There are a lot of patterns in our lives. Behaviors, careers, romantic partners, financial habits, health — everything has a rhythm.
Unfortunately, not all of them are positive. One such pattern in my life is that of loving people who get breast cancer.
When I was young, my aunt had it (and survived it), then my best friend’s aunt got it (she didn’t survive it), then my hair stylist (survived), my former boss (survived), two of my mom’s friends (one survived; one didn’t) and one of my good friends now is currently battling it.
That’s not counting the dozens of “scares” in my friends and family, where women had a mammogram that showed something that turned out to be nothing (yet scared the heck out of them in the meantime).
Though I’ve never personally had it, I’ve hurt for each of these people in my life (and those close to them who suffered, regardless of the outcome). Breast cancer changes everything.
My dear friend Debbie (the former boss, listed above) fought the good fight and won, emerging strong and determined to help other women who experienced breast cancer at a young age. Even with wonderful support from her family, she quickly learned what it was like to juggle treatments and still manage to run a household.
She founded The Pink Daisy Project to alleviate the financial burden for young women battling breast cancer. I’m proud to be a volunteer for this organization and thrilled that we’ve launched a new campaign that helps drive donations and lets contributors have a little fun on social media in the process.
As you can see in my photo above, I’m sporting a temporary “pink daisy” tattoo. A $2 donation to the cause will get you the same one; all that we ask is that you snap a selfie of yourself wearing yours and use the hashtag #2fortat when you share it out.
Every little bit helps, and so does making both women who need help — and those with the power to help them — aware of the Pink Daisy resource.
We want breast cancer to stop trending in the lives of amazing people, but if it doesn’t, let’s confront the trend with help and hope and compassion.
This work was commissioned for the site atu2, which was online from 1995 – 2020 and it still protected under a shared copyright.
The year was 1788. Artist William Blake was still grieving the loss of his beloved brother Robert, who had passed away several months prior. He was searching for an inventive way to share his personal poetry that was less laborious than the method he employed for his day job as an engraver for various London publishers.
One night, his late brother visited him in a dream, offering precise instructions on how to create a new way of presenting the work via copperplate. The coloring of the pages was to be done by hand and no two copies of the work in progress were to be identical. Even the order in which the poems were presented was supposed to alternate.
Blake followed this ghostly guidance to the letter and published 19 poems the following year, which made up the Songs of Innocence collection. Five years later, he added 26 more and called that group Songs of Experience. Presenting them together as a pair, they became: Songs of Innocence and Experience: Shewing the Two Contrary States of the Human Soul.
The works were reissued by Blake several times throughout his career; the timeless essence of the subject matter never expiring.
So, what does that have to do with U2?
In obvious terms, the band took the name for their current (and presumably next) album from these poetry books. In a broad sense, the themes Blake explores in his texts (childhood innocence, social injustice, poverty, conflicting aspects of religion) are identical to those of U2.
Bono is quoted as saying the Songs Of Innocence album is all about “first journeys” and “falling in love.” We can only assume that the second volume will reflect an older perspective.
The fact that Blake released these works of art in a new and inventive way for his time is also a parallel, as (love it or hate it) U2 released their album via iTunes in a way no other band had ever before.
The Presence of Nature
An undeniable infusion of nature is repeated throughout William Blake’s collection. Whether he’s “weeping in the evening dew” or has “smil’d among the winters snow,” he’s embracing the natural world. In The School Boy, the young narrator finds joy in his earthly surroundings:
I love to rise in a summer morn When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the sky-lark sings with me. O! What sweet company.
Similarly, U2 lyrics on Songs Of Innocence are rich with landscapes and environmental descriptions. When Bono sings about U2’s first visit to the Golden State in “California (There Is No End To Love),” he can’t help but remember the color of the sky:
California, blood orange sunset Brings you to your knees I’ve seen for myself There’s no end to grief
Nature is also used to describe a memorable childhood place. In Blake’s The Ecchoing Green, it’s a location where kids played in their youth:
The birds of the bush, Sing louder around To the bells’ cheerful sound, While our sports shall be seen On the ecchoing green.
For Bono, the beauty found in his best friend’s yard brings comfort to “Cedarwood Road:”
And that cherry blossom tree Was a gateway to the sun And friendship, once it’s won It’s won, it’s one
There are countless other references to nature in both works that mention the ocean, the sky, stars and seasons. A relatable and universal way for each artist to convey a mood — even if over 200 years apart in delivery.
Religious Overtones
Though neither Blake’s poems nor U2’s album could be considered strictly religious, they’re both laced with references to Christianity. God and the church are both celebrated and condemned in each collection.
In Blake’s poem The Divine Image, he urges non-judgment and shows that God is compassionate:
And all must love the human form, In heathen, turk or jew; Where Mercy, Love & Pity dwell There God is dwelling too.
In “Lucifer’s Hands,” U2’s singer delights in God “saving” him through music:
The spirit’s moving through a seaside town I’m born again to the latest sound New wave airwaves swirling around my heart
You no longer got a hold on me I’m out of Lucifer’s hands
Alternately, Blake takes God to task for the suffering of the poor in Holy Thursday:
Is this a holy thing to see, In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reducd to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand?
And in U2’s “Sleep Like a Baby Tonight,” shades of priestly abuse are evident:
Hope is where the door is When the church is where the war is Where no one can feel no one else’s pain
You’re gonna sleep like a baby tonight In your dreams everything is alright
In Blake’s time, he was considered radical for his vocal opposition to the Church of England. While Bono, The Edge, Larry and Adam are probably known more for their political voice, all but Adam have previously identified as religious, so it’s a slight about-face to see them so blatantly criticize the church.
The Poetry of the Innocence + Experience Tour
Conceptually, the tour aligns quite well with William Blake’s books. U2 begin each show with “The Miracle (Of Joey Ramone),” which details their collective loss of musical innocence seeing Joey Ramone live for the first time as teens. They typically follow that tune with songs from their earliest albums (except “Vertigo”) before going into “Iris,” which is about Bono’s mother. William Blake’s poem The Chimney Sweeper is about a child who lost his mother when he was young.
Next in the show, U2 explore Bono’s childhood and life in general as a young man in 1970s Ireland. Blake’s Songs Of Innocence shows children both “lost” and “found” as they navigate childhood among life’s joys and challenges in 1700s London.
As the show progresses, the band members grow metaphorically older, referencing events that happened as they aged. Following intermission, they launch into the “experience” portion of the concert, with songs that reflect their later years as men who have fallen in love, raised families, found fame, suffered loss. Though the setlist changes from night to night, they clearly move to the “other side of the barricade” in this second half of the show.
