those on London Calling (an obvious influence), at least in terms of sheer impact.  That may have sounded like hyperbole in 1983, but time has proven RS right—and then some.  Though U2 were still getting better, War, with its coherent theme, consistency, and commitment to excellence, defines them as much as anything else.  Even at their young age, U2 had long since proved that they wanted to be in the big leagues.

Placebo (1996) – 3 stars

Without You I’m Nothing (1998) – 4.5 stars

Black Market Music (2000) – 4 stars

Sleeping With Ghosts (2003) – 3.5 stars

Meds (2006) – 5 stars

Battle for the Sun (2009) – 3.5 stars

Placebo, I suppose you could say, is a cult band, one of those prototypical you-get-them-or-you-don’t bands.   At least, that’s what most of the U.S. music critics, who consistently endow polite but somewhat tepid reviews on them, would have you believe.  A band that has achieved far more recognition in Britain than America, they turn some people off with Brian Molko’s unique voice and the hints of androgyny dropped everywhere in their songs.  

Yet even if you don’t buy all that Molko is selling, you should still be able to enjoy their dark and ominous yet melodic and fiercely stylish tunes.   Then again, if you do take to his nasal voice and his laments about the corrosive influence of temptations like drugs and sex, then you’re in for a whole different ballgame. 

The debut album is their least distinctive and most straightforward, but it does a decent job of introducing their brand of rock, indebted to 90s alternative but darker, sonically and lyrically.  The heavy crunch of the drums on “Come Home” provides an apt backdrop for Molko’s cries that he’s throwing himself “from skin to skin, and still it doesn’t dull the pain.”  Later, on “36 Degrees,” the album’s best track, he proclaims “I’ve always been an introvert, happily bleeding.” 

Hit single “Nancy Boy” was perhaps the first indication that these boys had more than girls on their mind (Molko is a bisexual and bassist Stefan Olsdal gay, I suppose validating Molko’s claim that the three-person band is half-straight, half-gay), but the album’s second half is considerably weaker than the taut first four songs.
 
Without You I’m Nothing  continues the trend of having a popular song that’s actually relatively underwhelming (“Pure Morning”), but that’s no matter, because it’s a great leap forward, the album that put Placebo into the big leagues.  The band sounds invigorated and lively, and the diversity of sounds and ideal track ordering makes the album feel much greater than the sum of its parts. 

Lyrically, Molko mostly discusses flawed relationships, and like the band, he has improved.  “Ask for Answers” mentions relationship bonds “wrapped in lust and lunacy,” and on “Every You Every Me” (which opened the film Cruel Intentions) he cries, “Carve your name into my arm / Instead of stressed I lie here charmed”—all in all, his metaphors indicate that need to have something that hurts him.  The depressiveness of his lyrics might surprise you on such exhilarating tracks as “Brick Shithouse” and “Every You,” but he also imparts a sense of urgency, a burning need for love that always feels out of reach, that’s appropriate for the music, especially on the stunning title track.

Black Market Music continues in a similar vein, albeit with a few new sounds, which produce intermittent success.  “Spite & Malice” dabbles in hip-hop but otherwise goes nowhere, and the album doesn’t flow nearly as well as its predecessor, but their dark sound hasn’t stopped being compelling, from the techno-sampling “Taste in Men” to “Haemoglobin,” where Molko’s voice sounds as processed as Bono’s on “The Fly.” 

The paean to drugs this time is “Special K,” which is heavy enough to be a killer live, yet backed with an undercurrent of melancholy, all put forward with a heavy dose of melody and feeling.   Molko’s lyrics aren’t as sharp overall as before, but he scores with closer “Peeping Tom,” writing as someone who’s relegated to only being able to peer into his former love’s life from a distance.

Sleeping With Ghosts is the least Placebo-ish effort in their catalogue in many ways.  Here, they slow things down considerably, beginning their two-album foray into electronic sounds.  Molko also tones himself down, conveying less interest in indulging all his fantasies and acquiescing to all his temptations.   Instead, he criticizes intolerance (title track) and plastic surgery (“Plasticine”), and who could have previously foreseen Placebo writing a song called “Protect Me From What I Want”? 

