Through a serendipitous stop back in Los Angeles after an international trip, I was able to attend a screening of the movie last night at the Red Nation Film Festival.
To put it plainly: This film will stay with me forever.
Shot in the poorest county in the United States, Director Deborah Anderson paints an intimate portrait of eight women making a difference for their people in the Lakota community of Pine Ridge, South Dakota.
Because the film is shot on location, in their homes and surrounding areas of the reservation, the narrative takes on a more personal vibe than traditional ‘talking head’ documentaries. As the women recount their stories of the rape, poverty and brutality they’ve suffered as a result of what’s become of their community, it felt more like a friend confiding in another friend than subjects on a screen informing an audience. This technique made the content all the more harrowing, but also more accessible. As a viewer, I couldn’t help but experience their pain right alongside them.
Each time a new, brutal statistic flashed on-screen I would wince in uncomfortable horror. I knew the situation was bad; I did not know it was that dismal.
Their stories tell of how the genocide by the U.S. government has created a cycle of poverty and addiction that threatens the continuity of their culture.
Most of us probably think of genocide as only mass killings, but featured Elder Carol Iron Rope put it best in her interview when she stated, “When you take a language away from a people, that’s genocide. When you take a way of life away from a people, that is genocide.”
And that’s unfortunately what’s happened to this formerly thriving matriarchal society.
The good news is that there are a number of Women Warriors working to reverse the damage and secure a better future by way of activism, legal action and an inherent motivation to right the wrongs of the past.
I was particularly inspired by the candid nature of Sunrose Iron Shell who is a teacher at St. Francis Indian School. Her passion to keep the indigenous culture alive for her students coupled with her refusal to sugar-coat the truths that they’re faced with give her an exceptional power to ignite change every day.
Only a small percentage of my blood is Native American, but I left the screening full of righteous anger for what has become of the first stewards of our land. The beautiful, spiritual people that the white man should have looked to learn from rather than extinguish.
One of the most touching things I learned from the film was that the Lakota people consider the next seven generations each time they make a big decision. If only our country’s leaders thought the same way.
While I’m transitioning in my career, I’ve been lucky to take on a few writing projects that were more fun than work.
First, I had a dream come true in mid-October when I met Ringo Starr at his photography exhibit at the Morrison Hotel Gallery. He was as lovely as you’d expect and my write-up of the events surrounding his visit can be found on the Sunset Marquis blog.
Then, a month later, I had the pleasure of traveling to Brisbane, Australia to attend a U2 show with some dear local friends. My re-cap of that gig can be found on U2.com.
Travel back in time to your favorite concert memory. Did you see the show live or on television? What did the band play? Who were you focused on? How did the music make you feel?
Any music lover can probably answer these questions easily as they travel into the time machine of their mind to re-live that feeling that can’t be duplicated. Many of those memories are likely to contain an instrument—perhaps a shiny guitar in a distinctive shape or a handsome piano their star’s fingers cascaded across in the moment.
Now rock ‘n’ roll fans have a chance to see some of the most famous instruments, played by music legends in landmark performances.
Through Oct. 1, at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the exhibit “Play It Loud: Instruments of Rock & Roll,” guests can gawk at guitars, pianos, drums and more from the likes of The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, U2, The Who, Prince, Bruce Springsteen, Eric Clapton, Jerry Lee Lewis and more.
When I visited, I entered the gallery quite late—just over an hour until closing time—and stumbled into the first room where I was immediately stopped in my tracks by Ringo’s iconic drum set.
After I snapped this quick photo, I gravitated toward John Lennon’s famed Rickenbacker. Just as I got to it, the loop of music that was playing overhead cycled to “I Want To Hold Your Hand” and everyone in the crowded room began singing along. Old, young, different ethnicities—we were all on the same spiritual page in those moments. I got emotional and felt, just based on those few precious minutes of harmonizing with strangers, that everything in our world was going to be okay.
