By Todd Lavoie
Vieux Farka Touré, "Bullet the Blue Sky"
Oh, U2 -- they might not have changed the world as much as they’d hoped (or, not yet, anyway), but at least they’ve made it a warmer, more hopeful place, yes? Hard to fathom a band more deserving of the tag “global phenomenon,” but there it is, slapped upon every stirring chorus and grand sweeping gesture from Bono’s anointed fingers -- the sheer enormousness of it all would be mighty hard to take if the guys didn’t have the goods to back it up. But they do, and what’s more, they’ve kept the flow for longer than some listeners have even been alive -- to whom else on the international airwaves could we ever say such a thing? Michael Jackson? Once upon a time, sure, but not anymore. Mariah Carey? Please. And you’d best bite that lip before suggesting Britney! But honestly: has anyone else in modern-day rock/pop ubiquity had the same level of social impact as U2? For all of the mumbles and grumbles about Bono’s perceived messiah-complex, it’s worth remembering that he and his mates have pushed far beyond the familiar celebrity-pose of half-hearted idealism in favor of honest-to-goodness optimism, championing countless causes with honest-to-goodness conviction. Take that, Ms Spears.
Further testimony can be found on the recently-released In The Name Of Love: Africa Celebrates U2 (Shout! Factory). An intriguing collection of interpretations from U2’s catalogue by some of the continent’s most notable musicians, the disc serves as more than just a reminder of the band’s utmost uber-importance -- this tribute also offers fresh insight into their unimpeachable songwriting skills. Language barriers? Pshaw! How nineteenth century!
Seriously, though: with some of these songs so firmly locked into the Anglo/American vernacular at this point, after so many years on the radio and in videos, it’s a frequently fascinating experience, hearing such thoughtfully innovative overhauls of them. Along with a knack for crafting rousing social commentary and the occasional weepy ballad, U2 has long specialized in tendering its own brand of uplifting, dogma-free spirituality -- a particularly excitable form of humanism, perhaps -- and here we see those tendencies in full flourish, thanks to downright jubilant takes by Angelique Kidjo and the Soweto Gospel Choir. Over the course of the compilation’s 12 tracks, there’s a palpable sense of hope, of the sheer unassailable strength of the human spirit (yes, even on the previously-less-than-sunny “Sunday Bloody Sunday.”) Oh, and did I mention that a portion of the CD’s sales will benefit the Global Fund, an organization devoted to fighting AIDS, tuberculosis, and malaria? Well, there you go.
I mentioned the Soweto Gospel Choir: the 30-plus-member-strong South African ensemble offer a disc highlight with an unbridled-joy revisit of “Pride (In The Name of Love)”. Over a delicate, understated drum rumble-and-roll, three soloists trade heart-racing performances of the civil-rights anthem’s lyrics while a veritable wall of triumphant voices cry out “in the name of love” in lushly-arranged, ever-shifting harmonies. Senegalese vocalist Cheikh Lô redesigns the strident “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” into a mesmerizing plea, its yearn and ache immediately recognizable despite the song’s translation in Lô’s native Wolof language. Particularly hypnotic is the bubbling, rippling rattle-funk rhythm -- close your eyes, and you can almost feel yourself floating downriver…
Benin’s Angelique Kidjo and Cameroonian expats Les Nubians bring their trademark exuberance to “Mysterious Ways” and “”With Or Without You” respectively -- the former delivers shimmering-guitar Afro-Pop (along with a Craig Armstrong/Massive Attack-worthy symphonic arrangement in the opening moments), while the latter opts for a deliciously squelchy future-funk. Say goodbye to the original’s plaintive throb, however. This version is pure synth-squiggle and slightly-detached R&B bliss. Another Joshua Tree (Island) number gets re-modeled for the dancefloor with Tony Allen’s “Where The Streets Have No Name,” wherein the former drummer for Afrobeat pioneer Fela Kuti injects the fierce longing of the original with an insistent clatter-rhythm and rapturous call-and-response from a sweltering horn section.
For an altogether contrasting listening experience, I’d head directly to “Bullet The Blue Sky”, here interpreted by Mali’s Vieux Farka Touré (son of the legendary Ali Farka Touré) in a nervy blues grumble. While it may lack the U2 version’s violent theatrics, it more than compensates with its steady creep and sweaty jitters, palpable even without any fluency in French. Set amongst the considerably lighter fare offered by its neighbors, “Bullet the Blue Sky” might be a bit of a sore thumb. But, oh, what a perfectly fascinating sore thumb it is nonetheless.
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