Tassoula

Category: U2 (Page 8 of 8)

Like a Song: In a Little While

May 3, 2008 /

By Tassoula E. Kokkoris

This work was commissioned for the site atu2, which was online from 1995 – 2020 and it still protected under a shared copyright.

The first time I heard the song live, it was a lullaby. Really, it was.

If I’d had a baby to put to sleep that night, the calming coos of Bono’s velvety voice and the quiet strumming of The Edge’s guitar would have done the trick. It made no difference that I was in the Tacoma Dome surrounded by thousands of other people. It was that peaceful.

When I first heard All That You Can’t Leave Behind in the fall of the prior year, “In A Little While” was my only star. The album was a good, solid album, but this song was the only one that captured my heart in a love-at-first-listen sort of way.

The Tacoma show was the first Elevation show I attended, and the way the crowd silenced for this rendition of the song was amazing. Bono’s words sounded much softer than the raspy studio version as he danced sweetly with one of Edge’s daughters. The lights were down and the spotlight was following them. When it ended, the hypnotic vibe hung in the air like a tangible guest.

The sound was so beautiful it stayed with me long after I left the venue. When I got home that night from a stressful drive back to Seattle, I put All That You Can’t Leave Behind in my stereo and programmed it to play only this song. And then I set it to repeat.

A few weeks later, in full U2-obsession mode, I had my solo trip to Ireland booked (I just had to see them at Slane) and was getting all of my ducks in a row before leaving the country. The bad news was, my wisdom teeth needed to come out, and they needed to be removed before my trip. I had three months to accomplish this, but I procrastinated the surgery as long as I could. In July, my sweet mother came up from Oregon to provide round-the-clock care for her 25-year-old baby during the process.

It was bad from the get-go. I am terribly squeamish and high maintenance when it comes to anything medical. I can’t watch doctor shows on TV or look at friends who have recently had casts or bandages removed. And when it’s about me, I’m a hundred times more pathetic.

The morning of the surgery was a nightmare — I was sleep deprived, scared and shaky. The surgeon’s attempts to get a needle in my arm for the IV were borderline comical. I was jumping around, breaking into cold sweats, crying — you name it, I was guilty of it. After nearly fainting, they decided it wasn’t going to happen without the aid of some medicine (read: Valium). And after that, they probably could’ve asked me to do it myself and I would’ve obliged. The doctor asked me how many days I had left until the U2 concert, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up with chipmunk cheeks and small metal snaps across my chest.

My mom and I returned to my apartment where I looked forward to settling in to all of the perks I’d been promised the surgery would provide: endless milkshakes, fantastic narcotics and rapid weight loss.

But those were all lies.

What I actually endured were multiple cartons of butterscotch pudding, which tasted as if they’d been seasoned with dried blood; drugs that not only made me nauseous, but caused my body temperature to rise (and keep in mind, it was summertime); and a few extra pounds, courtesy of said pudding, coupled with the fact I seldom got out of bed.

In the midst of my misery, my mother did her absolute best to make me comfortable. She was there fluffing pillows, preparing ice packs and responding to my every demand. I was grateful to have her there, but that didn’t stop me from behaving like a 5-year-old.

On day three I was especially whiny, as my body was acclimating to the pills, and the soreness in my mouth reached its most painful levels. I just laid there and whimpered as if there were no hope for relief. She said “What can I do to make you feel better?” I responded, “Put All That You Can’t Leave Behind in and fast-forward to number six.” She dutifully complied and I tried to keep the tears to a minimum so we could both hear the song. I was still in pain, but I could swear it had lessened as Bono crooned.

I slowly drifted off to sleep, and when I woke up, the pain had returned. I begged for the ice pack, and Mom was right there to deliver it, telling me that everything would soon be all right. She asked if I’d like the music back on, and I said yes. As the CD spun “In a Little While” again, she told me that I should visualize tomorrow, because the pain wouldn’t be nearly as bad then. I shot her a questioning glance, and she reiterated that in the most painful times of her life — physically or emotionally — she’s put herself in the frame of mind that the next day it wouldn’t hurt as bad, and that has helped her through. I promised I’d try and concentrated with all my might on the next day. I pictured myself getting out of bed, dressing in something other than pajamas, taking a walk in the fresh air. It was working.

The next morning I did feel better — and I did all the things I’d envisioned. The day after that, I was well enough to return to work and mom was free to return home, relieved of her nursing gig.

