Boy Tries to Meet Girl and Meets “Boy”
My first listen to U2’s first album
1983. Algebra class is about to begin. I am sitting next to Kathy R. She is smart and preppy-cool, her hair standing at attention like some kind of new-wave halo. There are several minutes before the bell rings and I am desperate to either find something to say or to burst into flames. She calmly prepares for class and pulls out her notebook.
I catch a glimpse.
“I heart U2!” is scrawled in blue ink on the cover.
I take it as a sign. No, not that she is returning a love-sick overture from me. I have not even considered making one until now. She is definitely referring to the band that I just pledged my undying love to. Clearly, we have a deep, meaningful connection. I feel courageous.
“You like U2?” I mumble.
“Oh yeah, they’re great. What’s your favorite album?”
What? I didn’t know there would be a quiz.
“Um, I only have one, so I-”
“Which one?” she asks.
What have I gotten myself into? I think I might blackout.
“The first one,” I lie.
The bell finally rings, and I am saved. Well played, genius. Conversation over. Kathy gets out her homework. I do the same, relieved to focus on some algebra.
It all started the night before. Sunday night is when I lock myself in my room, put on headphones, and turn up the radio. The local Boston station takes a break from Non-Stop Classic Rock and makes way for the King Biscuit Flower Hour, a strangely named weekly dispatch of concert recordings from bands I should probably know more about. This time, it was “U2 at Red Rocks.” I didn’t know what any of that meant, but it sounded cool.
I know it’s difficult to imagine a time before we were all force-fed U2, before we ever heard of Bono and The Edge, but this was all new to me. Yet, somehow, the crowd was in on it, responding to everything the singer said. I felt like I had just walked into the middle of an important conversation, and I wanted in on it.
“There’s been a lot of talk about this next song, maybe, maybe too much talk,” the singer explained.
What talk? I haven’t heard any talk. Where do I have to be to hear this talk?
The song was like a history lesson, a call to arms, and a plea for peace, and the crowd went wild.
It was over all too soon, and I crashed back down into my stupid little suburban bedroom. I felt electrified and transported. I was different now, like I had experienced a glimpse of the world outside, and I wanted more. I couldn’t wait until everyone could see how worldly I had just become.
So now, firmly back in my stupid suburban town, I need to figure out which is U2’s first album and prove to Kathy R. that I am as big a fan as I know I will be.
I suggest a family trip to the mall; everyone is up for it. We pile into the Pontiac, park near our usual entrance, pick a time and place to meet, and then everyone scatters to the wind. I resist the urge to check out the arcade and race to the record store, past Thriller, Pyromania, and Flashdance, to the back, where I find the “U” bin. I start flipping and come to several copies of U2 WAR. A photo of a boy, a little beat up, with angry eyes, stares back at me. I recognize some of the song titles from the concert. Cool. I want this one, but I only own the “first one,” remember? So I keep digging.
Next up is October. I knew it—another sign. I was born in October, and October is my favorite month. And look, here they are on the cover. They don’t even look much older than me, standing on the docks trying to be cool in clothes my mother could have picked out for them. I really want to hear what this one is all about, but wait, there is another one back there.
The cover is just a graphic black-and-white illustration of clouds, or maybe faces? In very small letters, the title reads U2 Boy. Huh. That’s a weird name for an album. I search the fine print on each album to find the release dates. 1980, this is it. I only have ten dollars in my pocket, and I don’t know when I will have this much again. I really want either one of those other ones, but I opened my stupid mouth and now I have no choice. What if I don’t like it? What if this is their worst album? Oh well. Boy it is. I hope you are happy, Kathy R.
Growing up in Southern New Hampshire at that time I was trapped in a Classic Rock bubble. Every kid had to own a copy of Aerosmith’s Greatest Hits. Every school dance climaxed with “Stairway to Heaven.” The Who, The Kinks, ZZ Top, and Styx were on heavy rotation on several radio stations.
I always had a blank tape ready to record if something interesting broke through, like The Cars or new wave Tom Petty or even The Clash, but it took some vigilance.
On this night as I put on my headphones and dropped the needle on my new record, I had no idea what I was in for.
