Many bands have eras in their catalog they disown. Think of Ministry’s darkwave synth-pop masterpiece With Sympathy—which Al Jourgensen has spent four decades disparaging, until very recently—or Bad Religion’s prog album Into the Unknown. (If you haven’t listened to the latter LP, remedy that immediately—it’s WILD, but I love it.) The Goo Goo Dolls have also radically de-emphasized their earliest days, when they were ragged punks carrying on the Replacements’ torch.
Perhaps the biggest disowned album by a superstar? U2’s 1997 album Pop. Although several songs from the record appear in remixed form on The Best of 1990–2000, and “Staring at the Sun” was still in setlists as recently as 2018, Pop is neglected, if not downright dustbinned. “Discotheque” last appeared in concert in 2005, and on the recent Songs of Surrender collection, which featured all four members of the band picking their favorite U2 songs to re-do, only bassist Adam Clayton chose a song from Pop: “If God Will Send His Angels.”
Unsurprisingly, I love Pop. I love the ridiculous spectacle of the PopMart Tour and the band’s costumes. I love the discotheque beats and programming. I love the lacquered synthesizers. I love the absolutely deadpan “Discotheque” video. I bought the album on cassette back in 1997; accordingly, one of my favorite things to do quickly became hopping in my beloved 1987 Honda Civic and driving around at night listening to it. There was something about the desperate grooves, technicolor synths and Bono’s yearning vocals that felt calibrated for the dark.
Whenever I watch the beginning of the PopMart tour stop from Mexico City, I scratch my head and wonder why Pop isn’t more respected. A throbbing motorik remix of M’s “Pop Muzik” booms over the soundsystem as the band marches to the stage like a squad on a mission. Once everyone’s in place, “Mofo” kicks in with its 100mph groove—the kind of defiant, blow-your-hair-back energy that makes for galvanizing music. This was U2 at their most indulgent—but most vibrant.
When I was in high school, U2 was probably my favorite band behind R.E.M. I came by my love honestly, as my dad dubbed War from the library onto cassette, and it was his CD copy of The Joshua Tree I borrowed in eighth grade and never gave back. I was enthralled by the romantic vibe and open-road mystery of songs such as “In God’s Country” and “Trip Through Your Wires.”
I jumped into the fandom circa Achtung Baby, when the album and its singles were omnipresent on the radio and MTV. U2 performed live on the 1992 MTV Video Music Awards with Dana Carvey (as his Wayne’s World alter-ego Garth) on drums. It’s dryly hilarious:
It was thrilling to become a fan circa Achtung Baby. The album itself is genius: On many days, the jagged and piercing “Until the End of the World” is my favorite U2 song, with my favorite Bono lyrics (“In my dream I was drowning my sorrows/But my sorrows, they learned to swim”). But there was so much vitality and creativity swirling around U2 at that time—not just in cheeky Bono characters like the elegantly wasted Mr. MacPhisto and swaggering The Fly, but also in their music videos, like the humility-infused “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses.”
ZOO TV is in a class of its own, of course. U2 were massively famous but also critiquing fame in smart, savvy ways—critiques that were only possible because they were so famous. (Insert Spider-Man-points-at-Spider-Man .GIF.) Information overload, how technology creeps into our everyday lives, how television warps our brain, the peril of false idols—today all of this commentary feels both quaint and deeply prescient.
Soon after, I dove headfirst into all things U2. I couldn’t get enough of the music video for “Numb.” I dubbed October myself onto a cassette (I believe the flipside was Radiohead’s The Bends), mesmerized by the thrumming basslines and youthful angst. In high school, I vividly recall skipping a dance (I didn’t have a date, of course) and instead stayed home and baked cookies while listening to Boy. The first thing I ever bought on eBay was a Rattle and Hum T-shirt; I still have pretty killer vintage Unforgettable Fire and Under a Blood Red Sky tees somewhere. I scoured Napster for those rare ’90s remixes, like the peerless “Salome (Zooromancer remix).” Later in college I’d skip a few days of classes to see the 2001 tour.
