Paul Morley

"But can you trust it?!"

Bono, the insurgent, irrepressible singer for Dublin quartet U2, finishes making a hard point using a typically animated gesture. I let silence be my reply and wait for him to continue. He will.

We're sat either side of a small old table, just big enough to take a tray of tea, set simply alongside other tables and chairs in the cheaply luxurious lounge of the Country Club hotel in Cork, Ireland. We've just finished a breakfast that makes you realize Cleese must have really researched Fawlty Towers. And we're talking about music; passionately enough to be waving our arms about; for our voices to crack in both joy and despair; for a stranger to be bemused.

Bono is Irish. Real name Paul Houston. Bono is derived from some gang name he acquired during a recent delinquent youth. His voice has a racy fluency blended with the intuitive lilt of generations. It's a little like Ireland's current leading anti-hero Geldof, but not as panicky, not as pacey.

Now that The Boomtown Rats have disclaimed the tiny nation and been disclaimed, Bono's U2 are indisputably Ireland's finest; recent winners of a host of Hot Press awards; recent chart toppers with "Out of Control." They're at the rare-in-Eire-point where they're recognized in the streets, hounded for autographs at Gaelic football matches, and TV and radio regulars. Most pertinently they're at the point where the dubious advantages of being sucked into London systematically develop in front of their half-repulsed eyes.

That's what we're talking about, out voices raised, London's box of tricks. The value of its communicative procedures and potentiality; the resounding negativity of the expectations, prejudges, cynicism the comfort of those cuddled inside. The spoilt people.

Bono is deeply concerned about trust, deception, corruption, problems of honesty -- you know the values. He has the freshness of hope of someone who has yet to fully experience the closed shop of London's damagingly influential network, yet with the cynicism of one who is ready and waiting to be disillusioned, who knows that to make any impact isn't going to be easy.

Bono and the group are warily preparing to leap from Irish success -- a literally poor type of success; ales of 20,00 merits a gold disc in Ireland, and entertainers like The Pope win those -- into British obscurity, and wondering how to grab attention, scythe through the settling collection of old values, scatter the old tribal narrow mindedness...

"Even over here," tuts Bono, "we get people coming up to us and saying, 'Well, I like you...but I don't really like you because I'm a mod and you're not!'"

Even in Ireland.

U2, like many others, are uncertain just where and how their transcendentally eclectic, refreshing in realistic, naively passionate and elusive pop music is going to hit. Whether there's room, whether anyone's willing or allowed to be willing, to be receptive to a music that is not as seriously, purgatively "innovative" as the post-punk noise that veers towards the Rough Trade arena, not quite as vulnerable half-original as the music of this year's Gig of the Century bill (Ratio, Teardrop, Echo, M.Noise). Yet that's not as meticulously commercial as the Rats or Squeeze, that doesn't cut huge corners to seduce and entertain. That music doesn't "belong."

U2 are not a pop group like the Undertones, although their music is drive and energized by exactly the same instinctive romantic desire-wish fulfillment. U2 are not a politically and musically aggressive rock group, but they don't ignore morals or values. They are limitedly radical. They are not yet great; but they could be -- if they were allowed.

U2 don't want to be cultish. They don't want to be massive. This is the testing time. And Bono and myself are getting worked up talking about it.

"We're up in the air at the moment," Bono concludes a line of conversation where we're wondering about the direction and attitude of new music (But can you trust it?!) especially those current wagon hoppers such as Killing Joke (J'accuse!).

"We're still discovering, growing...One of the reasons we chose the name U2 was to have that ambiguity which I think I is necessary, so that it's not so easy for people to make premature assumption or wrong associations. But it's not a name that will directly confuse people. That name in a way is obvious; there's nothing to it really. It's not blasphemous; it's not going to upset people. It's just really simple and straightforward. BUT it's not like The U2 or The U2s, which is already happening and ruins it."

Bono understands and relishes the positive subversive possibilities of pop, and realises the piercing edge it should have over the advertising poster, the average sitcom. He wants to ride in on pop so we can't ignore him.

It's 11 o'clock in the morning, but we're still getting excited. I bet we're speaking too quickly.

"I respect the fact that the Jam can touch people and what they're doing is an attempt to be 'real' -- no myth or far-fetched fantasy -- and it's for real people, not people who follow trends. We play to lots of kids who like the Jam and I think that they hear something like 'English Rose' and I believe that they go in and look for something deeper. That's a position that I envy." The potential of pop is uncanny, and something not to be abused or underestimated.

"It's truly incredible. This is an incredible area to be getting involved in. Popular music. Phew!" Bono can hardly contain himself. Neither can I.