Even the way the songs are presented — heavy on the visuals, with books and pages falling from the stage and sky, respectively, each night — mimics the spirit of Blake’s ancient copperplates; conveying images in a way that had never before been seen. No other lead singers have leapt into a cage mid-show that displayed their childhood street as they sang along to the description of it. Nor have concertgoers clamored to collect ripped pages of books they were (most likely) forced to read in young adulthood, searching for the symbolism as they Google paragraphs of old text on their smartphones.
Only Part of the Story
Though I’m guessing the inspiration didn’t go much deeper than the general concept of Blake’s poems for U2, the similarities in theme are evident. Plus, the band’s history with this collection of poems goes all the way back to the late ’80s, when they recorded the song “Beautiful Ghost/Introduction to Songs of Experience,” taking the lyrics directly from Blake’s Introduction to Songs of Experience. Perhaps they were intentionally prophetic, giving us a taste of things to come. The fun in searching for clues to the method of U2’s madness stems from the theoretical puzzle pieces the band so generously doses out. However, because the album Songs Of Experience has not yet been completed, it’s hard to draw a comprehensive comparison between the works.
Of course, if U2 really wanted to pay homage to the legendary poet (and please the marketing department at their record label), they could pull a different kind of stunt when the next album is released. Instead of issuing vinyls and CDs with a fixed playlist, they could mix up the tracks and offer several different versions with the songs in no particular order, just like Blake issued his copperplate pages.
This would not only put a smile on the faces of William Blake fans everywhere and potentially sell more albums (since completist fans would want at least a few variations in sequence), but it would also force them to make songs so brilliant and versatile that they’d shine regardless of the order in which they were played.
Not that they wouldn’t shine anyway.
(c) @U2/Kokkoris, 2015.
Please note: the spellings and punctuation used in referencing William Blake’s poetry is authentic to the way he wrote the works in the 1700s.
This work was commissioned for the site atu2, which was online from 1995 – 2020 and it still protected under a shared copyright.
Having recently experienced a sudden death in the family, I became overwhelmed with emotions that I didn’t even know I had. I’ve described it as a profound sadness coupled with pain that hurt deep in my chest. In an instant, things that would normally take precedence in my everyday life became insignificant; colors that brightened my world went dull.
Within hours of the loss, I was bombarded with calls, flowers and social media messages. I had to turn my phone to vibrate because the sound of the texts constantly going off made me crazy. Later the buzzing made me nuts as well, so I buried the phone under pillows for several hours. Though everyone sending those messages had only the best of intentions, what I needed more than anything was peace and quiet.
As the days dragged on, I lost track of space and time. I thought weekends were weekdays and nighttime was morning. The thick fog of Oregon matched the haze of my brain, which was out of focus and fuzzy with despair. When I was ready to accept what had happened, and felt obligated to respond to those who had checked in, I began scrolling all of the beautiful messages that had been left for me on Facebook, and reading the kind texts and emails that were sent. Perhaps predictably, some of the ones that brought me the most comfort were those that somehow referenced U2.
I smiled one of my first genuine smiles following the passing when I opened a card from my friend and she’d tucked in a drawing her 5-year-old daughter completed of the band. Tears came to my eyes when another friend simply wrote “Kite” in the comments field of my announcement of the loss. Several folks also sent lyrics in lieu of messages, and I loved that.
Of course, that prompted me to make a playlist for the drive back to Seattle. A reflective list consisting only of U2’s music. Weeks later, I’m still listening to it, still drawing comfort from the mix. If you find yourself in a time of grief, I invite you to do the same. In case you need help with the list, here are my Top 10:
10. MLK This song is so hymn-like that it always has a calming effect on me. After friends and family convinced me it was okay to “return” to my life, I began to seek out the dark safety of movie theaters. I wanted to see stories and characters that matched my sadness, perhaps to encourage my body to release the pain. One of the first films I saw was the brilliant Selma, about the legendary civil rights march led by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. This simple lullaby in his honor is as relevant today as it was when the band wrote it, if not more so. It helped me, and also reminded me of the personal tragedies suffered by those close to public figures.
9. Iris Bono speaks of how he filled the absence of his mother with music, and what better way to pay tribute to her life than with this beautiful tune. The heavenly intro reminds me of the presence of angels and the lyrics speak to the truth in our longevity. I believe that sharing the physical world is only the beginning of our souls’ journey, and the light of love shines on.
8. Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own Losing a loved one is always hard; losing a loved one with whom you had a difficult relationship can be harder. Bono seemed to discover the essence of his father toward the end of his life, and following his passing. The result was this raw meditation on all of the things they both got right and wrong along the way. An honest, gorgeous tribute to remind us all to do the best we can for as long as we have together.
7. Heartland Though this song is about a place rather than a person, I found it incredibly cathartic on my drive back home from bereavement leave. Each day I wake, I’m a little further from the shock, a little more distant from the grief. Dawn does, indeed, change everything.
6. If God Will Send His Angels In times of such deep despair it can certainly seem like a higher power is taking a vacation (if your beliefs include a higher power, of course). Like we’re all out on our own islands, making our way without any guidance or relief. It can be therapeutic to get mad, and this criticism of God’s silence, masked under a quiet cloak of melody, sure helped my anger seem justified when I needed it most.
5. One In the aftermath of my loss, I immediately started putting thoughts down on paper. As I began to trace my experience, I realized that nearly everyone is flying blind in the wake of sudden grief. So, I wrote what I was feeling at each step of the way, and decided to publish it in hopes that people who will eventually endure the same thing will be more prepared than I was for the pain. I also wanted to stress that no one should apologize for the myriad of emotions they will confront that are completely out of their control. The response was overwhelming and one dear friend wrote me a note in appreciation of the piece, mentioning how we really do “carry each other” in times of need. We most certainly do, which is why this song remains in heavy rotation. The words are so simple, so pure, so true.
4. Kite None of us know “where the wind will blow” and all we can do in the meantime is give this life of ours our best. Like the one-word title left for me by a friend, the simple poetry of this song soothes me. Just like watching the beautiful colors of a kite fly by — even if it’s “blowing out of control on a breeze,” the universe has still given it a purpose, profound in its own journey.
3. In a Little While This is my go-to song for recovering from just about anything. I detailed why in an essay I wrote back in 2008, so I won’t go into it here, but I’m pleased to say it possesses the same healing powers it had when I first needed it over a decade ago. It holds up.