In the months that followed, I was injured at a concert, my grandmother passed away, 9/11 happened, and the office I worked in underwent a huge restructure, which left me employed, but many of my friends without a job. “In a Little While” became more like a mantra than just another U2 song I loved. By then I knew it was written about a hangover, and that it was the last song Joey Ramone listened to before he passed away, but that didn’t change its meaning for me.

To this day, “In a Little While” lowers my blood pressure and sets my mind at ease no matter what situation I’m in, but most importantly it serves as a reminder of my mother’s wise advice: when things get bad, just focus on tomorrow.

(c) @U2/Kokkoris, 2008.

Like a Song: Electrical Storm

August 18, 2007 /

By Tassoula E. Kokkoris

This work was commissioned for the site atu2, which was online from 1995 – 2020 and it still protected under a shared copyright.

I knew I should have just waited five more minutes, but I had to start getting ready for work. I’d already lathered shampoo into my hair when the sound of the William Orbit bells got me. A rational person would have thought, “Oh well, I’ll catch it next time.” But I was past rational. I’d been waiting to catch the new “Electrical Storm” video for days.

I quickly turned the water off and leaped out of the tub, grabbing my towel and throwing it around myself as I ran into the living room.

Standing on my carpet shivering, my first glimpse was of Larry carrying a mermaid out of the sea. Oh, how I longed to be that mermaid.

The footage was grainy and black-and-white-mysterious, which only magnified the hazy romance that was playing out before my eyes. I was instantly hypnotized by the images.

The band was telling a story. They were being artistic. They were showing Larry wet, with his shirt half off.

Forgetting that I was as waterlogged as Mr. Mullen (although shampoo suds now stung the corners of my eyes), I staggered over to my couch and sat down to watch, too stunned to speak. I was seeing my long-time crush alternately writhing around in a bathtub and playing his drums while my new favorite song played in the background.

The year 2002 was shaping up to be a good one.

In the weeks and months that followed, I became obsessed with the song and subsequent video, imagining myself in the Samantha Morton role, hoping there could somehow be a sequel.

I did all of the things that the certifiably insane would do: I watched the video every night and studied it frame-by-frame. I fashioned my Halloween costume after Samantha’s mermaid ensemble. I made the “Bono yell” from the song my permanent outgoing voicemail message.

When my sister called in hysterics over Answer Guy’s latest column, which joked he had seen the video 237 times, I nervously laughed, as the math in my head told me I surely had seen it that many times.

I preached to co-workers, family members and non-U2-fan friends about its greatness. I made desktop wallpaper out of a screenshot from the video—I was unstoppable.

Just when I thought my psyche was really in trouble, a Web site called Meetup.com appeared and I began attending U2 Meetup gatherings with other local fans. It turns out I wasn’t crazy at all; just “passionate” or “dedicated” or “committed” to the Best Band in the World. No concerned looks at that table—only support and encouragement for my addiction.

I had met my enablers.

And somehow, in the midst of the bonding, I had formulated a goal for myself: to work for the band on their next tour. I even had the perfect position in mind: Tour Mermaid.

I figured since “Mysterious Ways” was old news and Morleigh Steinberg was out of commission as a belly dancer, a tour mermaid would fill a necessary void. Plus, U2 would undoubtedly play the song live, since it practically begged for a storm-inspired light show. It was a win-win all around.

But as everyone knows, U2 are seldom hiring. Unless you are related to the Edge or sat next to Bono in math class or bottle-fed Larry, you probably don’t have a hope in hell of infiltrating the camp.

Armed with this knowledge, I figured I’d just have to be creative—make myself known somehow, then make myself irresistible. I’d become a freelance Principle.

An opportunity arose when I learned that @U2 and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum were co-hosting a U2 Fan Celebration in the summer of 2003. I’d been to the museum to see the U2 exhibit earlier in the year, but decided to return for this special event, which was to feature (among other things) a fan confessional.

Basically, they were reviving the booth from the Zoo TV tour and giving each of us three minutes to record our “confession” to the band. I figured this was meant to be—my portal to communicate with the immortal four.

So I bought a new dress, traveled with a friend to Cleveland and rehearsed what I was going to say as if I were auditioning for a Broadway play. I even made index cards with detailed reminders: who I was, where I was from, how long I’d been a fan, why I was the number one candidate for their yet-to-be-created Tour Mermaid job.