"It's brilliant! And we've got other cookies in the basket that we're not even aware of yet! The attitude is important. It's an honour to be involved in it...to beat it. And we have the drive involved to beat it at its own game. I think the danger of U2 is not just achieving, but holding back the achievement. Like the Jam have done that really well. And that's the main job. I sound optimistic."

Bono wakes up from sort of indulgent (but more realistic that you realize) reverie. "I don't always feel this way. The first task that we have is to present ourselves and that way we can get into papers and onto the TV and smash those trends that are destroying things, sucking up people's blood. Ska! R&B!"

I join in, of course. Rockabilly. HM! I nearly fall off my chair.

"It's very clear-cut. Very well defined." Bono stiffens in his chair and spits out the list. "Tie! Haircut! Smile! Beat! Enjoyment! Dance!

"I don't want to believe in masturbation. I don't want to be masturbated in that way. I don't just want people to get their rocks off. I don't mind that, but you can't just have that. That's like a function. It's like a machine. You press the buttons and it dries your hands. You're a rock group so people get their rocks off. I don't want to be just that little fulfillment.

"Like Ian Page will go on about being a mod is being an individual. Then I'm a mod! If punk means expressing yourself vehemently, strongly, pink hair, statement, then I'm a punk! If heavy metal means banging my head against the wall, then I'm that. I'm not being on of them at any given time, because that is so stupid. I can't handle that."

"All this happens in London mostly and spreads from there. London is supposed to be freedom! London is traps. London is boxes. London is chained in bondage, in fact. And if a band coming from thick paddy land -- and that is not true -- comes along and tells these people what's up they might not be awfully pleased."

A number of times during my weekend visit to Ireland, Bono hints that a move to London is all but inevitable. They hype of move they (reluctantly) want to make is somewhere between the decision of the Undertones to leave Derry to tour constantly but always return, and the Boomtown Rats who have disowned the fatherland.

"Everyone from the Rats has left the country really bitter," explains Bono. "I won't leave this country bitter at all. The plan is that if we have to leave, and we're still not sure, it will be only for a while. It's basically that we feel the group has to be thrown into different circumstances if it's going to be stimulated, if it's going to change. It would be very easy to stay here. But we'll go...and we have to come back."

A dry four-hour Sunday drive from Cork to Tullermeny, a small village 70 miles from Dublin, sees Bono apologizing for the lack of splendour in the unceasing and somehow dainty countryscape. This stretch apparently isn't a good example of Ireland's legendary finery; it's too yellow and normal.

On the car radio, U2's old single "Out of Control" appears, mixing uneasily with laminated noises of Britchart and Eurosong contest type jollity. Hearing U2 interrupt the relentless flow of smoothly shaped pop bullets and the marble-in-throat inanity of the big hearted DJ, the true extent of their indigenous task becomes clearer. Even if U2 shook the world, their own country and more especially the dismal youth outside of Cork or Dublin, would hardly be moved.

Trip backwards and sidewards through time, visit Ireland, the peculiar mix of quaint lost tradition, British influence, agricultural aggression and continental modernism, you can begin to understand how come Geldof is so paranoiac, persecuted, wretched. The country's musical artificiality and stagnant stupidity drably undermines the development of its youth.

U2 and close spirits are not simply fighting against lack of rock groups, or regressive traditional rock activity, but against the stiff tradition of Irish showbands, the giddy lack of pop choice or opportunity.

The Boomtown Rats have exploded out of the country, but there is little lingering after effect. New groups are continually emerging -- DC Nein, Atrix, Virgin Prunes, Berlin -- but the state of the rock fabric is depressing, the apathy pervasive, the submission unbearable.

"This country is blocked," says Bono. "These people are actually just waking up out of a sleep."

On the same day that the Boomtown Rats play Leixlip Castle in Dublin to 14,000 people, that Bob Geldof sweeps out on stage screaming "Who's won?" referring to the battle with Dublin eldermen for the right to play; the same day that 30 people are hurt and Geldof refers to Ireland as a "banana republic" and a "despicable nation," U2 appear at the Garden of Eden club in Tullermeny.

As an experiment U2 are to play the unfortunately titled but surprisingly attractive dance-club with (shudder) A Showband -- Tony Stevens and his awesomely wunnerful band.

Let me explain: showbands are slick, soulless, plastic. Showaddywaddy have based their whole art on them, but have more life. The showbands are failed rock musicians; their faces shine with aftershave, their hair is permanently immobile, their grins reveal too much teeth, their eyes are black holes. They're impossibly fit and tanned, their technique is improbably over-competent. Some of them play in their sleep when they're on stage. Stevens and his merry band are severely uniformed in white blazers, violently creased red flares and clean fingernails.