2. One Tree Hill One of the most common lines that friends sent to me after the unthinkable happened, was the glorious, “I’ll see you again when the stars fall from the sky” from this tragically beautiful song. What could I say? I was a sobbing mess every time I saw or heard it, but I loved getting it. It’s so touching, so sweet and says so much by saying so little. One of the greatest gifts U2 has ever given us, made personal by those I love.
1. Window in the Skies This song may be an afterthought for many fans; casual listeners may not even realize that it’s U2, but I found it a great help the farther I got from my grief. “Oh can’t you see what love has done?” I most certainly can.
I recently lost a member of my immediate family. It was the first time that’s ever happened to me, and considering my immediate family consists of just four people (including me), it predictably turned my world upside down.
Now that I’ve had some time to reflect, the only way I know to cope is to put some thoughts down on paper (or on the inviting screen of a MacBook Pro, in this case). So here goes.
On Witnessing. I had the fortunate (or unfortunate) luck of being able to sit with my loved one as he passed. At first I was horrified by the suffering he was enduring, then relieved when the nurses “made him comfortable” with his final cocktail of medicines. We felt right about respecting his Do Not Resuscitate wishes, but no part of it was easy. For hours we waited, by his side, as he grew quieter and thankfully, more peaceful. Throughout the day, small signs of normalcy infuriated me. The pleasant cleaning lady mopping the floor under his bed; the large family in the waiting room giggling at the television overhead; the cafeteria staff ringing up our tiny bowls of vegetable soup as if it was just another day at work. Of course, my loved one was oblivious, but I resented the fact that life was going on around us when such despair was imminent. I made several trips to the brightly lit, bubblegum-scented restroom either to cry or try to throw up. I was always too hot or too cold; never in between. The nurses couldn’t have been more wonderful, checking on all of us, ensuring his comfort right up to the very end. I kept watching him, thinking his final breath would be some sort of morbid announcement that he was gone, that it would be noticeable and obvious, but it wasn’t. In fact, he lived on several minutes after he took his final breath — the nurses informed us he still had a pulse. When they returned to check again moments later, one on each side of him to be absolutely sure, they behaved just as the hospital staff on Days of our Lives always does. One said to the other “I’m calling it,” as she looked at the clock and noted the time. And then they hugged us and left us alone for a final goodbye before the nursing supervisor came in to walk us through the next steps. It was nothing short of surreal.
On the Next Steps. Thank God for Six Feet Under. I interviewed Alan Ball once for my podcast years ago, and I know I told him I was a fan of the show, but it can’t be understated how much watching it helped prepare me for my first-ever visit to a funeral home. It happened just as it used to for the fictional Fishers and I’m grateful I knew what to expect. Every interaction was very compassionate, yet matter-of-fact; dark, yet calm. As the associate went to print out paperwork, I absorbed my surroundings, wondering how they chose the odd artwork on the walls. The Kleenex on the table begged for us to break down and at one point while we were alone, we did, but thankfully the meeting took less than an hour, because we knew exactly what the deceased wanted.
On Processing. Different people grieve in different ways. Some people collapse into dramatic sobs; others lash out in unprovoked fits of anger. People like me, however, quietly shrink in disbelief and struggle to form sentences when necessary. All I know is that no matter the reaction, no grieving person should ever be held responsible or accountable for anything they say or do in the weeks following a tragedy.
On Condolences. It’s very nice to let someone who has suffered a loss know that you love them and are there for them. I was incredibly moved by the flowers and cards that arrived once we announced our sad news.
On Condolences, Part 2. One of the things that was hard for us in the early days was the fact that many friends didn’t have my parents’ current address (though I had told folks to message me privately on social media for it). Instead of simply asking me, they went ahead and sent the flowers, etc. to the address where my parents had lived in 2009, so it inconvenienced the people who currently live there, and it made for some logistical juggling for us to retrieve the items. We were grateful for the gesture, but stuff like that isn’t what we wanted to be focusing on while we were still adjusting to the shock. For future reference, if you don’t absolutely know for sure where to send something, please do the bereaved the courtesy of asking.
On The Tradition of Food. One of the most customary things to do for those in mourning is to deliver hot meals. We received everything from creamy soups to grilled cheese sandwiches and cookies the weekend after our tragedy. We appreciated all of it and ate nearly none of it. We just weren’t hungry and couldn’t force our bodies to cooperate. That said, the frozen items are beginning to be thawed out and enjoyed now, so if your heart tells you to prepare food, make it something that can be preserved for later.
On Unconventional Gifts. Personally, these things helped me most. The pal that sent me a funny clip from one of our mutual favorite shows; the couple that had their young children draw pictures for me; the friend that treated me to a relaxing pedicure; my former colleagues who sent a customized care package complete with chocolate and a bottle of whiskey. All of these things made me feel loved and treasured because I felt like the givers really knew me. They realized that I would need to laugh, feel comfort and allow myself to indulge because I’d been purposely depriving myself of all of those things.
On Survivors’ Guilt. Even though I was several decades younger than my family member who passed, I felt guilty for my healthy body and mind. I didn’t think I had permission to continue enjoying life. I didn’t feel right about reading the lighthearted book I brought with me or going to a movie (always my greatest escape) because I knew he couldn’t do those things anymore. It may not have been rational, but it was real.
On Social Media. I’m thankful for it. Unlike decades past, I didn’t have to make 30 phone calls or sit down and write a dozen letters letting people know of my loved one’s passing — I simply posted it once to a carefully curated list of friends and family on Facebook and let the Internet take it from there. It was a great relief to only have to write those words once.
On Privacy. Despite the fact his obituary was only in a few local newspapers, I still received very personal condolences from acquaintances that never knew of or met the deceased, and barely know me. I couldn’t help but feel awkward about this — their hearts were in the right place (I hope), but somehow it didn’t feel quite right. A message via Twitter would have sufficed if they felt moved to respond. I just took this as a lesson to myself that if I see someone grieving from a distance that I don’t know very well, I will most likely say a silent prayer for them and just give them space.
On Prayer. Whatever your religion or lack thereof, there have been studies done that imply that those who are prayed for (whether they know it or not) are more likely to heal faster from trauma — mental or physical. I can safely say, having been the recipient of a mountain of prayers these past few weeks, that in my case it’s true. The positive energy our family received was almost tangible and I’m certain those moments of calm we would feel, where we realized the sun would again someday shine, were a credit to those who kept us in their thoughts and meditations.