The increased lyrical breadth at least tells us that Molko doesn’t have a one-track mind, but a Placebo fan might have a hard time soaking up this album like others.  Yet, all told, it flows very well, alternating frequently between “Every You Every Me”-style spikes and atmospheric laments with those studio sounds.  Dazzling rockers “This Picture” and “The Bitter End” explode out of the gate, the instrumental “Bulletproof Cupid” ratchets up the heaviness factor, and “Second Sight” abounds with color. 

Melding their perfectly-incorporated electronic sounds to their richest and densest songs yet, Meds represents the group’s career apex.  “Meds” and “Infra-Red” seethe with dark intensity, and the latter and “Pierrot the Crown” indicate that Molko still has a morbid fascination with the menacing.  

But other tracks find them using new angles and approaches: “Space Monkey” and “Follow the Cops Back Home” amplify the atmosphere to the point where you feel like you’re floating in the middle of the ocean.  And then there’s a segment in the midsection (the four songs from “Post-Blue” to “Lazarus”) where Molko is yearning rather than tragic.  Indeed, “Lazarus” criticizes someone who doesn’t believe that “all is not lost.”  Though Molko cries “You don’t believe me / But you do this every time” on the stellar “Blind,” he’s not accusatory, as one might expect, but rather desperate for the connection that’s out of reach.   

That newfound hopefulness continues on 2009 release Battle for the Sun, where the groovy title track announces that the tentative denial of temptation first seen on Sleeping With Ghosts has now become a full-fledged turn away from the destructive. (“You are a black and heavy weight / And I will not participate”) On “Bright Lights” and “Kings of Medicine,” Molko also seems to be renouncing the use of drugs to palliate one’s emotions.  Is this still Placebo? 

Yes, never fear, it is, as the snazzy “For What It’s Worth” or the epic “Happy You’re Gone” demonstrate.  Battle, though, is one of their more calculated works, and the songs are too self-consciously constructed as perfect pop tunes, with melodramatic bursts and an occasional sense of the band trying too hard.  The strings, keyboards, and horns help flesh out the sound (used best on the title track and “Kings”), but they also exacerbate the radio-accessible feel.

Thus, in the end, Battle sounds better in small doses, when you’re not hearing slightly overwrought sentiments 13 times over.  Nevertheless, the band continues to impress with their ability to construct adrenaline-pumping, vibrant, and, still, sexy tunes.  There’s no doubt that they haven’t lost that burning desire—just maybe that desire for what you shouldn’t have.    

http://www.myspace.com/placebo

Rating: 4 and a half stars (out of 5)

During the course of their career, U2 has proven the ability to counter their underwhelming albums with beauties.  The passionate but occasionally monotonous, and critically yawned-upon, October was followed by 1983′s War, which elevated them into the big leagues.  The underrated though rambling Rattle and Hum, the culmination of their 80s journey into American sounds, led them to go “dream it all up again,” and the result was nothing less than Achtung Baby.  I have absolutely no problem with Pop, but a lot of people did, and they responded with the less adventurous but strong All That You Can’t Leave Behind.

Consequently, my utter disappointment with 2004’s How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, the band’s last effort, was tempered by my hope for the future.  Though spare songs released in the interim (read: “Window in the Skies,” “Mercy”) didn’t assuage my concerns, I noticed tiny but promising details trickling in as this album’s arrival drew closer—that they were willing to delay the release date to miss the Christmas surge in order to finish working on it; the infinitely better title than the last; even the infinitely better cover art, much less mainstream and much more artistic.  And, while No Line on the Horizon, the band’s 12th studio album, is not War or Achtung, I have to say it has exceeded my expectations and restored my faith.  In comparison to Bomb, it’s much more subtle, much more sonically creative, and much less strained and awkward.  It truly is the kind of music a band of their age should be writing.

At their worst (i.e., on Bomb), U2 sounds too superficial, and the avoidance of that trait is perhaps my favorite aspect of No Line.  Upon my first listen, I was thrilled to discover that the songs could not be fit into little squares so easily.  “Magnificent” contains an old-school U2 feel, but also an unusual synth-guitar opening.  “Moment of Surrender” sounds nothing like a typical U2 song, nor does “Unknown Caller,” with its sing-chant choruses and extended intro and guitar solo outtro.  And that’s without getting to “FEZ—Being Born,” the sheer originality and prettiness of which makes me giddy. 