(that’s me in college. i still have the Pop poster somewhere)
(a screenshot of Bono from last night, via the TikTok stream I watched)
I know I’m not alone in loving Pop—thanks to the internet, I’ve found plenty of people who share my affection for the record. I stand by my claim that the bones of the songs are strong. And a decade ago, I made a case for Pop at The A.V. Club:
That Pop has become the black sheep of U2’s catalog is a shame. For starters, the record lives up to its name: Nearly every song has a strong, resonant hook—sometimes driven by powerful high-register vocal acrobatics (a seductive “Do You Feel Loved” and the anguished “Gone”), and other times driven by dive-bombing digital screeches (“Mofo”) or metallic disco scribbles (“Miami”). The band wasn’t using technology to prop up subpar tunes; it worked with a solid musical foundation and merely sculpted interesting sounds and textures around and on it. This becomes clear when Pop’s songs are stripped down: On the version of “Staring At The Sun” U2 favored live, Edge strummed an acoustic guitar and sang with Bono, their voices intertwining for yearning, haunted harmonies.
Lyrically, Pop is also far more complex than it might seem; in fact, the record contains U2’s last great bits of unselfconscious songwriting. (Save for “Playboy Mansion,” a flimsy takedown of fame and stardom that aims for scathing but rings hollow.) In keeping with the clubland feel, its lyrics toy with sexuality—“Loved” is a particularly nuanced take on romantic confusion and temptation, while “Discothèque” obliquely captures the exuberance of a one-night stand. But for the most part, Pop’s ruminations on self-doubt, mortality, and regret contrast with the album’s steely digital sheen. “Please” criticizes the self-sabotage inherent with (and the magnitude of) Northern Ireland’s violent conflicts, while “Staring At The Sun” is both a crisis of faith and a condemnation of blind worship. And the distortion-cracked grayscale dirge “Wake Up Dead Man” is astonishing, a stark plea where Bono begs Jesus for guidance through despair–although the repeated cry of “Wake up, wake up dead man” also feels like he’s attempting to rouse himself.
My goal was to convey that despite the album’s reputation as a glossy keyboard record, Pop isn’t vapid or facile. I’ve always said the bones of the record are sound—the songwriting is solid and perceptive. Had it been reimagined, people would view it much differently. As an example, the Mike Hedges remix of “Gone” on the Best 1990-2000 collection de-emphasizes synths and elevates chiming guitars, creating a much different vibe.
Of course, there are good reasons why U2 don’t like to go back to Pop. The record was finished quickly, and not everyone in the band was happy with how it turned out, so there are negative connotations with it.
But I often suspect that one reason U2 shy away from coming back to Pop is because the lyrics are vulnerable in ways they’d rather not revisit. They’re very raw and unguarded, with protagonists who are completely lost and trying to find their way by exploring faith, sex, hedonism, death, irony, conspiracy theories, and more.
Bono certainly touches on these things (and deeply personal moments, like his mom’s death) on other albums. But Pop’s lyrics aren’t quite as polished or obscured as the lyrics of other U2 albums. It’s a very apocalyptic record—the logical conclusion of Achtung Baby and ZOO TV’s warnings about the modern world. The dire predictions came true.
In that sense, this makes Pop a perfect album to revisit now, a quarter-century later, given the world is so full of turmoil and uncertainty. U2 were ahead of their time in the ’90s, and technology has finally caught up to them. What did Pop get right—and what could use a tweak?
Beyond that, what better venue than an awe-inspiring sphere in Las Vegas to revisit the larger-than-life Pop live concepts? I’m not saying U2 necessarily has to project a gigantic lemon on the massive LED screens—although that would be amazing—but there’s really no better place to try it.
Plus, Bono announced last night during opening night of the Las Vegas residency that U2 is in its Eras Tour, Taylor Swift-style. “Every night on this turntable,” he said, referencing the Brian Eno stage design, “we’re going to play songs from different albums of ours.” Rolling Stone’s response was immediate and forceful: “Let’s hope they find time for a Pop night. It’s long overdue.”
I couldn’t agree more. Although (too many) people saw Pop then as an aberration or a misstep, time has been much kinder to both the music and the songs. It’s time to let bad feelings go and give Pop its time in the sun.
And what’s more, their repudiation of Pop(timism) has coloured *everything* they’ve done since - I always hear a note of something stout and yeoman-like. “We’ll have no more of that Pavarotti/MacPhisto/trabant/giant lemon nonsense, thank very much”. Pop was the peak, everything since a dying fall
Pop was as raw as they ever got. Everything they’ve done since feels like a return to safety.
Here’s a playlist of the songs that were revamped after the album was released: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAWO-2ZHmEexUKAN69AGwOM_PKMqGCN5x