On Messaging. It’s natural to want to be there for someone who you care for in their time of need, and many of my friends and family expressed this via the quickest way they knew to reach me: text message. I can’t say I blame them, for I’ve done the same thing. But what happened was this: every time I would hear the ping of my phone going off, I was right back to my most raw point of grief, no matter what progress I’d made on composure that day. I knew that the instant I read whatever sweet message they’d written, I’d collapse into another puddle of tears. It became so exhausting, I quit responding at some point and turned the phone to vibrate, hiding it under pillows so I wouldn’t even hear the buzz. I hope I didn’t offend anyone with my silence.
On Emails. I felt very comforted by emails. The thoughtful, personal messages and offers for help were perfect because I could tend to them whenever I felt strong enough to read them. And I did read and respond to all of them at my own pace, unlike texts, which I felt obligated to answer immediately.
On Breathing. In the fog of grief, it’s sometimes hard to remember to breathe. With everyone hovering around the first few days, I felt very suffocated by the attention. Again, it’s not that I didn’t appreciate the sentiment; it’s just that I wanted some distance while I adjusted to my ‘new normal.’ Perhaps other people are different, but I’m used to solitude so that’s my quickest path to healing.
On Friendship. The saying is true: you really do find out who your friends are in times of trouble. My heart is swollen with love by the amount of people from every stage of my life who have stepped up to support me and my family as we grieve. My high school BFF telling me to call her anytime — day or night —and knowing she meant it, despite the fact she has two young children to look after; my Seattle BFF offering to join me for a hike or whatever I need to make me feel better, though she also has two small children to parent; my ex-boyfriends that reached out though I haven’t spoken with them in months (or years, in one case); the atU2 staff that I’ve considered family for the past decade that sent me lyrics or quotes to accompany the flowers… the list goes on. I’m so incredibly blessed to have such compassionate people in my life.
On Kindness. From my longtime hairstylist who refused to charge me for my haircut to colleagues I’ve only known for a month sending me messages of hope and help, I’ve learned there is a deep well of kindness in human beings. No matter how many horrible things are happening in our individual lives or the greater world, the good really does outweigh the bad.
On the Cost of Death. Insurance doesn’t cover everything. From hospital bills to arrangements for the deceased to obituaries to death certificates to transportation for errands, death is really expensive. I will need to take a break from my social life for a few months, not just to heal mentally, but to recover financially. I hope everyone understands why I’m denying their well-intentioned invites.
On Paying Respects. One of the best ways we felt to pay tribute to my loved one was to request donations for a cause he was passionate about. Since he was always feeding the hungry (whether it be driving meals to families in the inner city around the holidays or taking a hot plate of food to a neighbor less fortunate), we felt it best to honor him by asking for contributions to the Oregon Food Bank. If you’re moved to do so, they (and we) would appreciate the donation.
Since the early days of PTA Mob Mentality went mainstream with Tipper Gore’s founding of the Parental Advisory in 1985, mothers and fathers everywhere have found irrational things to get angry about.
There were the spelling bee protests of 2010, which argued for the phonetic spellings of words; the same year, a school district in Ohio banned their high school teachers from showing historically valuable films like Schindler’s List after parents protested their violence; and then just last month, some Texas moms and dads successfully pressured the school their kids attend to stop letting them read 7 notable books because they had subject matter that made them uncomfortable.
Yesterday, after a Change.org petition started by a Florida mother reached upward of 9,000 signatures, toy giant Toys “R” Us removed a series of action figures based on the popular show Breaking Bad from their shelves. An excerpt from her petition stated, “While the show may be compelling viewing for adults, its violent content and celebration of the drug trade make this collection unsuitable to be sold alongside Barbie dolls and Disney characters.”
The chain’s initial response had been to continue carrying the product because it was only made available in their section that is for customers aged 15 and older, but perhaps fearing bad PR on the cusp of the holiday shopping season, they deemed the risk too large to stand their ground and flip-flopped, cowardly adhering to the noise.
This is ridiculous.
First, because from a completely corporate standpoint, these dolls had the potential to be a top seller for the chain. Though Breaking Bad ended last year, its prequel spinoff Better Call Saul is slated to debut in February, which has kept the characters front of mind for many fans. Plus, the publicity surrounding the petition made many aware of the toys who may not otherwise have known about them. Even the show’s star, Bryan Cranston, poked fun at the controversy with a hilarious tweet directed at the Florida mom.
Second, because it’s nothing short of hypocritical to pull one type of item from shelves for what it represents and then leave the others available for purchase.
Specifically, Toys “R” Us proudly offers the video game Grand Theft Auto, which has a “Mature” rating and features a content description that reads, “Enter the lives of three very different criminals, Michael, Franklin and Trevor, as they risk everything in a series of daring and dangerous heists that could set them up for life.” Warnings include: Blood and Gore, Intense Violence, Mature Humor, Nudity, Strong Language, Strong Sexual Content, Use of Drugs and Alcohol.
In the action figures category, they also sell a variety of G.I. Joe products, some that contain words such as “ambush” and “attack” in their titles.
Are you seeing my point here?
Though I would never be interested in violent video games or war toys, I certainly think Toys “R” Us has every right to sell them, just as I think they should have continued offering the Breaking Bad toys for those of us who have a sense of humor. In essence, this Florida mom has not removed any potential danger from children’s lives by causing this stir; she’s simply created an expensive collectors’ item that is now in much higher demand.
At the end of the day, if parents are worried about what types of toys their child is playing with (or, gasp, seeing on a store shelf), they should become more present in their lives.
I traveled to New York last week, and was blessed to be able to take time to visit the 9/11 Memorial and Museum at Ground Zero.
The grounds are simple and beautiful: Two reflecting pools; a list of names representing the lives that were lost; and greenery and trees that quietly remind us of nature’s comeback. This is in the shadow of the new Freedom Tower, a majestic skyscraper that glistens in the New York sun.
Amidst all of this peace, though, there is an undeniable vibe of despair.
I actually wasn’t sure how to get to the memorial from where I began Friday morning in SoHo, so I began walking in the direction of the Freedom Tower, which I caught glimpses of as I made my way down the narrow streets.
I had a good morning — I’d just acted like a silly fangirl at the temporary Central Perk that has been constructed in honor of the 20th anniversary of the show Friends. I snapped photos, talked with other fans, sipped free coffee and sat on the original couch from the set. That night I had plans to have dinner with a friend I hadn’t seen in over two years. My mood was nothing short of jovial.