Songs such as “FEZ” suggest a new direction for the band, one not geared with the radio audience in mind, not geared with live shows in mind.  They’re back to being unafraid to write six minute songs that you’d rather listen to before going to sleep than while driving with the windows down, refusing to end each song precisely where it began, back to writing some compelling lyrics that make you stop and think.  Credit them too with the decision to scrap sessions with producer Rick Rubin and closely involve old friends Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois, who get songwriting credit on seven tracks.  It’s no coincidence that Eno and Lanois were behind the boards for The Unforgettable Fire, The Joshua Tree, Achtung Baby, and All That You Can’t Leave Behind.  In their atmospheric touches and willingness to push them, they take the band’s strengths into another realm.

Indeed, if you pay close attention, you’ll notice subtle breaks from convention on No Line—the way the riff in the title track (reminiscent of “The Fly,” though simultaneously cleaner—not married to that song’s ominous production—and dirtier, being choppier and less defined) doesn’t come in until the second verse, the way “FEZ” has not one but two distinct introductions, the way Bono starts “Breathe” with a what-the-hell free-form melody and winds his way into a gorgeous ending.  There are extended instrumental introductions on four of the songs and a surprising change-of-pace ending to “Unknown Caller,” helping to make this the longest U2 album yet recorded—and one of the most mellow.

You could say that the band hasn’t entirely gotten over the weak and unfair response to Pop, that they still play it safer than they did in the 90s…and you’d be right.  Gone, seemingly for good, are the thick dance beats, heavy distortion, whispered vocals, and hypnotic songs.  Sonically, the album contains pieces of mid-80s Unforgettable Fire and Joshua Tree as well as 2000’s Leave Behind.  It’s not fantastically innovative, but it doesn’t need to be, not when there’s the depth and heart in evidence here.  It takes about twenty seconds after the album’s start for bassist Adam Clayton and drummer Larry Mullen to show more power than they did anywhere on Bomb on the title track, which is the best rocker they’ve written since Achtung Baby.  “Moment of Surrender” is the second straight track-three ballad greeted with breathless hype—and the first to succeed.  With the exception of “One” and “The Unforgettable Fire,” this may be their best song ever to go to sleep on; the assured rhythms, Adam Clayton’s most soothing bass line yet, the Pink Floyd-esque interlude, and some of Bono’s best lyrics will transport you to another world.

Indeed, throughout No Line are peaks that the band has not hit in a considerable time.  The bridge on the title track, expansive and cathartic, is one of the best they’ve ever written, eclipsed only by “Ultraviolet” and “Stuck in a Moment.”  Likewise, the ending of “Breathe” gets everything right all at once, with Bono and the Edge seeming to wink at each other as the words and licks intertwine perfectly.

That’s not to say they get everything right, which is why No Line still ranks just eighth among their albums in my view.  “Stand Up Comedy” is “Bullet the Blue Sky”-clunky, the kind of insipid song they could write in their sleep, and “Cedars of Lebanon” is yet another dreaded slow album closer. (They’re all or nothing on those songs—for every gorgeous “Mothers of the Disappeared” or “40,” there’s a dreadful “The Wanderer” and “Yahweh” and now this one.) Some of the decent songs have untapped potential—“Unknown Caller” probably sounds more profound than it is, and with the way you can hear all the effort being exerted to make lead single  “Get On Your Boots” fly, one wonders how they darn near succeed. 

Yet what’s especially interesting is how the band alternates in picking each other up, encouraging you to listen closely to see who delivers on which songs.  Bono could have written a better chorus for “Unknown Caller,” but everyone else sounds compelling.  Conversely, the Edge only wrote about a half a riff for “Magnificent,” but Bono carries the day.  For reasons I can’t really put my finger on, his singing, his melodies, his desires sound much more pure and much more natural than they have in a while, as exemplified perfectly by that song.  That’s how he manages to make “Magnificent” not sound like a caricature of a U2 song.  When he sings “I was born to sing for you,” it could have come across as pretentious or presumptuous, but in the hushed, almost resigned way he delivers it, he sounds refreshingly timid, as though afraid to intrude.

