Tom Dunne: For U2-watchers, it was no surprise Bono and co made it
Bono pictured with Adam Clayton in 1984. (Picture: Larry Ellis/Express Newspapers/Getty Images)
“I’m friends with the president, I’m friends with the pope,” is a line from a Ramones song that no self-respecting punk band in 1970s Ireland wasn’t familiar with.
Yet we didn’t suspect that one day, the music one of our number was making, would make him friends with actual presidents and actual popes. Yep, the U2 ride was not like other rides.
I witnessed it. I was in bands that played the same venues, haunted the same DJs went to the same gigs. But somehow, we always seemed to be arriving just after U2 had left. U2, were not of this world, they were, to paraphrase David Byrne, a white light from God.
I saw them first at one of the legendary Dandelion Market gigs. I would have been at the gig regardless of who played. It was the only punk venue in town. But this was different. The stage was better, the PA bigger, there were lights. Someone had spray painted “Bono is God,” on the wall. They had an odd, but cool following.
I went to every gig after that: the double bill with The Blades in The Baggot, the early McGonagles shows. I bought U23 on the day of release. When I saw them play the Project Arts Centre after they’d recorded Boy and played dozens of UK shows I was in no doubt.
I was staying with my sister in Bray. The last bus broke down in Shankill, so I walked the last hour in the rain arriving like a drowned rat at 1am. “I hope they were worth it,” said my sister. “They are going to be the biggest band in the world,” I told her.
I’m not often proven that right. So, when they appeared on Channel 4’s The Word in 1987 as The Joshua Tree topped charts world-wide, I still couldn’t quite believe it. Bono explained that they were now “the biggest kick-ass band in the world.” I called my sister. “See!” I said.
Their success was unreal. It was as if someone in your college drama society had become Al Pacino, or someone on your school under 11s had become Ronaldo. Bands who played the Baggot rarely went on to have Gorbachev as a house guest.
So, it might be fair to say, I have been reading Bono’s memoir assiduously. I have been looking for signs, portents, omens. Indications that greatness was waiting in the wings from day one. But there really are none. It still, incredibly, boils down to a notice on a noticeboard.
That notice, put up by Larry to find other like-minded musicians to form a band, set in train a series of events and meetings and an alignment of talents and people who would eventually coalesce to become U2.
But nothing was given. It still required a combination of talent, luck, hard work, determination and faith, blind and otherwise, to win the day. And something they had from day one: a desperation to succeed.
It was this desperation that most struck me. I’m not sure that many other bands had it. Most of us saw success in music as a wildly unrealistic dream. Not so U2. Being at school as they formed, and already a band when punk lit the skies, they saw the band as a way of avoiding work forever. There was no quiet arrangement with the Plan B. Getting a van, getting to London, getting signed was crucial.
It reads at times like a white-knuckle ride, but they always seem to find the people they need to help them. And everyone who helps, from fellow band members to family and friends are lovingly appreciated.
Most poignant, I found, was the mention of Larry’s mum Maureen. She lost her life in a road accident when Larry was just 17. Bono remembers her, driving the son she idolised to rehearsals, wearing a man’s anorak with a big hood in case it started to rain as she and Larry packed away the drums.
Memories like this, and others of Dave Kavanagh, Barry Devlin, Paul Thomas and Paul Barrett, local heroes all, sit side by side with tales of Angela Merkel and Tony Blair. Gratitude and modesty run through its pages.
Bono has managed to remain incredibly grounded. He is a husband, father, friend and bandmate above all else. If Iris and Bob, his parents, were to read this, they would be proud of him for reasons that have nothing to do with presidents or popes.
