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Throughout my years of U2 fandom, I’ve learned to expect the unexpected from each new album—because you never know when Bono and the boys will tire of the same old thing and come out with, say, Zooropa. You never know whether the next album will bring jeans and T-shirts or Spandex and sequins. And I’ve grown to love U2’s willingness to experiment—to try something different (even if it sometimes seems a bit silly) just for fun. So when I first held my copy of the latest U2 album, No Line on the Horizon, in my hands, I couldn’t wait to see what kind of adventure it would take me on. And, as usual, it ended up being nothing like the adventure I was expecting—because it’s surprisingly classic.
Based on the album’s spirited first single, “Get on Your Boots,” I was expecting a high-energy album, filled with lively, danceable numbers. But what I got was nothing like that first single; what I got was more like old-school U2. And, to my great surprise, that took a little getting used to.
No Line on the Horizon opens with a few tracks that, for the most part (a few subtly updated sounds aside), could have easily appeared on just about any U2 album from the last two decades or so. From Bono’s unmistakable vocals to The Edge’s trademark riffs to the thoughtful, poetic lyrics, these songs are classic U2. And when you look at the album’s credits—featuring old U2 standbys like Brian Eno, Danny Lanois, and Steve Lillywhite—that makes perfect sense.
For long-time U2 fans, the old-school tracks definitely aren’t a bad thing. Still, I have to admit that they caught me off-guard. Perhaps I was expecting more “Get on Your Boots.” Perhaps I’ve just gotten so used to U2’s constant transformation and alteration that I was expecting something more out there. But, whatever the case, it took a few listens for these tracks to grow on me. Some—like the familiar but memorable “Unknown Caller”—I’ve since grown to love. And I can definitely appreciate the others more now that they’ve had time to soak in. Who knows—a few more listens, and I might love them, too.
Following a fun and upbeat interlude (including “Get on Your Boots” and the heavier, funkier “Stand Up Comedy”), No Line gets down to some serious business—first with the experimental “FEZ-Being Born,” then by three stand-out closing tracks: “White As Snow,” “Breathe,” and “Cedars of Lebanon.” Though these three have the same classic feel as the album’s first few tracks, the sound is more memorable, the lyrics more poetic and profound. These are the kind of songs that stick with you—the kind that haunt you. And while I’m not about to make any bold statements about what was going on during the songwriting, the lyrics are worthy of long, late-night discussions and debates.
So No Line isn’t a controversial album; it’s not one that will have listeners scratching their heads, trying to figure out where it came from. Instead, it’s filled with the things that have kept fans coming back for more than three decades. The opening tracks are warm and familiar—like a bowl of oatmeal on a snowy morning. The middle tracks are perfect for singing at the top of your lungs as you drive home from work on a Friday afternoon. And those last tracks are smooth and thought-provoking and even mesmerizing. It’s nothing new or ground-breaking innovative, but it’s clearly, undeniably U2.