And that’s just the kind of powerful thing that happens spontaneously when we share music.
As I continued through the exhibit, taking the longest time with The Edge’s guitar (he used it during The Joshua Tree, after all), I focused on absorbing the energies surrounding these relics. I tried to picture Kurt Cobain smashing the guitar that was in fragments behind a pane of glass and could almost hear Jerry Lee Lewis pounding the keys of his old piano, displayed just a few feet away.
Toward the end of the experience there is a screening room that allows you to view some of the performances that feature these very instruments. I watched the loop three times.
Though to some, these items are just pieces of wood and metal that happen to make noise when placed in the right hands, to me they’re living, breathing remnants of a time and space that can never be replicated.
So how do we prevent bullies from becoming abusers in the first place and comfort those affected by abuse? It starts with awareness, which is what singer/songwriter Andrew Cole hopes to increase with the project he founded, #IAmNoJoke.
The project, which includes both a song and a documentary, brings together icons from music, film and television to address issues they had in their past with bullying—whether they were the victim or the abuser. The movement aims to let victims know they are not alone and inspire change on a global scale.
An event Friday night during the Live@SunsetMarquis Summer Concert Series featured performances by Cole accompanied by George Pajon, Jr. from the Black Eyed Peas and Stu Hamm on bass, along with headliner Rachel Lorin, to officially launch the forthcoming song. In addition, sponsor Creative Visions spoke about the campaign’s importance and a raffle featuring a PRS electric guitar, legendary photographs from the Morrison Hotel Gallery and other amazing prizes, was held to benefit the cause.
I’m proud to volunteer for the project and look forward to sharing its progress along the way.
Together we can change the conversation and prevent the pain of others. Join us to use social media as a positive agent for change to spread awareness and emphasize empathy.
That, compounded with the natural stress associated with daily life (health, career, relationships), can be overwhelming—but how can we avoid it?
My solution lately has been to focus more on spirituality, health and wellness. To fill my life with as many positive elements as I can from curating my social content to include more “good news” (I recommend following groups such as the Good News Network and Positive News UK) to listening to soothing music and vibrations as I work.
My greatest coping mechanism? Immersing myself in nature.
There are few things more beneficial to the soul than a walk in the woods or near water (I prefer both, quite frankly).
On my near-daily walks to a nearby lake, I can feel my blood pressure lower the instant I step onto the trail. I’m met with the sounds of birds chirping, children giggling and splashes of water as I start my trek. I don’t time myself or run—I deliberately take my time to … (forgive me) … stop and smell the roses.
I enjoy taking photos of flowers at different stages of bloom; of trees as their leaves appear, change color and disappear; of ducks as they emerge with a new batch of ducklings each spring and the occasional eagle or heron that may fly alongside me.
Though there are always other people on the trail, it somehow remains remarkably serene, all of us in a silent agreement to enjoy Mother Earth’s bounty and beauty without disrupting one another.
At times I’ll sit on one of the benches along the path and reflect on the day or try to strategize ways to solve a problem. The fresh air of nature coupled with the exercise of the walk produces a bouquet of endorphins that helps provide a brighter outlook on everything, so I always leave feeling better than when I arrived.
The great thing about walks in nature is that they can be tailored to both extroverts and introverts.
I’m an extrovert by nature—I like to be social. But I only like to be social if I’ve had an ample amount of “alone time” to prepare. So I’m one of those people who will gladly welcome company on a walk … but would sometimes prefer the solitude of a solo jaunt if I’m headed there to clear my head.
I feel the same way about romantic love—I want a partner that will desire me and shower me with attention and affection … and then go away for a bit and not be offended that I want to be alone sometimes; that I need to be alone sometimes.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve never married? 🙂
But I digress …
Introverts can benefit just as much from these nature breaks, as they’re never required to go with anyone else. And the best thing about nature walks in general is that they’re free.