These bands are Ireland's heroes. Some have hits in Ireland. Mostly they cover U.K. chart hits. Bono tells me that before Ireland received TOTP, fans flocking to the dance halls thought that the showbands actually were Slade, Sweet, Mud

U2 are smashing up against this tradition as much as daft rock developments elsewhere, determined to introduce original music and manner to backward Irish youth. A sense of rebellion, a gesture towards this exit. How futile is it? Bono and U2 sometimes wonder, but don't give up the fight.

If with the people of Irish city centres there's an undercurrent feel of inferiority -- apparent and actual through outside enforcement -- the youth of Tullermeny aren't even aware that they're missing out on anything.

Before U2 appear the atmosphere is of a cold bald youth club. Sunday best pale and awkward teenagers, unsure and toughly giggly, sit around the central dance floor waiting for the first two or three to start dancing so that the rush can begin. Three bold, badly made-up and tartily dressed girls make a move to the dance floor, swing their knees gamely, swish their hair like Legs and Co. To a Lene Lovich tape -- but it could be anything. Within five minutes the dance floor is filled.

Once the kids and those slightly older have made it, they all do their best steps and twists, unselfconsciously, monotonously, strangely introverted. They rarely smile and there is a far away look in their eyes. Round the side on hard backed chairs the non-dancers sit and wait, probably just for the end of the evening. There is no bar, no alcohol; no obvious reason why they're here at all...

Except this is the week's big night out, the escape from one routine into another. It is more sad and dispiriting than I could ever being to explain and you would ever believe. "You cannot exaggerate that sight," Bono will later say.

U2 come on a carpeted, brightly-lit stage four minutes late, 11.04. Tony Stevens will follow. The U2 opening blast is exhilarating. There is minimal response from the audience. A few lost souls wander aimlessly down to the front and stare up at Bono's frantic, manic animation, briefly bemused. Some gently sway. Sat along the front of the stage bored looking girls can't even be bothered to turn around and see what all the commotion is about. The audience peers at U2 like they're looking at animals in the zoo. They're not used to this intimidating energy, the volume, Bono's mobile passion. Momentarily curious, some wander away. Those that do dance could be dancing to anything.

The stupid thing is that U2 are just not a good new rock-pop group, boy isn't it great that they can emerge out of the unhelpful Irish environment. They don't even play a blinding Boomtown blend of past happy pop styles, excusable because of its patchily irresistible presence and selfish impact.

U2 are a four-piece rock group stretching the possibilities of that line up to new accessible levels. It's not possible to say that U2 sound like blah, which is great. But let's toss a few images about to gauge the potential extent of U2's mesmerizing all round appeal.

Drummer Larry, bassman Adam and guitarist the Edge have been together with Bono since schooldays. Together, developing carefully but quickly, they've established their own language. The balance of their music is not as idiosyncratically staggering as Joy Division, but can be as refreshing. They can also manage the dense drive of the Jam, but are more flexible. The intricate but not alienating, chiming and charging of Penetration, a desperately underrated group Bono was very fond of.

U2 also come from all sides, appear louder and bigger than three musicians should be, as powerfully spread out as the Rats. Above all this they're fronted by a stocky, breathless, extrovert fully tuned-in to the possibilities of body language and eye contact. They're as unique as it is possible to be without splitting at the seams. And when their ideas are fully formed (and by the time I get Martin Zero to produce them) they will beunbeatable?

In Tullermeny it's a noise meaning little. It's hard to sway with. That lead singer can be quite funny, but mostly he's just like a maddie. Why is he staring at me, why is he shouting at me? Why is he so worked up? Why? The question flickering through eyes are rhetorical. They're not really bothered. They've disinterested, but surely they don't deserve to be?

The performance hardly captures the depth of U2, the potential massive yet subtle assault. Bono has nothing to bounce off, just a blandness; he gets frustrated, slows down, misses cues, annoys the group. Larry shouts at him later for his indulgence, and Bono admits he lacked the discipline to sell himself, the ability to attack positively the disinterested.

But then only Showaddywaddy or perhaps Blondie or especially Tony Stevens and his band with their crazy covers of recent chartbusters could convert this isolated Irish apathy into something slightly lively.

After the performance the Garden of Eden manager runs through the motions. "Very good, very good," he chimes. "Much different from Horslips." That's the only rock group to have previously played the place.

"I felt ashamed because we didn't work," Bono tells me later. "I actually saw it as a great challenge. I actually felt when we walked out on that stage that we might be able to meet that challenge. That's why I wasn't pissing about when I rushed on shouting GOOD EVENING EVERYONE! like exaggerated...I was trying to pretend that there were lots of people loving us there. For maybe 30, 35 minutes I tried that and then I just felt it slowing. It became like slow, motion. We blew the challenge, and that's bad."

