Noisy, surging guitars; octopus-arm polyrhythms; Bono hollering on like a hopped-up Pentecostal preacher; spectacularly transparent declarations of purpose whooped in flailing whoa-oh frenzy. These are the first sounds of "No Line On the Horizon," U2's new album, and they combine to say what, with this band, goes without saying: This is a statement.
Because the biggest band in the world leaves nuance to the little guys, U2's first album in over four years tackles all the critical themes in grand, swoop-down rescue fashion. This is what these guys do best, and it's a good thing, particularly now when it's becoming clear to all - sometimes, you can't make it on your own.
All this overarching sentimentality and hope-from-on-high, though, would fall on deaf ears if the music didn't rock so hard. Well-versed in saving the world with rock 'n' roll, Bono and Edge wisely spread hooky, hard-charging guitar anthems throughout. And, to those who never thought they'd see a lead single in the 6-hole, the opening one-two shock and awe of the title track and "Magnificent" fit the first-songs-make-future-singles patent.
"Moment of Surrender," which sounds like a sequel to "One," is complete with the straight-faced line "I did not notice the passers by and they did not notice me." Sure. Thankfully, the jittery Talking Heads job "Unknown Caller" takes itself far less seriously and perfectly segues into the triumphant "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight." Cheese-ball refrain? Sure, but the melodic chorus and ringing guitars encourage Rocky-like arm raising and life-affirming shouts of joy. Seriously, this is Live Aid stuff.
"Get On Your Boots" holds the trump card, though. By now you've heard it - the blistering jolt of kick-in-the-ass psych-blooze punctuated by The Edge's three-beers-in distorto-riffing. It's a song that puts songs to shame, which only speaks to the gussied-up funk power of "Stand Up Comedy" and, two yawners later, "Breathe," in which Larry Mullen's tribal pounding launches more exultant riffing and a Bono-as-Lennon-as-Stipe rant that packs equal parts "Come Together" and REM's "Departure."
On "Cedars of Lebanon," an otherwise acceptably somber closer, Bono inhabits the person of a lonely soldier - a long-shot proposition since, you know, this is a guy who got the Pope to wear his shades. U2, of course, is always best in role of U2: luminary iconoclasts spoon-feeding rallying cries best belted from the mountaintop; commanding, with "No Line," both undivided horizon and undivided attention.