The day of the confessional, I watched Family Ties re-runs in the hotel as I nervously got ready for my big moment. A new Venus razor, sparkling red jewelry and jumbo-size hot rollers were involved.

When I arrived at the museum, my friend and I headed over to the booth for our big moment. I was third in line. Three being my favorite number, I took this as a good sign.

Tension mounted as we chatted with other fans. Some had prepared nothing, others brought in various props to add to their performance.

I felt strangely normal compared to many of my fellow fans, despite the fact I was going to sell myself as an ideal fictional character for a tour that had yet to be invented.

I listened outside the booth as the first girl in line and my friend both had their turns. They nailed it. Both emerged flushed and excited, happy that it was over but glad they’d done it.

Now it was my turn.

I went behind the makeshift curtain and met the cameraman, who politely told me where to stand and reminded me of the three-minute limit. I smiled sweetly and told him to begin filming at any time.

He gave me the “action” signal, the red light went on, and I immediately became a babbling idiot.

Remember that episode of The Brady Bunch, where Cindy appears on a game show, then develops a dose of stage fright the instant the camera starts rolling? That was me.

Instead of referring to my bullet-pointed index card, I became immediately self-conscious about how over-dressed I was, and fidgeted with my hair and necklace. I forgot the clever narrative I’d scripted to justify why the band needed a traveling mermaid. I couldn’t remember what qualifications of mine I was supposed to highlight. What should have sounded breezy sounded shaky; what was once funny only echoed my desperation.

And to top it off, in addition to spitting out my e-mail address, phone number and astrological sign (I’m sure), I mumbled something about wanting to do the band’s laundry. For real.

I think my intent at the time was to demonstrate that I’d be willing to do anything for U2. I’d shine their shoes, walk their dogs, prepare their favorite meals or “swim” around a stage in a costume that boasted fins, because I loved them so much.

But instead, I mentioned that I was good with a washing machine.

And then the (now chuckling) cameraman yelled “Time!” And it was over. I blew it. My one chance at stardom crushed by a random act of stage fright.

I exited the booth, head hanging in shame, and told my friend of my failures. I can remember her disbelief, as I’m probably the least shy person she’s ever known.

It didn’t make sense to me either. I love being in front of people. I was captain of the dance team in high school. I sang in front of thousands in college choir. Not once have I ever clammed up.

But something that day got me and I never got over it. I worried for months that if the band really did watch my confession, I’d be banned from all future possible “fan moments” like dancing with Bono during a show. I gave myself headaches imagining their conversations:

Bono: “How about that girl a few rows back for ‘With or Without You’ — the Greek-looking one holding the ONE Campaign sign?”

Larry: “Have ya’ lost yer mind? That’s the lady that wants to bleach our whites!”

And so forth.

To console myself, a year later I made a pilgrimage to the French Riviera where the “Electrical Storm” video was filmed. I visited the same train station where Samantha took her opening run. I wore a silver two-piece swimsuit and had my friend photograph me triumphantly standing in the same stretch of water that the mermaid emerged from.

Now when the band comes calling, I’ll be ready.

© Kokkoris/@U2, 2007.

Like a Song: Sunday Bloody Sunday

May 7, 2007 /

By Tassoula E. Kokkoris

This work was commissioned for the site atu2, which was online from 1995 – 2020 and it still protected under a shared copyright.

“There’s been a lot of talk about this next song — maybe too much talk.”

-Bono, 1983

In 1983, I was a 7-year-old whose days primarily consisted of eating, sleeping and MTV. Back then, MTV wasn’t just a channel, it was a way of life. Alarms were set to wake up with Martha Quinn, meals were rearranged to accommodate especially good rock blocks, and on at least one occasion, school was missed to watch a World Premiere Video.

Music was shifting from being a completely audio experience to a necessary visual experience, and witnessing the transformation was nothing short of thrilling. Instead of bands just having to sound good, they had to look good — or at the very least, have a compelling image. And that’s where U2 won me over.

I already knew (and was fond of) “Gloria,” but when the home-video-like concert clip of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” was thrust into heavy rotation on MTV, it altered my musical life. The instant I’d see the profile of Bono grace the screen, with the ’80s flames superimposed over his face, I was immediately marching in time to the drumbeat, scrambling to find anything I could to create a makeshift white flag to wave along with him (pencils and Kleenex were usually my default).