Similarly, note the way that “I’ll Go Crazy If I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight” does not sound as raucous as the lyrics would portend.  Lazy music reviewers, choosing to focus on only about a third of U2’s canon, love to call their music “big,” which is why I love Crazy Tonight’s restraint.  This is not “big,” but rather possesses an appropriate world-weary-but-still-eager amount of bubbliness.  And it doesn’t hurt that Bono writes a slick melody, and Edge (another one of his repetitive bridge solos notwithstanding) remembers what his strength is.

With a few exceptions, he’s at his best when adding texture to songs rather than dominating them.  He’s asked to carry too much of the load on “Magnificent” and “Stand Up Comedy,” where he misfires in trying to write a Led-Zeppelin-meets-Red-Hot-Chili-Peppers riff, but he’s merely providing shimmering texture on “Crazy.”  Or take the exhilarating title track; because Eno and Lanois make the song such a whoosh of oceanic haze, the main riff is simply another piece in the dense puzzle, another element that you might not even hear the first time through.

Many people say the Edge is the driving force behind the band, but that sentiment is misleading.  Even his best work needs to be enhanced by other elements—a powerful bassline, skilled production, interesting effects, Bono’s voice and lyrics, etc.  He’s the master of adding just the right amount of texture to songs like “With or Without You” and “Stay,” but he generally can’t carry a song by himself.  Because of that, U2 songs and albums need more to avoid sounding commonplace.

One such strength here is the exceptional track ordering, which makes the album flow magnificently and covers up most possible flaws.  Even the weaker songs, because they’re in their proper place, sound better in the context of the entire album.  “Boots” delivers on the ‘going crazy’ premise of its predecessor, and “Comedy” wouldn’t fit anywhere except after that song.  Likewise, the delayed introduction of “Unknown Caller” allows you to come down after the breathtaking “Moment of Surrender,” and “White as Snow” succeeds “FEZ” better than any other song would have.

These are the kind of small details—like the cover image, like the way the verses of “No Line” are raucous and the chorus quiet—that evince the amount of care put into special albums.  But, as is almost always the case with U2, the album rests largely on the shoulders of Bono.  The first thing you notice is that his voice sounds much better than it did on Bomb.  On the title track he sounds free and loose, young and vibrant on “Crazy Tonight,” and there’s nothing nearly as horrid as those strainings on Bomb’s “All Because of You.”  Upon closer inspection, one discovers that his instincts have also not dissipated—for example, invasive lyrics and/or singing would have doomed “FEZ.”  But, above all, it’s his lyrics that are most satisfying.

OK, yes, you don’t need to pay attention what he’s saying on “Boots” or “Comedy.”  But I can totally go along with “Infinity is a great place to start” (especially in its context) or “The sweetest melody is the one we haven’t heard,” and “Moment of Surrender” is the best thing he’s written since the first half of All That You Can’t Leave Behind.  No longer bound by a need to blandly mourn his dead father or wax polemical, here he crafts a theme of a desire to get lost in music.  On “Magnificent, “Boots,” and “Breathe,” among others, he tells us that he wants to forget about every other problem in the world if he can just have a tune, for that will be enough.  “I found grace inside a sound…it’s all I found” he says on “Breathe”—and isn’t that what it’s all about?

Rating: 2 1/2 stars (out of five)

Having successfully entered their third decade together with 2000’s acclaimed All That You Can’t Leave Behind, U2 may have been forgiven for thinking they didn’t have any challenges left.  Having already changed up their sound enough times to stay relevant and popular for over 20 years, they’d silenced the Pop naysayers and once more inserted themselves into the national consciousness.

Such contentment, indeed, may be responsible for the limpness of How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb.  Despite arriving after what was to date the longest layoff of the band’s career, Bomb represents the most uninspired, superficial, and, quite frankly, boring record they’ve ever made.  They’ve lost both the interesting sound of their past and the songs themselves (ATYCLB at least had the latter).  The unfair reaction to Pop has apparently compelled U2 to distance themselves from their experimental 90s as much as possible, but in the process they’ve forgotten what made them great.  AllMusic Guide hit the nail on the head in saying, “They’ve overcorrected for their perceived sins, scaling back their sound so far that they have shed the murky sense of mystery that gave The Unforgettable Fire and The Joshua Tree an otherworldly allure.”   