The first track begins like we just surprised these guys in the studio. They slide their fingers into position on the guitars. A voice counts them in. But it is a little distant, like in the next room through a partially opened door. The drums start marching us forward as the guitar starts chiming.
But there is something different. Some sort of bells? Is that a glockenspiel? Where are we?
“I will follow,” announces the singer.
O.K. I will too. Then the door bursts open and we are all in the same room as the full band kicks in.
I don’t usually catch many lyrics on a first listen. I mostly just hear the vocals as another instrument as I take in the whole song. But I do catch enough to know they are not singing about the same things as Van Halen and Aerosmith. These songs are about the confusion of growing up, struggling to make sense, and finding a path forward. Of course, teenage boys think about girls and cars, but these guys are singing about things I didn’t have words for but were definitely swirling around my head.
They didn’t sound like those bands, either. So much of the music I had been exposed to was firmly rooted in the past. From the Grease Soundtrack to Sha-Na-Na, everything seemed to be looking backward. Bob Seger may prefer the “Old-time rock and roll,” but I wanted something new. This album felt and sounded like a clean break from the past.
Years later, maybe beginning with the Bob Dylan cover at Live Aid, U2 would do a deep dive into American music and try to connect the dots to the past, but at this moment, they are unsure of their own voice and compensate by filling up every inch of space with layers of noise. This nervous energy kicks at everything in its way and demands attention.
This is a lot to take in on a first listen, but U2 spent a lot of time playing these songs in front of audiences before recording, so they know how and when to pull back and pace themselves. Just as I am getting a grip on this new sonic language, we shift gears into the moody “A Cat Dubh” and then slip into a call-and-response between guitar and glockenspiel of “Into the Heart.” Then they roar back and hit us in the face with “Out of Control.”
Side two is another roller-coaster. “Stories for Boys” sounds like something I might be interested in. I imagine it must be a television show or book that all Irish boys grow up with, and I wish I grew up in some far-off exotic place like Dublin.
“The Ocean” is a dark and watery landscape. We hear the creaking timbers of a ship and the sound of waves lapping at the bow. If I had been aware of it at the time, it would have reminded me of the Velvet Underground song of the same name.
And I felt like a star
I felt the world could go far
If they listened
To what I said
I know, right? I am listening!
In the next three songs, “A Day Without Me,” “Another Time, Another Place,” and “The Electric Co.” the band sounds confident like they have figured out their musical voice and are ready to put it through its paces. The bass lays down a heavy, solid foundation. The drummer beats out heavy rhythms on the toms. There is a chorus of voices in a wash of reverb floating over everything, sometimes like a gang of pirates singing a shanty and other times like a host of angels. The chiming guitar fills up the space. It echoes and repeats in a way that weaves sounds together. Finally, the singer grabs you by the lapels and forces you to listen. It’s not even clear what he is singing about, but as the chorus comes around a second time, I am singing along.
Just as it seems like they might be getting too comfortable in their own skin, the lights down and we change moods again. The final track, “Shadows and Tall Trees” begins with the singer clearing his throat. Somehow this draws you in, makes what he is about to sing seem raw and personal. The guitar holds back and gives the singer the spotlight.
Back to the cold restless streets at night. Talk to myself about tomorrow night.
This isn’t where I expected all of this to lead. We walk through a creepy forest at night, something I am often drawn to do here in my own stupid suburban town. I feel connected and welcomed into this strange new world as the song goes to the bridge.
Do you feel in me
Anything redeeming
Any worthwhile feeling?
Is love like a tightrope
Hanging from the ceiling?
The song fades out on the chorus of “Shadows and tall trees” as my new friends wander off into the night.
I did become their biggest fan that night on that first listen. I eventually bought the other albums, cut out every article I came across, and joined the fan club. Eventually, I saw them live. We grew apart, then back together, then apart again.
I don’t know what I would think about U2 if I hadn’t been introduced to them in this way. They pointed the way to a bigger and brighter world and gave me the courage and the curiosity to get up and out of my stupid suburban town. I feel that spark even now when I listen to this album.
I don’t recall ever talking to Kathy about U2 after that first time. She remained cool and distant through the rest of high school. I bet she still listens to some cool bands.