To me, the burning torches defying the rain, Larry squinting through the fog, and Bono wearing one of his band’s own shirts defined the epitome of rock and roll. I imagined myself in the water-drenched crowd — miserable, exhausted and exhilarated. I just wanted to be a part of it. But of course, I was too young for shows on the War tour. And also too young to understand why the song was really so powerful.

In 1988, as a 12-year-old, I saw Rattle and Hum in the theater. The most passionate moment of the movie came during the band’s rendition of “Sunday Bloody Sunday.” On the day the clip was recorded, Enniskillen, Northern Ireland, suffered a brutal IRA attack at a Remembrance Day gathering. Eleven people were killed and 63 were left wounded. Bono was filled with rage and turned the performance of this song into an angry political rant. I felt uncomfortable watching it, yet had tears in my eyes by the time he knelt in peace at the end. As a junior-high student in Oregon, I still had no idea what the song was even about, but after seeing that, I needed to know.

Since the Internet was not yet part of daily life, I made a trip to the library and looked up things like “Irish troubles,” “IRA terrorists” and “Bloody Sunday.” What I found was devastating — the first incident in November of 1920, and then the second in January of 1972. Innocent people dying over philosophical disagreements; history repeating itself long after lessons should have been learned. This newfound knowledge only intensified my love for the song, which grew as I did.

The song stayed with me through college, when it turned into a ballad on the B-side of “If God Will Send His Angels.” That version was quiet and calm, internalizing its pain unlike its predecessor, which was more like an open wound.

By the time the Elevation tour arrived, my U2 obsession was back in full force. I had attended the Tacoma show and entered a local radio station contest for tickets to the first of the soon-to-be historical Slane Castle concerts. I didn’t win. But I couldn’t stand it — I needed to see my boys in their natural habitat once and for all. And since none of my friends at the time were as U2-rabid as me, I had to go alone.

I booked an ETS package a few days later and before I knew it, found myself on a plane to Dublin. I made friends on the tour bus and at the hotel where we stayed, but unfortunately got separated from them on the morning of the show. Alone on the castle grounds, I prayed my way to a wristband and ended up on Edge’s side of the heart. In the sea of faces, I recognized no one, though we all had something fundamental in common.

The energy of the show was everything I thought it would be and more, but “Sunday Bloody Sunday” was in a class by itself. As Larry’s drums brought the song in after an energetic “I Will Follow,” the entire mood of the crowd changed. A breeze blew by, voices were lowered, and I’ll swear it even got darker outside. I went from being a groupie at a rock concert to being a family member at a national wake. The spirit of the song, coupled with the ancient territory we were standing on, multiplied by the fact Bono had just buried his father a day earlier, made for a primal feeling I’ll probably never experience again. This song was their history, their past — their pain. And now we were all a part of it.

By the time the refrain arrived, the crowd was so riled up that drunken groups were shoving each other (and everyone in their way) into the railing. The security teams were doing everything in their power to keep us safe, but in a field of 80,000, it’s a little difficult to maintain control. As Bono cried, “Wipe your tears away,” a surge of people came crashing into the barricade and my then-petite frame couldn’t sustain it. I first heard a crack, then blacked out, then came to only to see a security guard reaching over to pluck me out of the crowd. I resisted and screamed “No! Don’t take me out!” He just shook his head and muttered to his colleague “Bloody Americans.”

I spent the remainder of the show trying to take a deep breath (impossible), feeling for my driver’s license (so I could be identified) and bracing myself against the railing for further attempts on my life. Never before did I actually think I might die at a rock concert.

After the show, the on-site medical personnel concluded that I had indeed cracked a rib. They taped me up with whatever materials they had in their tent and sent me on my way with sympathetic glances.

By the time I made it off the field, my tour bus had left and I had to walk the dark countryside for over an hour in search of a ride. Bono wailing “Tonight we can be as one/Tonight, tonight,” echoed in my head as I realized I was too tired to panic.

Thankfully, a tour group that got a late start took pity on me and offered me a seat on their bus, which was also headed back to Dublin.

The next morning I concealed my new battle scar with a full-coverage blouse, as I didn’t want any of my new friends to know about it. When we all hiked up to the gates of Bono’s house later that day, we discussed what our favorite parts of the show were. “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” despite my injury, still made my list.

The Vertigo tour was different for me. By then, I was blessed to travel and attend shows with a network of U2 friends and family. “Sunday Bloody Sunday” made its way into the setlist each night, this time usually sandwiched between “Love and Peace or Else” and “Bullet the Blue Sky,” and I liked it every time. But it wasn’t until the final show I attended, in my hometown of Portland, that the hairs on the back of my neck stood up because of it.

