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Sunday, 20 December 2009 18:11 Jonathan Yip
Music, politics, and celebrity in the age of Bono

Bono jumped eagerly across the stage, swinging his microphone. The Edge launched the guitar intro for "No Line on the Horizon," the drum line paused, and the towering stage lights flashed, and Bono began.
In front of me soared a 160-foot tall, $25 million claw-shaped stage. With a production cost of $750,000 a day, the U2 360° Tour is every bit the dazzling spectacle one expects from the band that will not stop growing. Around me, 80,000 dancing fans had come to worship the only mega-band left. In DC, NYC, and Las Vegas, Nancy Pelosi, Michael Bloomberg, and Bill Clinton have all paid their respects to the tour. Today, U2, like its monstrous stage in Gillette Stadium, straddles our musical-and political-landscape. For the 33-year old U2, there does seem to be no line on the horizon.




Last of the rock stars


Despite a few close brushes with irrelevance, U2 has somehow managed to stay at the forefront of the popular psyche. In an age when the musical scene is fragmented and changeable, U2 continues to leave an outsized footprint on pop culture that neither Coldplay nor Kanye West can approach. This September at Giants Stadium, Bono humbly pointed out that U2 filled more seats than the Pope's mass held there previously.

Why does U2 still have such allure? It is not merely popular music and a brilliant front man, but a reflection of a culture that has allowed U2 to become more than just a band. It has allowed the group to expand out of the musical sphere and into the political, becoming a phenomenon only the 21st century could have created.

Bono opens for Conservative Party leader David Cameron in the UK. Movie theaters show U2:3D. Ten million people across the globe watch a U2 concert live on YouTube. Bono shared Time's 2005 Person of the Year award with Bill Gates and founded the pervasive Product (RED). U2 has been uniquely poised to breach the crumbling walls between pop culture and policy, cultivating pure cultural power.



"We built this spaceship on rock and roll."


Since its start at an Irish high school in 1976, U2 has always written deeply political songs, from "Sunday Bloody Sunday," commemorating Northern Irish violence, to "New Year's Day," in honor of the Solidarity movement. All the same, though U2 had a big break at Live Aid charity concert in 1985, the first thing that concerned the band and their fans was music.

At the time, no politicians took musicians seriously. There never could have been meetings with senators or working partnerships with Harvard professors, as Bono would later develop with economist Jeffrey Sachs.

During U2's early 90s ZooTV tour, a massive, media-saturated, ironic series of concerts, Bono called President George H.W. Bush on stage every night, knowing full well that he would be rejected each time by the White House.

Bono was making a point: politicians are inaccessible, irresponsible, and worthy of mockery. Musicians and politicians were on opposite ends of the cultural spectrum, never to cross paths.



Walk On


After the relative failure of 1997's Pop, an experimental electronic album, the band seemed to be flagging. Its frontman, in particular, began to explore side projects, eventually latching onto Jubilee 2000, a campaign to lobby for third-world debt relief.

Bono grasped something that would change the way the world dealt with and interpreted fame. He realized that he could deploy his celebrity to galvanize and glamorize almost any issue.

Bono had to prove himself, of course. By all accounts, the frontman is more intelligent than the average pop star. President Clinton once recounted to Time an instance in which the Secretary of the Treasury, Larry Summers, mentioned: "Some guy just came in to see me in jeans and a T-shirt, and he just had one name, but he sure was smart. Do you know anything about him?"

Since then, Bono has founded two successful NGOs, and has been summoned to the White House many times, toured Africa with Treasury Secretary Paul O'Neill, and been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. Recently, he has become a popular guest columnist for the New York Times, but also finds common ground with conservatives, often turning to scripture to successfully appeal to President Bush or even the late Senator Jesse Helms.

Bono, after years of concentrated smooth talking and dedication, managed to inject himself into the world of policymaking as a man to be taken seriously. He, unlike almost any other star, has deftly melded the worlds of politics and celebrity, becoming a powerhouse in both, casting aside the convention that once kept them separate.




"Sing with us."


U2 has allowed this passion for politics to pervade its live performances. U2 360° is three parts rock spectacle and one part motivational preaching. From dedicating "Sunday Bloody Sunday" to the Iranian freedom movement, to singing about Aung San Suu Kyi, U2 has become an overtly political band.

By all appearances the audience laps it up. They eagerly text the ONE campaign, sign up at the Amnesty International booth, and cheer for a deposed Burmese leader that most have never even heard of. Some, apparently, are even willing to appear on stage wearing masks with the house-arrested Prime Minister's face.

While Bono and U2 have done a great service by raising awareness for the Millennium Development Goals and Africa's plight, the concert gives the audience good vibrations without actually assigning any real responsibility. At worst, the political content of the performance actually absolves us of action. It's unclear what good it does to have Nobel laureate and real hero, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, tell the audience, while name-dropping the tour, that the "same people who marched for civil rights are the same people who protest Apartheid in South Africa ... are the same beautiful people when I look around this place tonight in 360°." In all likelihood, we are not the ones who fought against apartheid or for debt relief. Praising us for having done nothing seems counterproductive, even duplicitous, but for me or any concertgoer, it is a hard deal to resist. We pay for a concert ticket, listen to our favorite music, and get lavish moral praise for struggles we never participated in.

The tour and band's politics have been stretched so thin it is hard to perceive U2's message as anything more than "doing good." U2, for better or worse, has become diluted beyond recognition, standing only for stardom and righteousness. Perhaps the formula for everlasting relevance is to shed all irony and embrace star power. Bono has developed the perfect celebrity persona for our age: political, passionate, and pervasive. We all want to be a hero and rock star at once: U2 puts us on the stage.

hpronline