But the closer I got to the site of the tragedy, the more nauseous I began to feel. Without glancing up or looking at street signs, I knew exactly when I had arrived at Ground Zero from the sick feeling I got, which was like an energy physically pulling the joy from my body.
A little dizzy and a lot haunted, I began to survey they area. The construction currently going on gave me flashbacks of the hundreds of news reports I watched of workers looking for survivors amidst the horrible smoldering pile of death and debris. The well-dressed business people making their way to and from lunch sent me into a memory of office workers that day in their professional attire, running in horror from their soon-to-be-former workplace. The visitors openly weeping at the reflecting pools reminded me that some tragedies will never truly end.
I walked from the memorial across the street to a beautiful little park along the marina and took a breath of fresh air before returning to the space where I had to purchase a museum ticket. I needed the break.
When I decided I would run out of time to go in unless I returned, I quietly stood in line, listening to the British accents behind me and the French speaking friends in front of me. I thought about how lovely it was that they cared enough to visit.
My timed entrance was over an hour from when I bought the ticket, so I walked as far away from the site as I could to get the vibe off of me, bought and wrote some postcards to friends, and people watched.
When I returned, about 20 minutes before I was due to be admitted, I unfortunately got in line just ahead of one of the most obnoxious children I have ever encountered.
She was a skinny, brown-haired, freckle-faced brat that I would suppose was in the neighborhood of 12 years old. She was with her father and another female family member (but it couldn’t have been mom, because any mom would have told her to shut up).
In her high-pitched voice, she proceeded to loudly complain about the fact she was standing in “another” line and though our tickets were stamped for 1:30, we would surely not be out of there until 5:00. This whining drew looks from the people in front of me and the people behind them, and everyone to our left and right, English-speaking or otherwise.
Due to a complete lack of self-awareness, the girl continued.
Next on her list was verbally scripting a show, starring her and her dad (who was coaching her along and laughing with her). I forget what the plot was intended to be, but several times I heard her joke and giggle about being killed, killing, dying, etc.
People became uncomfortable, the looks shot in her direction were scathing and at one point I turned around and made direct eye contact with a look that screamed “please shut the fuck up.” None of this even phased her. She kept going, getting louder and louder with her stupid story.
By the time I had rehearsed the lecture I was going to deliver to her and her father about how inappropriate her behavior was at such a sacred site, it was our turn to go in, so I bit my tongue and got as far away from them as possible once I was inside.
I heard a couple with an indistinguishable accent speaking in hushed tones about how out of control the behavior of American children is, and I’m certain they were referencing her.
Of course kids get antsy as they sightsee with their parents. I get that. And I cut some slack to the toddlers, but adolescents???
I remember being less than thrilled about being dragged from one art museum to another when I was seven and we lived in Greece, but I never would have dreamed about joking and carrying on about an inappropriate subject matter outside any memorial or place of solemn reflection. And if I had, my parents would have quickly silenced me.
We were standing upon hallowed ground at the 9/11 Museum, an area where so many lost their lives and their loved ones grieved for them. I was witnessing our American history with people who had no connection to the site and people who were a part of it that day. The level of grief on display varied from silent acknowledgement to outright sobs of pain. It is still September, after all.
The girl (and her dad) should be horribly ashamed of her behavior and should serve as a lesson to the rest of us: To truly honor the victims of this horrible act, behave with reverence in the presence of their lost souls.
And if the site doesn’t mean anything to you, please don’t waste anyone’s time by visiting.
This work was commissioned for the site atu2, which was online from 1995 – 2020 and it still protected under a shared copyright.
Wow. What a week, right?
For those off the grid since Tuesday, let me catch you up …
If you live in one of the 119 countries that has iTunes available, and you possess an account, congratulations! You’re now the proud owner of a new, free U2 album. It’s called Songs Of Innocence and it’s waiting there for you in your purchased items list. No, really, it’s there. Honestly, the only way Apple could’ve made the delivery any more magical is if they’d programmed Bono’s voice to say, “Am I buggin’ you? I don’t mean to bug ya,” upon log in.
Some of us would have laughed, but I get why many did not when they received the album. Though I was elated to watch our favorite frontman on stage at the iPhone 6 launch perform a little “E.T.” move and suddenly see all of the songs appear on my phone, I do understand the frustration of those folks who aren’t fans and didn’t ask for new music. I wouldn’t like it if an album by a band I disliked showed up without my prompting.
What I don’t understand are the scores of account owners who don’t know the band. Aside from various infants and toddlers, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who doesn’t know who Bono is, and in my brain, if you know who Bono is, you know of the band U2 — even if you’re not a fan.
As if the whining anti-U2 chorus wasn’t loud enough, the band’s stunt with Apple also sparked a backlash of criticism from members of their own fan base, claiming the launch was too big and corporate. That it’s no longer about the music if big business plays a part.
Friends, I beg to differ.
U2 have always aimed to reach the masses. Bono’s repeated claims of wanting the title of “Best Band in the World” have never really slowed, nor does the band seem to create music that begs to be heard in a coffeehouse. Your goals for them (if you want them to keep it small) aren’t their goals.
There is no crime in smart marketing. U2 didn’t get to where they are today by hiding behind their fame; they’ve capitalized on it, as is their right to do. In fact, if they weren’t good at promoting themselves, none of us would even be having this conversation. Why punish them for a partnership that makes perfect sense? Since Tuesday, their back catalog has reappeared on the iTunes charts, securing some of the top spots. As late as Friday night, The Joshua Tree was at No. 7, cuddled right between the Guardians Of The Galaxy soundtrack and Sam Smith’s In The Lonely Hour. Not bad for a collection of songs that debuted in 1987.
They learned their lesson.No Line On The Horizon didn’t do as well as previous albums not because the music was bad, but because they marketed primarily to us: their tried-and-true fans who always wait for the Dave Fanning interview and the chat with Jo Whiley. We don’t expect to see them much on social media, but we buy their music anyway. With this new approach, they’re getting in front of millions who may never before have heard them (hard as that is to believe).
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Remember: Apple bought this album for our catalogs. We didn’t. Sure, we’ll have the option to get more songs if we buy a physical copy or order them digitally a la carte, but right now, the only paycheck they’ve received for Songs Of Innocence came from the tech giant. And like Bono said in his letter to us, it hurts smaller bands when anyone gives away music for free, so it was good that someone paid for it.