Bono had just finished drumming in his Coexist headband, and the boys were scattered around the stage. Larry’s drumbeat started, and as I scanned the room, trying to decide where to look, every face I saw was familiar. At the front were girls that sometimes got to dance with Bono on stage; to my right were fans I’d met the night before at our @U2 10th Birthday Bash; to my left were pals I’d made from working on the site, and I knew if I were to faint at that very moment, I’d fall into the arms of a friend. Tears involuntarily formed in my eyes as it all finally hit me. That night, the raw anthem became a love song — to and from all of the people I’d met as a result of first hearing it.

I’ll never be able to thank U2 enough.

© @U2/Kokkoris, 2007.

@U2 Interview: Peter Rowen

March 6, 2006 /

By Tassoula E. Kokkoris

This work was commissioned for the site atu2, which was online from 1995 – 2020 and it still protected under a shared copyright.

If U2 put you on the cover of one of their albums, wouldn’t you be sure to own several copies? Perhaps a few in each format (vinyl, cassette, CD)? Believe it or not, the only non-band-member to ever appear on a U2 album cover, Peter Rowen, doesn’t own either U2 album that bears his likeness.

I’ve always wondered what became of the boy who appeared on the Boy and War covers because his image has always captivated me.

Throughout the history of rock and roll, photos have played a crucial role in representing and even defining the work of its artists. From Jim Morrison’s shirtless pose in the sign of a cross to the jeans-wearing Bruce Springsteen on his Born in the U.S.A. album, a well-crafted image can instantly transport us to the place where the music itself takes us.

U2 are no exception to this — in fact, they’ve probably produced one of the most consistently impressive collections of images of any rock band in existence. The four young band members standing in front of the joshua tree, The Fly and MacPhisto wreaking havoc on the Zoo TV tour, Bono in a bubble bath — the list goes on. But for me, the most prominent U2-related image has always been one that didn’t feature any of the band members. It’s the album cover for War and it still gets to me to this day. The stark contrast of the red lettering juxtaposed with the timeless black and white photo of an angry child says so much, by simply saying so little. It’s haunting, yet innocent. And I hear “Sunday Bloody Sunday” in my head every time I glance at it.

I knew that Peter Rowen, the model for those covers, was the younger brother of Bono’s friend Guggi. I also remembered that he did some acting in Ireland in the years following his work with U2. What I didn’t know is that he grew up to be a successful photographer. And I found that to be especially interesting. Who would guess the subject of such a famous photo would grow up to be a photographer himself?

I recently caught up with Peter, who is based in Dublin, and he kindly agreed to a session of Q&A, via e-mail.

Q: Did being the subject of internationally famous album covers have anything to do with how you arrived at your present career?

A: No, I don’t think me being on the albums had anything to do with me ending up in photography. I think it was more to do with my interest in drawing/painting as a kid. I used to spend a lot of my spare time growing up making images of one kind or another and then one day a friend introduced me to photography and I instantly fell in love with it.

Q: When you were younger, what did you want to be when you grew up?

A: A tractor.

Q: Did having an older brother who was an artist (with an eccentric group of friends) influence you creatively?

A: I wouldn’t say that my brother and his friends have influenced me at all really…there is quite a big age gap, so by the time I was five my older brothers would have all left home.

Q: Do people still recognize you as the “U2 kid”? If so, is that a good thing or an annoyance?

A: No, I don’t think anyone has ever recognized me as U2’s kid! To be honest with you it’s never really caused me any bother, I guess it’s a bit of a laugh!

Q: The story of how you were paid in candy bars (Mars bars specifically, if I’m not mistaken) for the U2 photo shoots is legendary. Do you have any particularly fond or funny memories of working with the band?

A: My memories of working with the band are all but gone…the only things I actually remember are me not liking the soup we were served by the photographer’s wife and Bono nearly crashing into a line of traffic on the way home from the shoot!

Q: During those Boy and War photo shoots, did you try to have any input into the poses or your wardrobe, or were you agreeable to whatever they instructed you to do?

A: There was a full box of Mars bars at stake! I was up for anything!

Q: Did your parents consent to you participating in the U2 photo shoots in advance, or were they so spur-of-the-moment that they were informed later?

A: I’m sure my parents must have consented to it.

Q: To me the War cover symbolizes how children become innocent victims in conflicts created by adults who should know better. What does it mean to you?

