Friday, 12 September 2014

An Open Letter To Bono, Written After the Free Release Of "Songs of Innocence"

Dear B-Man,

I know a lot of people have said some pretty mean things about you over the years, myself included. I mean, there was that time I equated listening to your album The Joshua Tree to the experience of having a red and white shell-less mollusc's penis slowly inserted into my ear (as you are an expert on absolutely everything ever, I'm sure you know that red and white shell-less molluscs have barbed reproductive organs, meaning said experience would be not only unusual, but cruel too.)

All that said, there is one thing I have never accused you of being, and that is inauthentic. You passionately believe that the things you say and the records you make are important. This is obviously why you just gave the world an album for free. In your universe, handing out a record without asking for us to shell out our hard earned dollars makes you Moses delivering the Ten Commandments. After all, Moses was kind enough not to demand a cover charge, and he never sold a single t-shirt with his face emblazoned on it.

In short, in your mind, you are blessing the world with U2, and all we mere mortals have to do is sit back and listen.

I know you think you're being generous by not making us pay for Songs of Innocence, but there's something problematic with your attitude.

You see B-Man, giving away something for free is only generous if it is something people actually want. After all, I once knew an interesting chap who, one drunken evening, shat in his ex-girlfriend's mailbox. She did not have to pay for the faecal matter he deposited directly into her home, but the experience being free did not in any way prompt her to feel touched or thankful, particularly as she spent a solid hour of the next morning bleaching her diarrhoea soaked carpet.

I must say, finding your album Songs of Innocence in my house as I awoke made me feel a little violated. It was a little like the old 'mollusc penis in the ear' scenario all over again, although last time I knowingly inserted the penis into my ear. This time, the mollusc is pretty much a rapist, and I must ask him and you to remove your barbed members from my person.

It's not like I could just not listen to your album, either. Upon finding it in my library, I felt like Brad Pitt at the end of Se7en, desperate to know what was in the box. Although every part of me screamed against the idea of playing a single song, I had to know how insipid and uninspired your music could be.

And, insipid and uninspired it is. I have the sneaking suspicion that at some point during your career, you were traded in for a Bono-Bot; a robot fuelled by its own sense of self-parody, belching out lifeless anthems about the most clich├ęd subjects imaginable amongst clouds of exhaust and acrid smoke.

In future, B-Man, would you mind keeping your music to yourself? If you would allow me to use another genital based analogy (keeping in mind that there's a reason I don't get paid to write this stuff) your music should be like your penis. It's nice to show it to the people who like you, but when you start rubbing it in our faces, well then, you're no better than a rapist mollusc, are you?

Yours sincerely,
The Underlook.


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