U2 – “Songs of Experience”

2/5 Stars

Is it possible to stay artistically relevant for the better part of forty years? Today, we have our answer, and the answer is that an act either dies or lives long enough to see itself become U2.

We waited an extra year for this?

To be fair, the urgency and sincerity in Bono’s delivery is still there. (Almost) forty years of howling onstage have not compromised his velvet vocal folds. The poster boy of anthemic rock still has the voice of a siren at sea. What he is clearly lacking on Songs of Experience, however, is any shred of pure inspiration.

Again, this album was delayed in its release, for those who did not know. It was originally slated to be released last year, but in tow of the universally lauded presidential election and Brexit, Bono and the boys waited on letting this puppy off the leash until it was disciplined enough to resist its primal urge to chase cars into the street. Unfortunately, said puppy met the rumbling front end of a mail truck. Despite having significant fodder for political protest jams, Bono just laments about love. This is not exactly problematic on its own, except that Bono claimed the delay was due to the political climate. Where’s the politics, Paul?

“American Soul” seems to be the only truly blatant example of any. The song kicks off and closes with some heavy caterwauling from King Kendrick, but ironically has little of the “soul” mentioned in the lyrics. DAMN. was one of the biggest disappointments of the year (“Humble” makes me entertain suicide), but it seems like Dark Side of the Moon next to U2’s newest overproduced cringebag. Both Lamar/U2 lovechildren on their respective albums were the highlights of each record, but much like how “XXX” did not exactly save DAMN. from the demonic clutches of commercialist uninspiration, “American Soul” cannot save Songs of Experience.

Bono’s lyrics are as generic as a bowl of LIFE (without milk). He clearly did not go out of his way to pen “Get Out of Your Own Way,” settling for whatever words came to mind while he was in the shower. “Land Lady,” “The Showman (Little More Better)” and “Summer of Love” all begin with such promise, sporting a captivating arrangement before they spiral down into an embarrassing boredom, one that makes me shiver, not how I do when Beyonce’s voice cracks on “Sandcastles,” but how I would shiver if that nerdy kid from chemistry class tried to sing “My Immortal” a cappella at the talent show and wet himself on stage.

Bono has heart. He cares. He wants to be our hero. He almost is with “Love Is All We Have Left,” which is as intimate as it is refreshing. It is not enough, though, my boy, not this time. The most damning truth to all of this is that we really did need our hero back. We really needed the U2 that lamented about broken bottles under children’s feet, especially in a time where our president has inspired so many other artists to aim their lyrical sniper rifles at his unapologetic xenophobia.

I guess we’ll just have to check our inboxes in a few years to see if U2 wants to give us anything else for free just to make up for the jejune Songs of Experience.