I realize that I am blessed to live in a part of the world that has no shortage of forests or bodies of water, but even in the middle of large cities there are usually parks to sneak off to if no hiking trails can be found nearby.
The main thing to do is to find someplace to breathe. Practice mindfulness whenever you can and try to reset your personal compass to point it in a direction of love.
Love for yourself, love for others and love for our earth.
There are few things more devastating than learning a child is seriously ill, but that’s what happened to the Evans family in 2006 when Sian, 7, was diagnosed with T-Cell Leukemia.
As they all navigated the new normal of Sian’s medical orders and treatments, her mother Morleigh began to discover hidden scenes that she would construct to work through her feelings.
Using dolls, stuffed toys, blankets and trinkets, Sian crafted silent stories that helped her process what she was so bravely enduring.
From Barbies taking a group carriage ride to Care Bears methodically lined up for slumber, the scenes are both heartwarming and heartbreaking when considering their context.
In the new exhibit at Arcane Space, “Tucked In” features images that Morleigh took of these creations, all captured in great detail at the time of their discovery.
Donned in soft plush carpet reminiscent of a young girl’s room, the space also features a workshop area with toys that children are invited to use to create their own scenes. When I visited, two kids were deep in concentration, crafting personal masterpieces. As I observed their intense focus, I was reminded of how therapeutic creative exploration can be—both for children and adults.
I lost a grandfather I never met to leukemia and have known countless other friends and family members who have suffered through cancer. Each journey carried unimaginable amounts of agony regardless of the outcome. This exhibit shows art that both respects that type of journey and perhaps makes sense of it in the most pure way.
Thankfully, Sian survived the cancer and is a thriving young woman today. Visitors to the exhibit have the opportunity to purchase prints of her various scenes (prices range from $100 – $800) and/or a book of the images with an introduction from Morleigh ($170). Proceeds benefit Cancer Support Community Los Angeles. Admission to the exhibit is free.
“Tucked In” welcomes visitors to Arcane Space Thursday through Sunday from 11:00 a.m. – 5:30 p.m. through May 26.
This work was commissioned for the site atu2, which was online from 1995 – 2020 and it still protected under a shared copyright.
“There’s never been another artist singing one of their songs on a U2 album.” —The Edge
The artist that The Edge is referring to is Sterling “Mister Satan” Magee and the song is “Freedom For My People,” which appeared on Rattle And Hum.
Mister Satan, along with his musical partner Adam Gussow, are the subjects of the new documentary Satan & Adam, directed byV. Scott Balcerek.
The film chronicles the history of the unlikely pair from the time they joined up on the streets of Harlem on the mid-1980s until present day. And what a history they have.
At the time they met, Mister Satan was a street performer (by choice) who had previous experience making music with legends like Marvin Gaye and Etta James. It’s never specified exactly why he left the business, but he played with such exuberance and joy on the sidewalk, no one seems to question it. He performed for a regular following of fans and passersby who tossed money his way in exchange for prime entertainment.
One day, on the heels of a messy breakup, Gussow found himself walking down the street where Mister Satan was performing and asked if he could join in and play. Mister Satan agreed and soon the two became known as an unlikely but endearing duo—a classic black guitarist/singer with an impressive performance resume and an Ivy-League educated white harmonica player who lacked experience. With racial tensions high at the time in New York, their partnership was a refreshing reprieve from the violence that surrounded them.
Mister Satan and Adam wrote blues riffs that are undeniably catchy and soon they got the attention of Bono and The Edge, who were in town filming portions of the U2 documentary, Rattle And Hum. Phil Joanou, who directed that film, appears in Satan & Adam along with The Edge, and recalls how special the music sounded, “It wasn’t just some guy kinda ‘Give me a buck, come on I’m on the corner. I’m just riffin’ some cover tune.’ This was something interesting.”