"Tonight we could have shown what rock 'n' roll can do, but we failed."

But if you don't try no one else will.

"If we move to London, become bigger, when we come back we would want to play this place but there's the danger that the manager is not going to pay us more than a hundred quid because we only draw a certain crowd...So we can't get there because it becomes impractical and those people get lost. They're gone! They might never see another amplifier again. EVER! Wow!"

The sad thing is they'd never notice.

On the Saturday night U2 played in Cork, Ireland's second city and place naturally if in frequently served with mainland rock acts. Queues form early, the dance hall fills. Most of these people know an amp from a tea bag. And because they've been given a tantalizing series of glimpses of a fuller life, they're aware and starving.

Inside the hall I'm quickly surrounded by friendly eager lads in makeshift punk clothes covered in punky badges who hungrily batter me with curious searching questions. All these groups I keep writing about -- what are they really like onstage? What do you think of U2? Cockney Rejects? Throbbing Gristle? Certain Ratio? The Worst!!!?

Ah, rock and roll

The Cork U2 set shows how the group will be received in Britain when they begin to be accepted; excitedly, stupidly. It's like an Electric Ballroom gig: rowdy, bawdy, hands outstretched, fingers touching, bodies crushing. An obscene extreme to the Tullermeny gig. It reveals how close U2 can come to being a straightforward rock group -- one of those! -- and simultaneously how far they can move away from that.

Bono is adored. He dangerously treads the fine line between being adulated rock star and parodying that role. He controls fights and calms down a stage invasion. He's never sure whether to patronize the audience for their stupidity, understand and gee them on, cool them down or join in. In the end he does it all and more. Acting, hurting, fighting. His performance is unruly but riveting.

"I'm not yet fully in control of my own performance," he will tell me. "I'm not sure which way it's going to go when I hit that stage. It could go anyway. There have been times when I have been really frightened and could hardly sing. I hardly looked up. Like when I can't get anything out of the hall, the audience, I turn into myself, close my eyes and try to find something there."

What is he frightened of?

"I'm scared of the responsibility of standing in that space. Sometimes I don't want to be on that stage. Sometimes I can be really happy. Other times I am mean and nasty, and there are other times I when I haven't got complete control of myself but I do want some sort of discipline. I haven't got that yet. I would like to take any situation and get something out of it. You can't always do that. You can try though. You must try."

Through lively, lashing, conscientiously structured songs like "Cartoon World," "Boy Girl," "Out of Control," "Trevor," "Twilight," "The Dream is Over," "Another Day," "Shadows In Tall Trees," potently splicing the wiggly world and the real world, U2 desperately point out the absurdity and danger of the happiness we're continually told we enjoy/envy/suffer/can't do without. Attack it with irony -- "Everybody's Happy Nowadays" -- with anger, coyness, doubt. They define the contraindication of escape and escapism.

But for all the attempted value and variety of their pop it can sound obvious and predictable, just like Gang Of Four sometimes do. U2 need and know the need to rise above this. And they prefer to make it easier than harder. They know the small corners they cut.

"We don't want to go for the sort of innovation so called that can alienate an audience," he explains when we talk about the sometimes clichéd dynamics of their music. "We have to penetratewe use those structures to penetrate into the audience."

"But I'm willing to play the game. I am, but in doing that I must retain my own effort, my own irony. I wouldn't falsify what I feel. On stage I look exuberant because I feel exuberant. I don't pretend. U2 never pretend. It's not that we've planned a compromise, it's what has come naturally within the group. U2 is like learning, it's like a child learning. We've been given Lego, and we're learning to put things together in new ways. This is a stage that we've got to that I'm not ashamed of, but I believe we will get much stronger."

U2 will soon be signed by a big British label and their naïve, brave attempt to balance the points of view of such as Bob Geldof and Mark Smith will get its toughest test. A group like U2 should be chart material, playing new pop that doesn't falsify or perpetuate or enhance the bright fantasy. Radical entertainment.

If groups like U2 don't get the opportunity, through prejudge, complacency, cultishness, to move into view, the vibrancy and challenge of recent pop will steadily deteriorate. The problem could be felt within months. Tourist and Vapors in the charts. U2 and the Distractions not in the charts. No fun.

U2 don't deny fun, but neither do they deny reality. U2 are about colourposters, serious words and warning, staying awake, laughing at uncertainty. You can smile at them, and with them. U2 keep me happy! Furious! Unspoilt! Dissatisfied! Awake! Hungry! U2 should be for everyone.

And you too?


© NME, 1980.