Springsteens Einführungsrede für U2 - Rock'n Roll Hall of Fame Induction
14.03.2005 - Waldorf Astoria, New York City, NY
Uno, dos, tres, catorce.
That translates as one, two, three, fourteen. That is the correct math
for a rock and roll band. For in art and love and rock and roll, the
whole had better equal much more than the sum of its parts, or else
you're just rubbing two sticks together searching for fire. A great
rock band searches for the same kind of combustible force that fueled
the expansion of the universe after the big bang. You want the earth
to shake and spit fire, you want the sky to
split apart and for God to pour out. It’s embarrassing to want so much
and to expect so much from music, except sometimes it happens: the Sun
Sessions, Highway 61, Sgt. Peppers, the Band, Robert Johnson, Exile
on Main Street, Born to Run... whoops, I meant to leave that one out...
uh... the Sex Pistols, Aretha Franklin, the Clash, James Brown; the
proud and public enemies it takes a nation of millions to hold back.
This is music meant to take on not only the powers that be but on a
good day, the universe and God himself, if he was listening. It's man's
accountability, and U2 belongs on this list.
It was the early '80s. I went with Pete Townshend, who always wanted
to catch the first whiff of those about to unseat us, to a club in London.
There they were: a young Bono (single-handedly pioneering the Irish
mullet), the Edge (what kind of name was that?), Adam and Larry -- I
was listening to the last band of whom I would be able to name all of
its members. They had an exciting show and a big, beautiful sound. They
lifted the roof. We met afterwards and they were nice young men. They
were Irish. Irish. Now, this would play an enormous part in their success
in the States. For what the English occasionally have the refined sensibilities
to overcome, we Irish and Italians have no such problem. We come through
the door fists and hearts first. U2, with the dark, chiming sound of
heaven at their command which, of course, is the sound of unrequited
love and longing -- their greatest theme. Their search for God intact,
this was a band that wanted to lay claim to not only this world but
had their eyes on the next one, too. Now, they’re a real band; each
member plays a vital part. I believe they actually practice some form
of democracy -- toxic poison in a bands head. In Iraq, maybe. In rock,
no. Yet, they survive. They have harnessed the time bomb that exists
in the heart of every great rock and roll band that usually explodes,
as we see regularly from this stage. But they seemed to have innately
understood the primary rule of rock band job security: “Hey, asshole,
the other guy is more important than you think he is!” They are both
a step forward and direct descendants of the great bands who believed
rock music could shake things up in the world, dared to have faith in
their audience, who believed if they played their best it would bring
out the best in you. They believed in pop stardom and the big time.
Now this requires foolishness and a calculating mind. It also requires
a deeply held faith in the work you're doing and in its powers to transform.
U2 hungered for it all and built a sound, and they wrote the songs that
demanded it. They’re keepers of some of the most beautiful sonic architecture
in rock and roll.
The Edge, the Edge, the Edge, the Edge. He is a rare and true guitar
original and one of the subtlest guitar heroes of all time. He's dedicated
to ensemble playing and he subsumes his guitar ego in the group. But
do not be fooled. Take Jimi Hendrix, Chuck Berry, Neil Young, Pete Townshend
-- guitarists who defined the sound of their band and their times. If
you play like them, you sound like them. If you are playing those rhythmic
two-note sustained fourths, drenched in echo, you are going to sound
like the Edge, my son. Go back to the drawing board and chances are
you won’t have much luck. There are only a handful of guitar stylists
who can create a world with their instruments, and he's one of them.
The Edge's guitar playing creates enormous space and vast landscapes.
It is a thrilling and a heartbreaking sound that hangs over you like
the unsettled sky. In the turf it stakes out, it is inherently spiritual,
it is grace and it is a gift.
Now, all of this has to be held down by something. The deep sureness
of Adam Clayton's bass and the rhythms of Larry Mullen's elegant drumming
hold the band down while propelling it forward. It's in U2's great rhythm
section that the band finds its sexuality and its dangerousness. Listen
to "Desire," she moves in "Mysterious Ways," the pulse of "With or Without
You." Together Larry and Adam create the element that suggests the ecstatic
possibilities of that other kingdom -- the one below the earth and below
the belt -- that no great rock band can lay claim to the title without.
Now, Adam always strikes me as the professorial one, the sophisticated
member. He creates not only the musical but physical stability on his
side of the stage. The tone and depth of his bass playing has allowed
the band to move from rock to dance music and beyond. One of the first
things I noticed about U2 was that underneath the guitar and the bass,
they have these very modern rhythms going on. Rather than a straight
2 and 4, Larry often plays with a lot of syncopation, and that connects
the band to modern dance textures. The drums often sounded high and
tight and he was swinging down there, and this gave the band a unique
profile and allowed their rock textures to soar above on a bed of his
rhythm. Now Larry, of course, besides being an incredible drummer, bears
the burden of being the band's requisite "good-looking member," something
we somehow overlooked in the E Street Band. We have to settle for "charismatic."