Joanou put a brief clip of Mister Satan and Adam in his film and U2 added the song to their album, which brought the Harlem duo a heightened level of exposure and several new fans. Soon Adam convinced Magee to record some tracks in a studio and their popularity exploded, leading to a tour of notable clubs and festivals all across the U.S. and Europe. Though they enjoyed great success, circumstances beyond their control disrupted their rise to fame. The performances came to an end and life continued for them both, but in two very different directions.
With a mix of archival footage (including a segment U2 fans will find quite familiar) and interviews with Gussow and those moved by their music, the story that emerges is that of an enduring, real friendship between two very different men that were united for a period of time by music.
If you appreciate the blues or just want to witness a pleasant real-life “buddy” movie, Satan & Adam will be right up your alley.
The fruit basket from my most recent visit to the property.
My house is full of distractions.
There’s a TV, equipped with thousands of channels and a box that streams content from a dozen more.
There’s a picture window, where I can see the squirrels chase birds.
There’s a fireplace that crackles to life and candles that glow on its screen.
There’s a kitchen that helps invent grand meals.
There’s a record player with a stack of vinyls that beg often to be played.
Like many writers, home isn’t the greatest place for me to spill ink.
But it’s not just getting out of my own space that sparks creativity, it’s being in the right space. And that space for me for several months has been the Sunset Marquis.
Every few Fridays, I take a beautiful flight down the coast to my second home right off the Sunset Strip in West Hollywood. My ritual is to unpack, eat a piece of fruit from the basket that greets me and fire up the laptop to meet my first self-imposed deadline.
I take my shoes off, slide my feet into a pair of the plush slippers provided by the hotel and begin to write. And I write until I’ve reached my pre-determined page count, for it’s only then I’m allowed to head down to the bar. So I always make my deadline.
Bar 1200 is too classy to be called a watering hole; too intimate to be cold. The bartenders are friendly, the drinks are strong and the playlist is perfect.
It’s small, cozy, dark, safe and full of stories. Have I mentioned that I love stories?
In my visits after midnight, I’ve met aspiring actresses, former bar owners, fellow writers, rock stars, filmmakers, mystics, fashion designers and photographers. None of them shy; all of them warm. A community of creatives who all feel an unspoken kinship.
When I first read Malcom Gladwell’s Outliers, years ago, I was fascinated by a story he told about the Italian people of Roseto, who ate unhealthy foods, smoked and drank, yet had remarkably less heart issues than their American counterparts. The only explanation? They had a strong sense of community.
Writing is a fairly solitary sport unless you’re a member of a boisterous writers’ room or participating in a class or workshop. Since I’m in neither situation, writing alone is my default. Until I discovered the Marquis, I didn’t realize how much I needed a sense of belonging to perfect my craft.
It’s nice that the reservation desk remembers I sometimes need a late check-in (depending on my flight’s arrival); that the bar manager knows without a doubt I’ll start with a lemon drop; that the restaurant seats me under the heaters in the wintertime since I easily get cold.
And it’s not just great service—it’s the overall vibe. The welcoming feeling when I wander into the on-site art gallery to gaze at images of my favorite bands; the chats I have about pop culture with the bell hop I consider a true friend.
The Marquis manages to have the luxuries and clientele of the most prestigious properties but lacks the pretension.
And I may not be a household name like many of the guests, or have scripted the Great American Novel (yet), but I do always feel like I fit in when I’m there.
That’s how long I was prevented from driving my own car. Nearly two weeks.
It’s the longest I’ve gone without driving since I spent 10 days in Japan for a speaking engagement in 2015. From February 4 – 16 I only left the house to walk to the grocery store once and for work twice (I was picked up at the bottom of my icy hill after walking/falling down it). It was a test of survival skills and mental health. I passed the first with flying colors; the jury is still out on the second.
I’d spent much of December and January on the road—home to Oregon for the holidays; San Francisco and Los Angeles to see friends, attend some events and to work on creative projects. I was working on my tan just three weeks prior to this snow-pocalypse and was somewhat blinded by its duration.