A: I never really thought about that one! I’ve always just seen it as a nice picture of me when I was eight years old!

Q: At the time, did you have any idea that U2 would become the superstars that they eventually became?

A: No — I don’t imagine anyone did!

Q: Did you get to keep any of the original prints from your U2 photo shoots?

A: Yea, I’ve got a couple of out takes from the War shoot…

[Ed. note: one outtake from Peter Rowen’s collection is included below]

Q: Which U2 album cover is your personal favorite?

A: I think my favorite cover is probably Boy…

Q: Some of the covers you’re featured on presently fetch considerable amounts of money on auction sites like eBay. Have you ever bid on an item that you appear on?

A: No, never!

Q: Your web site displays an excellent photo you took of Bono during one of the Slane Castle concerts in 2001. Do you photograph the band often? If not, would you like to?

A: Slane 2001 [August 25 show] was the only time I got to shoot the band. Yea, it’d be nice to get an opportunity to shoot them again sometime.

[Ed. note: you can view a selection of Peter Rowen’s U2 concert photos here]

Q: What other (if any) musicians would you like to photograph?

A: Yea, there’s a few I’d love to photograph…Willie Nelson, Stevie Wonder, Bob Dylan….

Q: What (or who) would be your dream subject to photograph?

A: I’d love to photograph Valentino Rossi (seven-time World Champion GP racer) as I’m a huge bike-sport fan and Valentino is the man!

Q: Who inspires you?

A: I’m a big fan of Richard Avedon’s work…I love the fact that most of it is so simple. Funnily enough I also really like Anton Corbjin’s stuff, again he uses a lot of daylight and tends to keep it pretty simple…no gimmicks just great photographs.

Q: Is U2 on your iPod?

A: Yea, of course U2 are on my iPod! I’ve been listening to How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb a lot lately and I love it!

Q: Do you go to their shows? Buy their albums?

A: Yea, I’ve been to a good few of their shows…(went to see them play Barcelona last summer and had a great time!)…and yea I’ve got most of their albums. I think the only albums I don’t have a copy of (strangely enough) are Boy and War!

Q: When you hear U2 songs on the radio, for instance “Two Hearts Beat As One,” does it remind you of being in the video or is it just like hearing any other song?

A: When I hear that particular song yea, I do always think of the video.

Q: What types of music do you listen to? Who are your favorite bands?

A: I love all sorts of music from Chopin to White Stripes to Van Morrison to Kanye West. I’m listening to Magic Numbers lately…I really like their current album.

Q: As a fan of Roddy Doyle’s stories, I remember your appearances in The Commitments and The Snapper. Do you have any other acting projects in the works?

A: No, the acting thing I sort of fell into by accident. Actually, a Swiss film producer spotted me in the U2 “Two Hearts Beat As One” video and came over to Ireland to meet me. He had me in mind for a pretty major role in a film he was working on at the time…as it happened, that film was never made, but as a result of me getting an agent and taking a few acting classes (a few too few I think!) I ended up getting some small parts in a couple of other movies.

Q: Were you ever contacted by U2 to appear on any recent album covers?

A: No.

Q: The band has joked in the past that they should make an album called Man as a sort of bookend to Boy. If this ever comes to fruition, and they asked you to be on the cover, would you do it?

A: Only if they promised to pay me in Mars bars again!

Q: Are you still in touch with the band?

A: Not really, I’d know them all to say hello to but that’s about it…

Q: You display an amazing portfolio of work on your web site. Have you ever considered publishing a book of your photography?

A: No, but I would love to someday!

Q: And hypothetically, if one were to realize their dream of someday getting married in Slane Castle, do you photograph weddings?

A: Yes!

Visit www.peterrowen.com to learn more about Peter Rowen’s photography and view samples of his work.

© @U2/Kokkoris, 2006.

Singing Words of Wisdom: U2 and The Beatles

May 23, 2004 /

By Tassoula E. Kokkoris

This work was commissioned for the site atu2, which was online from 1995 – 2020 and it still protected under a shared copyright.

They invaded America. Took on political causes. Got pulled off of rooftops in the middle of performances.

They even played an amazing gig at Red Rocks.

They’re the Beatles…and U2.

If you’re a music fan like me, you probably grow tired of the endless Beatles comparisons made whenever a band achieves marginal success. For years journalists have described countless bands as “the next Beatles” or “bigger than The Beatles.” Only U2 truly comes close.

