All that you can leave behind

By now it is a global economic necessity for Bono to periodically marshal his mega-millionaire crew and attempt to recapture old magic in album form. Whether a new U2 album is an artistic necessity, however, is becoming increasingly more difficult to determine.

All That You Can't Leave Behind, released in 2000, was clearly inspired and heartfelt, a cohesive statement from a band that simply wanted to stop being on the run and live their lives. By contrast, 2004's How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb was equally generic and uninspired.

The band's latest effort, No Line on the Horizon, is an entirely different beast, an odd combination of the glory days combined with hints of an ambient, lyrically adventurous future. Horizon - the band's 12th album - is perhaps best categorized as a last-ditch attempt to snatch a vestige of credibility and stave off musical irrelevance.

Predictably, U2 once again called upon the two names that instantly cause a fervor of expectation in fans of U2 and rock at large, Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois, to helm the Morocco-based production and lend said credibility to the effort.

U2, at its best, manages to elevate the listener to a higher plane - Bono's soaring choruses propelling the anthems and the Edge's precise melodies riding shotgun. When U2 fans hear one of the band's classics, such as "Where the Streets Have No Name" or "One," they enter a state in which the dissenting cackles of critics are summarily ignored and the full, rich sound of the proud Irish arena rockers completely envelops them.

The entirety of U2's catalogue can best be described as a triumph of faith over reason, of pop grandeur over refined sensibilities. Unfortunately, this formula easily breaks down when the one with the multi-shaded sunglasses himself wishes to bait critics with shallow ambiance and Bob Dylan-like aping.

Case in point is the lead single, "Get On Your Boots." Apparently, Bono did little but recycle the meter of Dylan's verses in "Subterranean Homesick Blues" to engage in some rather undercooked, amateur poetry.

In fact, when the Edge sidelines his heavy, Zeppelin-esque riff and Bono spits out lines such as "Here's what you gotta be/ Love and community/ Laughter is eternity if the joy is real" over solitary drums, the image of a talent-starved slam poet at his local club springs quickly to mind.

The preceding track "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight," appears explicitly designed to make the lyrics of "Boots" look Miltonian by comparison. Though Bono offers a disclaimer of sorts by belting out "I reserve the right to be ridiculous," one does not realize the extent until he sings "As you start out the climb/ Listen for me, I'll be shouting/ But we're gonna make it all the way to the light/ But I know I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight."

For someone who has self-effacingly mocked his messiah complex and has touted his newfound ability to write in the third person, Bono is remarkably intent on leading a "generation" into the "light" as they "shout into the darkness" and "squeeze out sparks of light."

The more experimental tracks fare slightly better. "FEZ-Being Born" begins with a ghostly, patented Eno atmosphere which abruptly morphs into a prototypical U2 anthem - rousing chorus, typical Edge melody and all - that is greatly enhanced by a host of exotic, Moroccan timbres.

The rewards for wading through the uneven majority of Horizon are in the album's closing tracks. "White As Snow" boasts gorgeous horn arrangements, minimalist percussion and, for once, able storytelling that meld seamlessly.

While "Breathe" is largely forgettable, the searching, haunting spirit of "Snow" manifests itself in "Cedars of Lebanon." The album closer has an air of timelessness about it and allows the band to go out with a dense ballad brimming with the promise of what Horizon could have been.

In the end, Horizon shares more of its philosophical blueprints with another Eno-produced record, Coldplay's Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends. Both U2 and Coldplay attempted to resuscitate a stagnant aural signature, and neither was very successful. From the composers of "Yellow," this type of half-hearted sonic wanking was to be expected.

The band responsible for Boy, October, The Joshua Tree and Achtung Baby, on the other hand, should really know better than to rip out sheets from Bono's diary, add some Eno-lite for accompaniment and market it as a late career masterpiece.

Bono can save the world later. He needs to save the band first.

vmain13@umd.edu

RATING: 2.5 out of 5 stars