This is the first in a series of reflections. I am having Excel select an album at random from my collection, and I will then write about that album. Sometimes it will be a lengthy essay. Other times the writing will be constituted of only a few short thoughts. Other albums will solicit a personal story or two. In other words, these entries will be random in every sense of the word.
1. U2 - The Joshua Tree
1987
Sire Records
Best Song: "Where the Streets Have No Name"
I still get tingles up my spine upon hearing the intro to
“Where the Streets Have No Name.” It is perhaps this song’s first ninety
seconds, a foggy, elegiac organ that drifts at a dreamy, glacial pace, while the echoed
pings of Edge’s guitar comes creeping in on tip-toes, careful to avoid a sudden shattering of the gorgeous haze, that rights me, setting
the tone not only for one of the greatest albums in my memory, but reminding me
of why U2 is one of the greatest bands in the world.
U2 has, of course and perhaps inevitably, reached a point in
their collective careers in which they are probably more reviled than revered,
having persevered long enough to lose fans due to attrition, fatigue, and
overexposure. Rather than take the Beatles’ path of ten years and out, U2
instead went the way of the Stones, continuing to make music as long as they
still felt that creative spark. U2 is finishing its 35th year
together, and still going strong. Despite their detractors, bemoaning the
addition of a free album in their iTunes, or perhaps feeling the omnipresent
crush of Bono’s world media presence, U2 has left an indelible mark on rock and
roll history, and for me the biggest crater the band punched into the rock
landscape was 1987’s The Joshua Tree.
There are few people with exposure to popular music that are
not familiar with at least one song from U2’s oeuvre, and I would venture to
guess that for many that one song would be from The Joshua Tree. While the band had strong success before this
fifth album in their progression, including a big hit a few years before with
“Pride (In the Name of Love)” and the runaway FM radio success of War, it was The Joshua Tree that made the band a household name, in much the
same way that today people discuss Adele, Coldplay, or Kanye. And, to put it
into perspective, the U2 album has sold more than twice the amount of Adele’s
latest album, with many now saying that she is a sales superstar, crossing all
demographics.
There is enough information available on the Internet to
research The Joshua Tree and to understand
its place in rock history. This is not that kind of writing. Rather, this is
the first in a series of my reflections of the records in my collection,
randomly chosen, and merely soliciting personal reaction. The randomizer could
not have done a better job in selecting a first LP. The Joshua Tree represents a band that means a lot to me
personally. I’ve followed them faithfully (though admittedly, I was almost
swept up by the negativity, and still haven’t fully gotten a hold, physically
or emotionally, of No Line on the Horizon),
and I have seen them multiple times.
U2 has been nothing if not consistent and innovative. They
have always been inspirational, political, insightful, contemplative, and
reverent to the art form and its practitioners. I was 15 when this album was
released. Though other musical genres and styles were garnering my attention,
including hip-hop and the continual powerhouses of what was then dubbed either
“college” or “alternative” rock, The
Joshua Tree rooted me (pun intended) in an earthy blend of blues,
Americana, folk, and classic rock. The songs on the album traverse the varied
distances between these styles, but become the many consistent spokes to the axels of the Edge’s
inimitable guitars and Bono’s yearning vocals.
Think about the music that you listened to 30 years ago. How
much of it holds up? I’d venture to guess that only a select handful of songs
and artists could withstand that test. Maybe this is the fact that they made
such a strong impression on me in my childhood. Maybe it’s the combination of
style and substance. Maybe it’s the Anton Corbijn album cover, making the band
look like dramatic leads in some post-Kurosawa, proto-Tarantino picture.
Truthfully, it’s about a feeling that it gives me. After all, isn’t that what
music is all about? Today, nearly 29 years later, dropping the needle on the
first track of the first side, I still get those tingles up my spine.