Our modern society needs corporations. In a perfect world we’d all buy bread from the baker down the street and get our shoes from the cobbler on the corner, but that’s not reality. I go to farmer’s markets and buy gifts on Etsy, but I also drink a lot of Coca-Cola and enjoy my DirecTV immensely. To put things in perspective: I’m sure that Larry’s first drum set was made by a corporation, as was the notepad Bono scribbled his lyrics upon in the ‘80s. Every vinyl album you ever bought was pressed in a factory of some sort; each cassette spooled in a manner of mass production. See where I’m going with this? The truth is, if you’re reading this right now, on a computer or a mobile device, via the Internet, you’re supporting big business. Make peace with it.
The artistic integrity of the music is in no way compromised by the way it’s distributed. It seems kind of silly to me that there are fans who think the Apple partnership in some way diminishes the creativity of the finished product. I don’t think this could be further from the truth, since we may have in fact got a better album from our band because the demanding launch deadline didn’t allow them to second-guess themselves and Phil Spector-ize their own masterpiece.
So, let’s talk about that masterpiece.
As I was listening to the new album, I couldn’t help but remember my first @U2 writing assignment 10 years ago. Only a contributor back then, I pitched an article to Matt about the similarities between my two favorite bands: U2 and The Beatles. He graciously accepted it and I happily scripted it. I feel like now I should update it.
If The Joshua Tree was U2’s Revolver and Achtung Baby was Sgt. Pepper, this is undoubtedly their first installment of The White Album. Hell, the album cover is even white, and I doubt that’s an accident.
I realize that the title Songs Of Innocence is a nod to British poet William Blake, but there are far more recognizable Beatles parallels for me.
“Iris” is like Lennon’s “Julia” both paying tribute to their mothers; “Cedarwood Lane” is akin to “Glass Onion” in that it reflects upon their personal childhood places. The backing vocals on The Beatles’ “Back In The U.S.S.R.” were intentionally sung like The Beach Boys; U2 pays tribute to that band in “California”.
Who knows what will match on Songs Of Experience?
I’m enjoying learning and feeling the tracks on ‘part 1’ in the meantime. I’ve been listening to all the songs in order, just like we used to in the old days, so they become a collective memory. And let me tell you, this is a raw, stunning album. There are no tortoises or cockatoos killing the buzz here.
I’m going on record saying this is the best thing they’ve done since Achtung Baby. There, I said it.
Here’s my list, ranked weakest to strongest, in my humble opinion:
11. California (There Is No End To Love) Though the nod to The Beach Boys is sweet, and I like California-the-state as much as the next girl, the song doesn’t put me there the way that “New York” catapults me to summer in the Big Apple or “Miss Sarajevo” throws me into a Bosnian war zone. It’s okay, is all.
10. Every Breaking Wave It’s not the song’s fault that I’d already heard it, but I just can’t muster genuine excitement for a track that I discovered on the last tour and thought, “Well, that’s nice.” It is nice, but it’s the most “recent U2” sounding song of the bunch, and I’m into the classics.
9. Song For Someone The guitar intro to this one is so quietly beautiful, and Bono’s voice so clear with Edge’s melodies to complement. The longing in the chorus I can feel in my bones, and I so appreciate that.
8. Iris (Hold Me Close) Bono’s gorgeous tribute to his late mother has all the hallmarks of classic U2, right from the first riff of Edge’s guitar to the honest emotion in Bono’s voice as he describes how the “ache in his heart” where she used to be has shaped him. Heartbreaking and satisfying.
7. This Is Where You Can Reach Me Now The soldier imagery combined with Larry’s old-school military drumming in this one is sublime. They threw a little Rockwell over the top and made it a late ‘70s dance track. A song that could be backed by a marching band or played at a disco. Such geniuses.
6. Cedarwood Road Ladies and gentlemen, The Edge is officially on fire. With lyrics like, “That cherry blossom tree was a gateway to the sun/And friendship, once it’s won, it’s won” over the top of that insane rock ’n’ roll guitar riff, we can see their childhood spring to life in full bloom.
5. The Troubles The haunting sound of Lykke Li’s voice layered over Bono’s, along with the strings, makes this one stand out like none of the others on the album. If this came on the radio, most people wouldn’t immediately recognize it as a U2 song because it’s such a departure for them. It’s fresh, oddly submissive and powerful.
4. The Miracle (Of Joey Ramone) I feel about them the way they feel about The Ramones. They awaken a very deep part of my soul, and that awakening has guided me for years. The African-inspired howls coupled with the beats throughout give the tune a tribal sensation that perfectly communicates the energy I feel when I’m amongst you fellow fans at one of their shows. We become part of the same vibration both physically and spiritually. And that will feel all the more amazing during this song with the Edge refrain radiating beneath us as the ground shakes.
3. Raised By Wolves This one could have been an extra track on Boy, and I mean that in the best way possible. It’s angry and passionate and stripped-back and basic and visceral. I’d like more of these types of songs, please.
2. Sleep Like a Baby Tonight Bono channels John Lennon’s painful “Cold Turkey” voice for this menacing lullaby and hits falsettos we haven’t heard since Macphisto took the stage. The dreadful subject matter here likely allows those high-pitched demons to rise and that makes it all the more devastating. It’s the darkest track on the album, but also one of the most flawless.
1. Volcano This song allows Adam to shine with blinding brightness. When I listened to this for the first time, I could have sworn the bass rhythms traveled through my headphones, down my throat and into my chest, making my heart burst in time with every note. It was as if the music was buried in my cells, awaiting the cue from U2 to ignite. Each section of the song brings a different dimension to an already interesting arrangement. It’s complex in that you never know where it’s about to go, but each destination is better than the last. An absolute triumph.
Speaking of how “Volcano” felt like it was already inside me the first time I listened reminds me of a documentary I saw a few weeks back, for which I am now obsessed. It’s called Alive Inside and tells the story of a man who began bringing music to patients in nursing homes to restore memory and awaken a part of them that has been dormant for years.
I was so fascinated and moved by the film, I donated one of my old iPods to the organization and made my own if-I’m-ever-in-a-coma or when-I’m-too-old-to-remember-you list of songs for my friends and family to be aware of in case I ever need them.
It has come to my attention that you (perhaps members of the Millennial generation) were baffled by the gift bestowed upon you on Tuesday. That when you saw a free full-length album magically appear in your purchased items list, you stared at it long and hard, but the name “U2" didn’t ring a bell.
This troubles me, kids. More than you know.
So I’m here to catch you up. To fill your brain with knowledge that should have arrived alongside you the day you were born. To broaden your horizons and (pun intended) rock your world.
Listen up.
