He was quiet. Unusually quiet. Or at least unusual for an Irish cat from New York. It could have been the drink, or the night, but it was significant enough to warrant an intervention, or at least a query. In this case, what the hell was wrong?“I just got back from Reno,” Shaughnessy said of “the biggest little city in the world”. This, in and of itself, may or may not have been a cause for sorrow. But I waited.
“I saw Steppenwolf.” Steppenwolf of the heavy leathers, fringed vests and overall bad-ass biker beards and suggestion of the same in the shape of their hit song “Born to Be Wild.”
“Did they play ‘Born to Be Wild’?”
“They were playing it as I walked in,” he said, his brows knit. “They were wearing rented tuxes. And did it lounge style.” He paused in a way that indicated that this was not at all for comedic effect.
“To be funny?”
“There was nothing funny about this at all.”
And so the last and enduring image is of the young turks having metastasized into old men just doing what old men do: looking for a warm place out of the rain where they might make a little scratch for having been any/everything but.
A distinctly mixed bag of circumstances because on the one hand like the Chinese proverb seems to imply — “Don’t laugh at the prostitute. Laugh at the poor person.” — there’s nothing wrong with getting that money. On the other hand like Joseph Welch once asked of Senator Joseph McCarthy, “have you no decency, sir?”
I’m unsure of what price is attached to decency but waking up this morning to news that the band U2 started their 25-night residency at Las Vegas’ MSG Sphere, complete with Paul McCartney, Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre in the house, I had started to wonder. Specifically, when did it happen that there was no social sanction at all for doing the lamest shit ever?
Or, more specifically, when did we outgrow shame?
And don’t hit me with the “get it? card”, as if this was some meta ploy to mine irony for all it’s worth and I just don’t…get it, that is. If you had unlimited funds and means and were limited only by your imagination is this where it carries you? Keep in mind this is also not a critique of U2’s music, music I haven’t listened to after they sang about boys meeting men in the shadows. I mean I guess their music is fine.
In reality I really have a soft spot in my heart for U2 as it was through their good graces that my group OXBOW actually managed to have a place to record, Windmill Lane in Dublin, when we recorded music for our Serenade in Red record, with vocals by Marianne Faithfull. Picking through the remnants of their equipment on the weekend that they were choosing not to work I got misty eyed about their graciousness, whether or not it was done specifically to help us.
Moreover, I remember when in some sort of turmoil my friend Bruce Lamont from the great band Yakuza admitted to me in a quiet moment that he had a side project. The side project in question? A Led Zeppelin cover band. And a Led Zeppelin cover band that not only seemed to be sanctioned by Robert Plant but also had just got a booking for a national tour of the House of Blues.
I was ecstatic, and said so. In the same way that you’d be if you had a friend who fought the law but instead of the law winning, it was your friend who had done so. It felt like a win for the little guy, like the house had taken one on the chin, and so how is it that the U2 deal is different?
And more importantly is it better or worse after the Apple iPod stunt?
For those with shorter memories, this was when Apple and U2, back in 2014, force fed the entire installed base of Apple users with the new U2 record, whether or not they had requested it. It felt like a muscle move, and for those of us who despair at how casually muscle moves are made, it was a casus belli.
Bono went on to apologize for said stunt. Which was probably the right PR move. Though it should also be noted that he has not backed away from the latest Jann Wenner imbroglio, which seems very much the wrong PR move, but you know what? I’m not big on apologizing. Especially after having a boss who would routinely require these as some form of ritual humiliation, I find them to be an extension of muscle, and lacking in authenticity.
In fact I dream of a malefactor standing at a podium to deliver a speech that I lust after with some sort of sexual intensity: “SO….you GOT me!” And then goes on to non-apologize in the most Christian of ways: “YOU who are sin-free step RIGHT UP!”
Even Trump, the most massive of line steppers, has pulled shy of doing this instead just opting for the systematic denial of the reality of experience.
But U2, replete with more money than G-d, critical accolades for the better part of their careers, and some small scintilla of integrity, pulls a Celine Dion and goes to the heart of a place that’s as steeped in corporate capital as any bank for…their fans? Their wallets? Their legacy? Even an exceedingly high Hunter S. Thompson dug on the soullessness of the Vegas endeavor and yet here they are.
And apologies to those Dion fans. HER being here makes total sense and seems to stem from a deep understanding of her place in space. So hats off to her.
But U2? Cui bono here?
Well, it seems we have 25 days to figure this out. As a touring musician I sort of understand it from a mountain going to Muhammad perspective: if OXBOW could do 16 shows in a row, like we just did, without driving to 16 different places, wouldn’t that be cool?
It would be. However if you think U2 is piling into a Mercedes Sprinter cargo van to scoot between shows you’re out of your mind. No, these climate conscious rockers are private jetting to gigs leaving me just where I was: why?
I guess if I could figure this out I’d be where they are instead of where I am, but where I am is just fine since it’s absent all of the nettlesome questions regarding, what the FUCK was I thinking? when I look in the mirror.