Folks who aren’t familiar with Pacific Northwest weather (other than the false assumption it rains all the time) assume that snow is a normal part of our winters, but really it’s not. We usually get a dusting of a few inches in January or February that lasts for a day or two at best and then we’re back to our usual cold, drizzly atmosphere. It seldom sticks to the ground, let alone a few feet at a time.
One of my Midwestern friends who expressed concern when she saw the national weather reports warning of our demise said she knew I’d be okay because I’m a “planner” and she was right. Though not specifically prepared for snow, I am infinitely prepared for an earthquake (having lived through three in my life; the largest here in Seattle in 2001). So I had plenty of food, water, flashlights, phone chargers and foot warmers. Thank God.
Day 1 of the storm, my power went out from 9:30 p.m. until sometime before 4:00 a.m. Thankfully, I had cranked up the heat in the hours prior, so I was able to put towels under the door to my bedroom and block in much of that warmth as I slept. The next day, my employer closed our office deeming the roads too dangerous to travel, so we all worked from home. NOTE: For those who like to brag “I grew up in the Northeast/Midwest/Montana/Canada, etc.” and think you’d do fine in a Seattle snowstorm, I urge you to read this.
Days 3 – 7 are mostly a blur. It was more of the same; work from home, walk outside in my Muck Boots every few hours with my broomstick to brush the snow off my satellite dish; heat something in the oven for added warmth; run the hot water so the pipes don’t freeze; pack on layers of clothes; rinse, lather, repeat. Mail delivery and pizza delivery stopped in our neighborhood. The Space Needle closed. So did Fred Meyer. It was the end of times.
Day 8 brought my second power outage and damage to my backyard trees (despite the fact I was also taking the broom to brush heavy, wet snow off their branches). I was growing tired of the eerie silence that blanketed my street. All of the familiar sounds had ceased to exist. There were no children playing, birds singing or cars warming up. On top of that, it was dark save for the candles and camping lanterns that illuminated random windows.
Day 9 the power came back on and I slid down my hill (mostly on my feet, but once unfortunately on my back) and caught a rideshare to my office. After work, my boss was kind enough to drive me to the nearby grocery store to get as many non-refrigerated supplies as I was able to carry and I took a rideshare back to the main road and climbed up that horrible hill to get home. Still no mail delivery.
Day 10 and 11 I lost power once more, but only at night so I was able to work from home. On day 11 I also felt confident enough to walk to the grocery store in my neighborhood to replenish my refrigerated staples. It was a treacherous walk and I was sore the entire night and next day from climbing over the accumulated snow.
Day 12 I again returned to my office via rideshare from the bottom of the hill and returned in the same fashion. By the time I got home, our mail delivery had resumed and signs of life were starting to emerge.
Day 13 we had reached 37 degrees and it was raining, so much of the street was clear; the hill was no longer icy and with a little digging out from the lingering snow, I successfully got my car out. I first went to the movies (it’s Oscar season and I’m shamefully far behind), then to Target (oh, how wonderful to aimlessly wander those aisles!) and finally to my PO Box in a different town, where the majority of my mail is delivered. I can’t overstate how much joy I felt being out and about, hearing the din of other humans, looking at a view that wasn’t my own backyard.
I will never again take the freedom to move about for granted.
Neil McCormick and Niall McNamee. Photo Courtesy of Neil McCormick.
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 interviewed journalist/author Neil McCormick, it was the summer of 2011 in Pittsburgh. Our team at @U2 held an event following a public screening of the film Killing Bono at the Lincoln Park Performing Arts Center. McCormick’s memoir of the same name had become this film, so at that reception, I hosted a Q&A with him to discuss the process of turning the book into a film and what it as like to see “himself” portrayed on the big screen.