In fact, the more I learn about each group, the more I realize how identical their paths have been. To be fair, anyone looking hard enough could find similarities between any two bands. But in exploring the patterns of The Beatles and U2, the circumstances are more unique.

THE EARLY YEARS

The Beatles began as four teenage boys from Liverpool, England. John Lennon, a sarcastic-but-smart troublemaker, frequently liked to skip school because it bored him. Paul McCartney, an exemplary student, did well in classes and planned on eventually attending university, possibly to become a teacher. George Harrison, the youngest of the group, whose musical pursuits were supported by his family, was the most direct of the bunch — and not a fan of conformity. He told biographer Hunter Davies about school “I hated being dictated to…I was just trying to be myself.” And Richard Starkey, the eldest of the group, had played in more bands than the other three by the time he joined them. They liked to call each other by nicknames such as Macca (Paul), Lennie (John), Hazza (George), and Ringo (Richard).

John, Paul, George and Ringo had three band names. First, they were Johnny and the Moondogs, then The Silver Beetles and finally The Beatles. The manager that put them on the map, Brian Epstein, had never before managed a music group.

Paul McCartney and John Lennon lost their mothers unexpectedly when the band was just getting started. John’s mother was killed in a car accident.

U2 started with four teenage boys living in Dublin, Ireland. Paul Hewson, a gregarious-but-intelligent kid, often skipped school because it didn’t interest him. Dave Evans was a strong student who had plans for higher education if his music aspirations didn’t materialize. Larry Mullen Jr., the baby of the group, took piano and drum lessons as a young man. His family nurtured his talent and he did well in the Artane Boys Band — until they told him to cut his hair. He didn’t care much for conformity. And Adam Clayton, the oldest member of the band, had a more mature knowledge of music — impressing his mates with words like “gig.” It was part of the culture in Dublin to call each other by nicknames like Bono (Paul) and The Edge (Dave).

Bono, the Edge, Larry and Adam had three band names. First, they were Feedback, then The Hype, and of course, U2. Their manager, Paul McGuinness, had never before managed a punk band.

Bono and Larry Mullen Jr. tragically lost their mothers in their teenage years. Larry’s mother was killed in a car accident.

RELIGION

The Beatles began collectively searching for “the answer” in the late sixties when they followed the teachings of His Holiness Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. All four band members, along with their wives and girlfriends, traveled to India and Wales for a three-week retreat to learn the technique of Transcendental Meditation. Although first praising the philosophy, the band soon lost interest and faith in the Maharishi. Ringo was the first to leave the retreat, claiming to dislike the food, then Paul, John and George followed. Upon returning to England, the band publicly acknowledged their “mistake” in belief. In 1989 Paul went as far as to say “I don”t like religion as such because there’s always bloody wars with every bloody religion.”

U2’s baptism, of sorts, came much earlier. Bono, the Edge and Larry joined the Shalom Christian prayer group while the band was still growing its roots. Though Adam never became a member, the beliefs of the other three threatened to disband U2. Luckily, the young men chose the music over Shalom. At present all four men have mentioned having faith, but not in the extreme manner of their youth. In 2002, Edge said “I still have a spiritual life, but I’m not really a fan of religion per se.”

THE FAMILY BUSINESS

In 1967, The Beatles launched a company called Apple Corps, Ltd., in an effort to give creative artists a chance to realize their dreams without having to endure corporate red tape. Though this altruistic venture found worthy musicians such as Billy Preston and James Taylor, the other branches of Apple (a clothing boutique, a division of electronics, etc.) failed miserably. Ultimately, the only portion of Apple that remains today is the publishing company.

In 1984, U2 started Mother Records, a record label meant to act as a stepping stone for up-and-coming musicians. Their aim was to establish a deal for a few singles from the artist that would in turn elevate them to a higher status where they could negotiate deals with larger labels. Although bands like the Hothouse Flowers and Cactus World News achieved great success from this venture, three managers and several years later, the label folded. All that remains today is the Mother Publishing Company.

LYRICS

Both bands have songs based on love, war, peace and faith. A fair argument could be made that scores of musicians also sing about these topics. It’s the specific parallels that make the paths of U2 and The Beatles so fascinating.

For instance, it’s not surprising that John Lennon and Bono both chose to write about the loss of their mothers. Their lyrics represent the necessity of not letting go.

In “Julia,” John writes “Half of what I say is meaningless/But I say it just to reach you, Julia.”

