How religion almost destroyed U2: “There’s another world out there”
Religion is a delicate topic in music. But mainly, its seemingly controversial nature depends on what, or who, you’re talking about. In the context of rock ‘n’ roll, it’s easy to see it as its antithesis, or the one thing most rock stars viewed with a look of disdain. In other spaces, it signals a journey to spiritual self-discovery, one that easily pours its warmth all over music like a blissful oasis.
For those reasons, among countless others, its place in rock has felt to many like a contradictory theme, or something used as a point of exploration when musicians transform their experiences into art. Many were born in religious households or communities, like Leonard Cohen or Bob Dylan, and used this in their music either as a reflective mirror in broader, more nuanced stories, or reconnected with it later, letting it become the sole aspect of their music during periods of intense searching.
But it’s interesting to look at why some of these periods – or even the ones minus religion but defined by spirituality, like when The Beatles visited Rishikesh – are also ones people tend to become harsher critics of, like they’re owed explanations for why someone’s music suddenly feels far less accessible, not only in sound but in the messages it’s trying to convey. It’s effectively a point of contention, but is that because it feels more like it’s art closed in on itself, more personal to the artist, without room for the listener?
In the early days, when U2 started working on their second record, the issues they faced were a result of a mix of things, from struggling commercially to broader disagreements when it came to motivations. The main one, though, was the fact that Bono, The Edge and Larry Mullen had joined a Christian community group that had different views on pursuing a career in music, arguing that they couldn’t live a holy life if they were to also be rock stars.
According to The Edge, they were constantly having to rethink the logistics of exercising “completely contrasting imperatives”, and had to choose between remaining in U2 or committing to faith. “On one level, to try and be as true on a spiritual front as we could be, and then on the other level to be in the best rock n’ roll band we could ever be in,” he recalled in U2 by U2. “So there was an element of uncertainty going forward.”
According to Bono, things spiralled when The Edge left the band to “think”, which affected him because he “wasn’t interested in being in the band if he wasn’t.” He also said his bandmate had told him “there is another world out there and that’s what I want to be a part of,” bluntly observing how “the real cure to the world’s ills does not lie in a post-punk rock band.”
The Edge, of course, tells the story slightly differently, saying that it only took him a couple of days away from U2 to realise “this stuff was bullshit,” but still: the deliberation itself almost derailed the entire operation, making it seem they weren’t all that bothered about the music.
Despite what The Edge might say about whether they resolved those “contradictions” – he maintains they didn’t – it seemed the record, October, and much of their subsequent material, dabbled in the meaning of faith in the spotlight and broader contexts of modern existence, finding a middle ground where they could live authentically by pouring these views into their work. Their uncertainty became central to their appeal as a band, and U2 ended up representing a new kind of rock that didn’t always have to be perfect. In fact, that was the whole point.