It all started in the 1970s in a beautiful city called Dublin, Ireland. There were four boys who lived on the north side of town named Paul, David, Adam and Larry. They all went to a high school called Mt. Temple, where they had a bulletin board for the students to post notes to one another. One day, Larry decided he wanted to start a band, so he posted a note on said bulletin board and a bunch of neighborhood kids showed up at his house for an audition/rehearsal.
Paul, who went by “Bono”, David, who went by “The Edge” and Adam all made the cut in addition to a few other kids at first. They went by the name “Feedback,” and then “The Hype,” but by the time they arrived on the name that stuck, “U2,” those three boys, and Larry, were the only members left.
They practiced really hard and played a lot of gigs, and two years later, they won a talent show in Limerick. That victory resulted in a demo session, which eventually led to a record deal.
They knew they really hit the big time in 1987 when Time Magazine put them on the cover. Their #1 hit, “With or Without You” would become a staple in pop culture for decades to come, appearing on Friends,etc.
In the 1990s, they revolutionized the concert landscape with their ground-breaking ZooTV tour.
After September 11th, they performed at the Super Bowl and remembered the victims of the tragedy with a moving tribute, displaying a scroll of their names. They also continued their Elevation tour in the wake of the attacks despite much uncertainty over the safety of crowds (many other acts canceled).
In fact, Bono’s humanitarian work landed him another Time Magazinecover in 2002. He was also nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. And he was Knighted in 2007.
But back to the music — the band has scored some impressive awards in their time. They’ve won more Grammys than any other rock band (22, and counting); they’ve earned 15 Meteor Ireland Awards; won two Golden Globes and been nominated for two Oscars. They were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, too.
Anyway, when they’re not making music or saving the world or winning awards, they’re spending time with their families. They’re all Dads. And The Edge is even a Grandfather.
They’re good men, with good intentions and a passion for their collective day job.
So: The next time you see U2's music pop up, instead of giving it a puzzled look or Tweeting nonsense about spam, give it a listen.
Last week I saw a documentary that rocked my world. It was called Alive Inside, and it shared the true stories of elderly patients in nursing homes (some suffering from dementia, schizophrenia and other ailments) who were awakened from their dormant states by music.
I’ve always thought that music had the power to get to parts of our soul that regular words couldn’t reach, but it was nice to be validated by famed neurologist Oliver Sacks, who explains in the film why that is true.
The magic of seeing these individuals burst with life after just a few notes of songs that they once had a connection to made me remember hearing stories of coma patients waking after hearing songs that meant something to them. And then it dawned on me: would my friends and family know what to play for me if I was in a horrible accident that resulted in a coma; or if I live to be 100 and become unresponsive, will my nephews’ children or grandchildren know what to play to revive me?
I spoke about this with my mother the next day and she said she’d probably respond best to Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock” because she danced to it incessantly in her youth. It brings nothing but good memories for her (many of which she began spilling out to me that very moment) so she’s sure she’d recognize it.
She guessed right that songs by U2 and The Beatles would be my strongest triggers, but we both agreed that we should make lists that represent different parts of our lives if the unthinkable should happen. So, that’s just what I did.
Here’s a key to unlock the reasoning behind my playlist titled “A Coma,” presented in chronological order, from birth to present. I chose songs that I still have a visceral reaction to when I hear them, no matter what the context. It’s a solid list that I plan on adding to as the years go by.
Let’s hope you never have to use it.
Eleanor Rigby by The Beatles is my first music memory. When buying my first Beatles cassette, I chose Revolver, and my sister and I listened to it start to finish, over and over. I could not have been more than 6 years old. She taught me how to sing melodies with this song (me taking the high parts as she sang the lower ones). I developed such a clear vision of Eleanor in my mind’s eye, I can still see her when I hear this haunting, tragic, beautiful tune. Cue the violins.
On One One by Cheap Trick is the title track of a great album by a great band that my sister and her friends listened to ad nauseam when they were in high school. Because I did my best to tag along, I also became a fan and developed a mad crush on lead singer Robin Zander. I love them (and him) to this day.
I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues by Elton John represents the first time I ever remember yelling at my mother. MTV was a few years old and VCRs were not yet in every household (including ours), so if you missed a video when it came on, chances were you may not see it again for a few days. I heard the first notes of this song playing on the TV no one was watching and ran into the living room to see it. My mom had been calling for me to clean something up or help her in the kitchen and I shushed her, which she did not appreciate, so she marched over to the TV and turned it off. I got so angry I shouted at her as tears welled up in my eyes. “I’m gonna miss it! Dang it, mom! Turn it back on!!!” Being that I was just 8 years old at the time, she looked at me with a mixture of horror and amazement and told me to calm down. By the time I convinced her to turn it back on and promised to do whatever she wanted me to do immediately after, it was over. I held a grudge. And she began to understand what music meant to me.
Hair — The Original Broadway Cast Recording represents one of the first plays I ever remember seeing my sister in, at her (our) high school. She had to bring home a cassette tape and play back the songs to learn them, and since we shared a room, I learned them too. I was glued to the musical and energized by the actors, fantasizing that I’d play Sheila someday. I didn’t really have the desire to act, but I could sing, so I figured I could pull it off. I still dream of seeing the production on Broadway.
The Seventh Stranger by Duran Duran features Simon’s voice hitting some very low, sexy notes. I’ve been in lust with Simon for many years, and this song is one that stayed with me long after childhood, even becoming the basis for my first screenplay. I play it mostly on rainy Sundays.
Back to the Future by Alan Silvestri reminds me of my favorite childhood movie, and it’s the film to this day I’ve seen more than any other (at last count it was something like 122 times, no joke). It was the first movie I saw more than once in the theater (movies were a luxury, after all) and my warmest memory of it was when we went to see it for a third time on my 10th birthday. It was my mom, my grandma, me and a friend, and we all enjoyed every minute, then when we left the theater a light dusting of snow covered the ground. It was nothing short of magic. The crisp, beautiful air acting as nature’s coda to a perfect evening.
One More Try by George Michael represents my middle school years, the hardest of my life, when my sister had gone off to college and married, and my dad decided we had to move away from the house I’d grown up in to a rougher area where we could afford property. I was devastated and every night to try to put myself to sleep, I listened to the album Faith. This was usually the song that I finally drifted off to, on the nights I actually slept.
Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2 was a song that I knew as a small child, but didn’t fully grasp until high school. For nearly a year, every day on the way to and from school, I listened to the War album, and this was of course, the first song. It seemed to bring out the good (strong) Irish part of me.