He likened it at the time to his head exploding with conflicted feelings. While he loved the concept of having a film about his life, he hadn’t expected it would be a comedy. He knew that certain elements would need to be fictionalized, but didn’t necessarily want that narrative to be interpreted as his truth. I remember leaving the interview not entirely sure if he was glad the film existed.
Now, seven years later, here we are. The original screenwriters of the film have transformed the story into a London stage production and given it a third title, Chasing Bono. After seeing McCormick’s apparent participation in the pre-production, I was anxious to hear if he was simply a masochist or if the tides have turned where his origin story is concerned. After nearly a month of “Chasing Neil,” I caught up with him via email to get the scoop.
TK: How did you first learn that your book was being made into a play?
NM: It was all very meta. I was watching Seven Psychopaths on TV, starring Colin Farrell as an expat screenwriter in L.A., when I got a phone call from Dick Clement, an expat screenwriter in L.A., who, weirdly enough, told me he had just had lunch with Colin Farrell. Who, by the way, does a very good impression of Bono. Dick had also just recently met up with Ben Barnes, who played me in Killing Bono. It all stirred up thoughts of the first draft script for the film, which Dick always liked way more than the actual movie. Dick told me he and his writing partner Ian La Frenais were getting more and more involved in the theatre world and asked me if I still had the stage rights to my original book I Was Bono’s Doppelganger, which (thanks to my very good agent Araminta Whitley) it turns out I did. And thus it began.
TK: I’m unfamiliar with British law—did they need to get your permission before turning it into a performance? Did they consult you on any of the aspects of the adaptation?
NM: They did need to get my permission and they have generously consulted me throughout. It has been a lot of fun. Dick and Ian are legendary writers, in the U.K. anyway, so I was a bit nervous about interfering with their genius, but they’ve worked wonders with the themes and characters and dialogue out of my book. And when I nervously sent them notes on the script, including some short passages of new dialogue, I am delighted to say they included them all.
TK: The creators, Clement and La Frenais are an accomplished writing team who have been cranking out hits since the ‘60s. How did you feel about them repurposing your material? Did you know either of them prior to this project?
Dick and Ian are legendary. I grew up watching their brilliant British sitcoms Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads And Porridge, and loved their classic `80s drama Auf Wiedersehen Pet. They did the screenplay for The Commitments too, a classic Dublin comedy about a struggling rock ’n’ roll band, so I was confident they knew the territory. I met them when they did the first draft of the film Killing Bono, and that was a delight. They told me they loved my book and so we have become a mutual admiration society. Then they met Bono and Edge through that and they have all become great pals too. They are a couple of gentlemen and an inspiration to every writer. I doubt there has been a more effective and long-lasting writing team, though Bono and Edge could still catch them up one day. They have a real gift for pulling comedy out of drama with pathos and a philosophical subtext so they were perfect for this. As for the fictional liberties they have taken with my real life, that is weird and can be complicated to deal with. But I understand the writing process and so I have surrendered my ego to it as best I can.
TK: How did they/you land on the title Chasing Bono? Who had the idea to alter it from Killing Bono or I Was Bono’s Doppelganger?
NM: It originally came from a conversation I had with Bono back when I was a struggling wannabe rock star and he was living out every one of my teenage fantasies. He had called me from Miami and he was talking about smoking cigars with Frank Sinatra and I just said, “Stop! I don’t want to hear it. The problem with knowing you is you’ve lived my life.” And he said, “That’s cos I’m your doppelganger and if you want your life back you’ll have to kill me.” Out of that came I Was Bono’s Doppelganger, but when the book was published in the U.S. they didn’t like the word “doppelganger.” Bono actually came up with the title Killing Bono. He said, “I know a few people would wear that T-shirt.” But I was never entirely comfortable with it, it’s a bit too homicidal. I mean, I may have been envious of his success but I am also his biggest fan and he is my friend and I never really wanted to kill him. Maybe just maim him a little.
