Happy 50th Birthday…
Boy, that Bono sure can be an annoying guy. Certainly I have criticized him on these pages before. I don’t like some rich celebrity coming into my town and telling my government how they should spend my hard earned money. Hey, Bono,yea you talking to Paul Martin, shut up and sing! 
I also don’t like rich celebrities constantly telling governments they need to spend more, and more… and MORE, yet then they arrange their affairs to pay the least they can. If you think governments job is to spend lots of money, the least you can do, the bare minimum, is give your fair share. I know you have a legal right to organize your corporation to minimize your tax load, but when you start with all the talking you take on a moral responsibility to give the maximum you can.
That said, I like Bono. He is, at least, sincere in his beliefs. Bono sings about his political beliefs, puts his politics in his songs. He, in other words, puts his money where his mouth is. I don’t have to always like it, but I respect it. Want to use your celebrity to advance a cause, then use your sell-able talent to advance the cause and I can reject it or not as I please. Bono, virtually alone amongst rock stars, does this.
Frankly, I love his sense of melody. U2 is not my favourite band, not by any stretch. The Edge – which isn’t really a name – is just an alright guitar player in my books. The rhythm section is good, but a tight bass and drum combo hardly makes for great rock, although great rock is impossible without it. What sets U2 apart is Bono’s sense of melody. Songs like Mysterious Ways, Angel of Harlem and Sweetest Thing display an almost playful melodic sensibility. The boy can sing, and he can sing with some style.
But the reason I wish Bono – real name Paul David Hewson – a happy 50th birthday is the following story, as told by Dave Thompson in I Hate New Music:
Bono stands upon the stage, his eyes sharp, his voice steady. Behind him, his bandmates slow the music to a rhythmic throb. “Every time I clap my hands,” Bono says slowly, “another person dies of hunger.”
He starts to clap. One. Two. Three. The silence in the hall is absolute. Four. Five. Six. The audience scarcely dares breathe. Seven. Eight. Nine. Every time he claps his hands, another person dies of hunger.
And then a voice rings out from the back of the room: “Well you better stop fucking clapping then.”
So happy birthday Paul Hewson, aka Bono, because even if that story is untrue, it’s a great one. And it wouldn’t be possible to believably tell without you.
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