Girls love on Larry Mullen. I have a female assistant that would like
to sit on Larry’s drum stool. A male one, too. We all have our crosses
Bono, where do I begin? Jeans designer, soon-to-be World Bank operator,
just plain operator, seller of the Brooklyn Bridge -- oh hold up, he
played under the Brooklyn Bridge, that's right. Soon-to-be mastermind
operator of the Bono Burger franchise, where more than one million stories
will be told by a crazy Irishman. Now I realize that it’s a dirty job
and somebody has to do it. But don't quit your day job yet, my friend,
you're pretty good at it. And a sound this big needs somebody to ride
herd over it, and ride herd over it he does. His voice, big-hearted
and open, thoroughly decent no matter how hard he tries. Now he's a
great frontman. Against the odds, he is not your mom's standard skinny,
ex-junkie archetype. He has the physique of a rugby player... well,
an ex-rugby player. Shamen, shyster, one of the greatest and most endearingly
naked messianic complexes in rock and roll. God bless you, man! It takes
one to know one, of course. You see, every good Irish and Italian-Irish
front-man knows that before James Brown there was Jesus. So hold the
McDonald arches on the stage set, boys, we are not ironists. We are
creations of the heart and of the earth and of the stations of the cross.
There's no getting out of it. He is gifted with an operatic voice and
a beautiful falsetto rare among strong rock singers. But most important,
his is a voice shot through with self-doubt. That's what makes that
big sound work. It is this element of Bono's talent, along with his
beautiful lyric writing, that gives the often-celestial music of U2
its fragility and its realness. It is the questioning, the constant
questioning in Bono's voice, where the band stakes its claim to its
humanity and declares its commonality with us. Now Bono’s voice often
sounds like it's shouting not over top of the band but from deep within
it: "Here we are, Lord, this mess, in your image." He delivers all of
this with great drama and an occasional smirk that says, “Kiss me, I’m
Irish.” He’s one of the great front-men of the past 20 years. He is
also one of the only musicians to devote his personal faith and the
ideals of his band into the real world in a way that remains true to
rock's earliest implications of freedom and connection and the possibility
of something better.
Now the band's beautiful songwriting -- "Pride (In The Name of Love),"
"Sunday Bloody Sunday," "I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,"
"One," "Where the Streets Have No Name," "Beautiful Day" -- reminds
us of the stakes that the band always plays for. It's an incredible
songbook. In their music, you hear the spirituality as home and as quest.
How do you find God unless he's in your heart, in your desire, in your
feet? I believe this is a big part of what's kept their band together
all of these years. See, bands get formed by accident, but they don’t
survive by accident. It takes will, intent, a sense of shared purpose
and a tolerance for your friends' fallibilities and they of yours. And
that only evens the odds. U2 has not only evened the odds but they've
beaten them by continuing to do their finest work and remaining at the
top of their game and the charts for 25 years. I feel a great affinity
for these guys as people as well as musicians.
Well, there I was sitting down on the couch in my pajamas with my eldest
son. He was watching TV. I was doing one of my favorite things: I was
tallying up all the money I passed up in endorsements over the years
and thinking of all the fun I could have had with it. Suddenly I hear
"Uno, dos, tres, catorce!" I look up. But instead of the silhouettes
of the hippie-wannabes bouncing around in the iPod commercial, I see
my boys! Oh my God! They sold out! Now, what I know about the iPod is
this: it is a device that plays music. Of course, their new song sounded
great, my guys are doing great, but methinks I hear the footsteps of
my old tape operator of Jimmy Iovine somewhere. Wily, smart. Now, personally,
I live an insanely expensive lifestyle that my wife barely tolerates.
I burn money, and that calls for huge amounts of cash flow. But, I also
have a ludicrous image of myself that keeps me from truly cashing in.
You can see my problem. Woe is me. So the next morning, I call up Jon
Landau (or as I refer to him, "the American Paul McGuinness"), and I
say, "Did you see that iPod thing?" and he says, "Yes." And he says,
"And I hear they didn’t take any money." And I said, "They didn’t take
any money?" and he says, "No." I said, "Smart, wily Irish guys. Anybody
– anybody – can do an ad and take the money. But to do the ad and not
take the money... that’s smart. That’s wily." I say, "Jon, I want you
to call up Bill Gates or whoever is behind this thing and float this:
a red, white and blue iPod signed by Bruce 'The Boss' Springsteen. Now
remember, no matter how much money he offers, don’t take it!" At any
rate, after that evening for the next month or so, I hear emanating
from my lovely 14-year-old son's room, day after day, down the hall
calling out in a voice that has recently dropped very low: uno, dos,
tres, catorce. The correct math for rock and roll. Thank you, boys.