Dick and Ian felt the same way and decided early on they wanted to change it. It was Racing Bono for a while but that’s not right either because I lost that race before we were even out of the school gates. I suggested calling it I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For but apparently someone has used that title before on a song back in the `80s (ahem). And anyway it would be hard to fit on the posters. Dick and Ian came up with Chasing Bono. And I don’t know how I feel about it but you’ve got to call it something and I haven’t got a better idea.
TK: Do you know the actor who portrays you? If not, how has he prepared to “become” you? Is it completely surreal to see someone pretending to be you in person (vs. film/tv)?
NM: I have met the actor who portrays me, Niall McNamee. He’s young, handsome and a talented musician, so, perfect casting! It’s all deeply deeply weird. Niall has read my book and he’s been chatting with me and observing me, but I’ve told him to find his own way into the part because I’ve changed a lot since those wild young days. I was there to hear another actor read the part early on and he was very good but he played me completely differently, much darker and more Irish. He was good, and it made me think about how every interpretation lends a different energy to the story. The thing is this character it is not really me, it is an archetype of youthful ambition and creative frustration in some kind of parallel universe version of my life and I am just doing my best to enjoy the absurdity. I am not sure we ever like anybody else holding up a mirror to our vanities. I thought Ben Barnes was actually brilliant in the film Killing Bono, but personally I didn’t think he was much like me, whereas I thought Martin McCann, who played Bono, was just like young Bono. But when I spoke to Bono about it, he had the completely opposite feeling. He was uncomfortable watching the guy playing him but thought Ben Barnes had me nailed down perfectly. Ultimately the actor plays the script, not the person.
TK: Your social media followers have seen reports from read-throughs in preparation for this upcoming play. How involved are you in the day-to-day progression of the project?
NM: I’m quite involved but trying not to get in anybody’s way. So I am available whenever needed and I’ve been in to listen to read-throughs and talk to cast members. It’s been a lot of fun. [My brother] Ivan and I went in and taught our own doppelgangers how to play some of our songs. The weirdest moment was when the actor playing Bono was unavailable for the first big read-through, so they asked me to read Bono’s part opposite the actor playing me. It was a bit of a head fu** but I do a good Bono impression apparently. So there is my new title: I was Bono’s Understudy.
TK: What’s this about band practice with your brother? Are you performing at an event separate from the play?
NM: Ivan and I were just working out some of the songs mentioned in the play because no one has heard them for over 30 years … including us. It is not a musical, I should stress, it is a play with music. But it was great getting together with Ivan to go through some of these old songs, and amazing that we still remembered them, including the classic “I’m A Punk,” which was the first song we ever performed at the school disco supporting The Hype in 1978. “You can take your razor blades / out on the street / You can cut off your hair / you can cut off your feet / you can nail your granny to the wall / you can eat screws for lunch / but nothing’s gonna make you a punk.” A lost classic, I think you will agree.
TK: Will you be at opening night? Any idea if the members of U2 will attend?
NM: I will be at the opening night for sure. And I’m going to drag every rock star and minor celebrity I know down there. But I wouldn’t expect U2 to venture into this particular hall of mirrors. They tend to be circumspect about such things and rightly so. They have been quietly supportive behind the scenes.
TK: Any hopes of the production traveling to Ireland, the states or elsewhere?
NM: We can hope. It’s got to be a hit in London first and then anything can happen. Or not. I have learnt from hard experience not to get my hopes up too high. I’m just going to enjoy this for the weird experience that it is right now.
TK: Any details that you want to add?
NM: There was one read-through early on, just to see what kind of shape the script was in, when the actor reading Bono’s part was 6 foot 2. I told Bono about it and he heartily approved of the casting. He said, “I’ve always felt 6 foot 2.”
Chasing Bono opens Dec. 6 at the Soho Theatre in London. Tickets are on sale now and start at £11. Visit this page to book.