“I Will Follow” has Bono singing “If you walk away, walk away/I walkaway, walkaway..I will follow.”

Civil rights were also a common thread. In “Blackbird,” Paul McCartney sang about black women overcoming their obstacles to soar above their oppressors: “Blackbird singing in the dead of night/Take these sunken eyes and learn to see/All your Life/You were only waiting for this moment to be free.”

In “Pride (In the Name of Love),” Bono remembers American civil rights activist Martin Luther King Jr. “One man come in the name of love/One man come and go/One man come, he to justify/One man to overthrow.”

Neither band shied away from letting politics enter their catalog either, always singing for the preservation of peace. In “Revolution,” John Lennon claimed “But when you want money for people with minds that hate/All I can tell you is brother you have to wait.”

In “Please,” U2 condemns an unspecific political figure or social group: “So you never knew/That the heaven you keep, you stole/Please…please…please/Get up off your knees/Please-yeah…please…please…/Leave me out of this please.”

And on the lighter side, both bands created anthems to celebrate a nice day. The Beatles with Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun”: “Here comes the sun/Here comes the sun/And I say it’s all right/Sun, sun, sun here it comes”; U2 with “Beautiful Day”: “It’s a beautiful day/Sky falls, you feel like it’s a beautiful day/ Don’t let it get away.”

Coincidentally, even some titles are similar. The Beatles had “Within You and Without You,” and U2 had a number one hit with “With or Without You.” John Lennon’s heartfelt ballad to his wife Yoko, “Dig a Pony,” was first called “All I Want is You.” One of Bono’s most treasured songs to his beloved Ali is called “All I Want is You.”

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

Paul McCartney has been married twice, producing four daughters and one son. John Lennon shared a birthday with his son Sean.

The Edge has been married twice, producing four daughters and one son. Bono shares a birthday with his daughter Jordan.

IMITATION IS THE HIGHEST FORM OF FLATTERY

At the end of the Let it Be documentary, The Beatles venture to the roof of the building for an impromptu performance, only to be dragged off by the police. When U2 filmed the video for “Where the Streets Have No Name” on a Los Angeles rooftop, it ended with the police unplugging their equipment.

Over the years, U2 have covered several Beatles songs including “Help!,” “Helter Skelter,” “Happiness is a Warm Gun” and “In My Life.” On their recent Elevation tour, the introduction to U2 taking the stage included The Beatles’ version of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band.” They even hired Chris Thomas, a former Beatles collaborator, to co-produce their upcoming album.

QUOTABLE FRONT MEN

Part of the appeal in both bands is undoubtedly the charisma of their members. All eight men displayed intelligence, quick wit and a knack for well-placed sarcasm every time they were put to the test. Their front men, who both have messiah comparisons under their belt, have been nothing short of a quote-collector’s dream:

“Part of me suspects I’m a loser and part of me thinks I’m God Almighty.” – John Lennon, 9/1980 in The Playboy Interviews

“It’s a strange thing to need 20,000 people screaming your name to feel normal.” – Bono, 9/2002 on The Oprah Winfrey Show

MEETING OF THE MINDS

So — have the two superpowers ever met? Sadly, John Lennon never had the chance to know any members of U2 (although they were reportedly only a few miles away from the Dakota when he was killed in December of 1980).

George Harrison had unkind words for U2 in the late ’90s, saying “Look at a group like U2. Bono and his band are so egocentric — the more you jump around, the bigger your hat is, the more people listen to your music. The only important thing is to sell and make money. It’s nothing to do with talent. Today there are groups who sell lots of records and then disappear. Will we remember U2 in 30 years? Or the Spice Girls? I doubt it.”

Bono responded: “We were great fans of his but he didn’t like U2 very much. I heard he was very bad-tempered — I think it might have been more true to say he was the grumpy Beatle rather than the quiet one.”

However, Paul McCartney said great things about U2 at the Super Bowl in 2002. Rumors go so far as to suggest that Bono attended the wedding of Paul McCartney and Heather Mills in the summer of 2002, so one could assume they’re probably friends.

Not to be outdone, Edge recently collaborated with Lennon’s widow Yoko Ono for an art show. Dangerously, he allegedly invited her back to the studio (wink).

AND IN THE END

What does all of this mean? Maybe it’s just a clear documentation of amazing coincidences involving two phenomenal mainstream bands. Or maybe it’s divine intervention.



© @U2/Kokkoris, 2004.

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