Travelin’ Man by Ricky Nelson was pure joy. When my best friend Jen got her driver’s license, we made regular trips to Dairy Queen and TCBY for treats, always laughing and singing along the way. We did a hula car dance to this song, which was part of Jen’s regular car stereo repertoire.
Squeeze Box by The Who will always remind me of my first taste of independence. On a hot July day in 1992, I packed my things and ‘relocated’ to Washington, D.C. for a summer journalism workshop that taught me so much more than AP style. I made lifelong friends, discovered the thrill of air travel alone and realized that I needed to broaden my horizon farther than Portland. On one of the late nights in the dorms at GW University where we stayed, Jeff hosted Aaron, Lauren and I in his room for a blast through what was on his stereo at the time and this is one we all sang along to, not caring if we woke the neighbors.
Sea of Love by The Honeydrippers came out when I was in elementary school, but like so many other songs, I had to grow up before it hit me. On a dreary day in high school when I was daydreaming about the wedding I was going to have, I decided that this would be the song I walked down the aisle to because of its perfect intro. Though I haven’t married (yet), I hold out hope that someday I will and I still think it would be ideal.
Cowboys and Angels by George Michael is another song with an amazing intro. There is so much to it, yet it always seems to be over too soon. This song is calming and healing in so many ways, I pull it out of my arsenal whenever I need to reflect.
Dear Prudence by The Beatles was the song I was listening to the first day I was free. The day after my mom and her cousin dropped me off at the University of Missouri-Columbia to start my new life, and the afternoon that Lauren and I separated to go shopping and run errands before classes began the following week. The first time I was all by myself without anyone expecting me to check in and report my whereabouts, I put on my headphones and started walking across campus to learn about my new surroundings. The sun was out, the sky was blue, I was thrilled and I was terrified.
#9 Dream by John Lennon was playing the day Brendan and I went with David and Ann, his friends visiting from Kansas City, to Finger Lakes State Park in Columbia. The conversation was lively and lighthearted, but with Brendan driving and the sun beaming in on my passenger seat, I was content in a way that I had never been before. I was all grown up. I fell into somewhat of a trance as I listened to Lennon above the din of our happy outing and had to be snapped out of it upon arrival to the little patch of nature where we spent the afternoon. It was divine.
Wintertime Love by The Doors holds another good memory of my time with Brendan at MU. We had gone to the movies late one night in the winter of 1994 and were waiting for the shuttle back to our dorm from the parking lot where we left his car. We heard a loud sound and looked toward the woods to see at least 20 or 30 deer leaping in unison across the way. We both froze and watched them, looking at each other to confirm what we’d seen. It was one of the most majestic scenes I’ve ever witnessed; these amazing animals charging across the backdrop of a dark purple sky, disappearing into a cluster of bushes and low trees. We said nothing on the way back, and as we landed back in his room, he played this song as we sipped hot drinks to warm up.
It’s All Too Much by The Beatles reminds me of my 20th birthday. I spent it with Brendan at his parents’ house in Kansas City, and since it was Thanksgiving weekend, we were around his extended family for most of the time, but he made sure that one night we got to celebrate, just the two of us. He took me to my favorite Japanese steakhouse where I (illegally) sipped a Mai Tai (he could order it because he was a year older) and then we drove around and looked at Christmas lights. When we returned home, I stayed upstairs with his parents while he and his brother wrapped my gift in the basement, carrying it up the stairs to me ceremoniously. This song was playing as I opened his mom’s laundry basket (a trick to make me think it was something huge) to find the Sgt. Pepper watch I’d been coveting at the bottom, tucked into its wooden guitar-shaped case. I practically burst with happiness.
Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana doesn’t bring up happy memories, but it’s a moment in time I’ll never forget. I’d come home from class at MU and heard Nirvana playing as I passed several rooms to get to my own. I went downstairs to Nick and Brendan’s floor (where we all hung out) and people were crying, watching MTV. I ducked into my friend Scott’s room and saw Kurt Loder break down and pronounce Kurt Cobain dead. I went across the street to where Brendan was working to see how he took the news (he was upset, but not surprised); I called Jeff in his room at Brandeis, as I knew he’d be affected as well. He was in shock. I went back downstairs to be near friends and watched the biggest Nirvana fan I knew completely melt down and slam his door to the world in a fit of tears. This song was playing. It would continue to play in the weeks that followed.
The Unforgettable Fire by U2 symbolizes the first time I left the country by myself. At age 25 I ventured to Ireland to see the band perform at Slane Castle and had somewhat of a religious experience. Because U2 had recorded this album there so many years ago, it was the one I listened to most in preparation for the trip, and the one that helped me heal when I returned, after losing my beloved Grandmother and enduring 9/11 just a few days after I landed on American soil.
Scenes From An Italian Restaurant is my favorite Billy Joel song. In the early 2000s my life was taking a new shape in Seattle and I often daydreamed my way out of my problems. I listened to this song almost daily on my bus ride to work and its characters came alive so vividly for me that when I saw them represented in the theatrical production of Movin’ Out in 2004, I felt like they got them all wrong. I’ve itched to write a screenplay about them ever since. Brenda and Eddie would be played by Bobby Cannavale and Annabeth Gish. Stay tuned.
Where The Streets Have No Name (Live Version) by U2 is the song that gives everyone goosebumps. I was never a big fan of the studio version (still am not, to be frank), but there is something about feeling the opening notes of this song live, and absorbing the energy of the crowd, that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. It’s something that shouldn’t be described; only experienced.
Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band (Live 8 Version) by Paul McCartney and U2 brings back one of the most exhilarating moments of my life. My sister and I were in Hyde Park in London, watching the monitors as our favorite living band, along with a Beatle, ascended the stage to perform together. The crowd was electric, the vibe was peaceful and I was about as sonically happy as I’ll ever be. Brilliant, as the Brits say.
First Day Of My Life by Bright Eyes was the first time a man had ever chosen “a song” for me, to represent us as a couple. The sincere lyrics, the unassuming guitar, the gorgeous voice — all meant to symbolize our feelings, which were more intense than anything I’d ever experienced up to that point. My love for said boy soared, my joy became euphoric; my tears stung like a thousand wasps when he broke my heart months later. I couldn’t listen to it for years, and I still prefer not to, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still feel it to the core.
Hero by Family of the Year is the song I presently can’t stop listening to, the main theme from the film Boyhood. Though the narrator of the song is male, it’s stayed with me as I’ve struggled with some decisions about how to move my life forward. Its themes universal, its chords simple, its message profound.