The sound on Bomb, thus, invokes generic, meat-and-potatoes rock that has never, ever been U2’s specialty.  Producer Steve Lillywhite was behind the boards for the taut and fierce War, but now that they don’t write songs with the passion of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” or “Like a Song…” the straight-ahead production doesn’t serve them well.  The songs need the post-punk influences evident on Boy, the wintry atmospherics of The Unforgettable Fire, the wide-open desert feel of The Joshua Tree, or the danceable but dark stylings of Achtung Baby, Zooropa, and Pop.  They don’t do meat-and-potatoes well, at least not anymore.  The Edge isn’t captivating enough, nor is Bono, who’s voice has never sounded worse and yet is placed too far forward in the mix.

Meanwhile, the rhythm section is relegated to the distant back, as Lillywhite and the band have apparently forgotten that most of U2’s best songs feature memorable contributions from bassist Adam Clayton and/or drummer Larry Mullen Jr.  At the end of the first verse of “Miracle Drug,” you can feel the rhythm section trying to kick in, but they’re buried too deeply in the mix that you can hardly hear them over Bono’s cries.

Yet, as ATYCLB proved, sonic innovation is not a pre-requisite for a successful album, but this collection of tracks is without question the weakest U2 has ever put forth.  The songs lack heart and energy, relying on recycled sounds and those repetitive bridge solos.  “A Man and a Woman” informs us—in case anyone was still straddling that fence—that U2 should never attempt an R&B crossover.  Everyone sloughs his way through the turgid “Love and Peace”; and “One Step Closer” and “Yahweh” have neither the lyrics nor the melody to justify their instrumental minimalism.  

Our esteemed frontman, for his part, does little to quell concern (at least in myself) that his ever-increasing amounts of public activism have degraded the band’s music.  The band has acknowledged that Bono’s studio time has decreased over the past few years; and although they claim that his absence isn’t a problem, he—not the Edge or anyone else—is the band’s heart and soul.  Without him in top form, little else matters.      

None of this is to say that Bomb is unlistenable.  Indeed, the feeling provoked by a casual listen easily supersedes the lingering, unpleasant aftertaste.  “City of Blinding Lights” is so far and away the standout that it feels as though it belongs on different album, a gorgeous, elegiac song the likes of which they’ve never written before.  “Miracle,” about a paraplegic former high school classmate of the band who was able to write poems with the help of drugs, features similarly pretty chiming guitars and an ecstatic-sounding bridge.  Yet, besides “City,” all the pleasures here are moderate—“Vertigo” may get your toe tapping, but its best environment remains that fantastic 30-second iPod commercial; “Crumbs From Your Table” pleasantly meanders; and “Original of the Species” has the album’s prettiest melody but suffers from its words. 

Indeed, though I would take stronger melodies for a start, Bono’s lyrics unquestionably dampen the album, as he spits out lines that make you want to tear your hair out.  The subtlety and genuine emotion from earlier in his career have been completely wiped away.  Nonsense lyrics are fine on “Vertigo,” but by the time you’ve heard “Freedom has a scent / Like the top of a newborn baby’s head,” or “Some things you shouldn’t get too good at / Like smiling, crying, or celebrity,” or found Bono trying to rhyme choice and tortoise, romance and distance, you’ll want out.  (What, exactly, would be wrong with being too good at smiling?)  13 years ago, he wrote on “So Cruel,” “I gave you everything you wanted / It wasn’t what you wanted.”  Now, he writes “I’ll give you everything you want / Except the thing that you want.”  The first is poignant; the second, faux profound and merely contradictory.
 
The most surprising misfire, however, is “Sometimes You Can’t Make it On Your Own,” the ballad written in memorial of Bono’s late father that took up the most studio time and garnered the most hype.  For Bono, and some fans, it was the heart of the album, but it’s remarkably uninviting.  Their love songs now all sound too calculated and safe, lacking the quality lyrics and/or musical elements necessary to ensnare the listener.  It’s hard to say whether U2 will ever find that part of themselves again.  One can only hope they haven’t completely lost the desire to be different—an ambition that took them to the top in the first place.