If you’re a fan (writer raises hand), getting the chance to watch U2 going through the paces of a cover shoot, to study their interaction and body language, to sniff the psychic air surrounding them and then chat them up is a sort of rock dream-fulfillment, with intimations of Fab Fours, Glimmer Twins, Zimmermans, the Boss and the Clash. Given that these now are four men in their 50s who’ve been playing rock stars for 37-some years, it’s an impressive display. They’re fit, and they manifestly thrive in one another’s company. “At this point, it’s like some sort of ESP,” Weinstein later tells me when I ask about U2’s chemistry. “I don’t think they need to talk. A look says it all.”
Bono with his three bandmates is a completely different beast than Bono solo-lighter, looser, infused with jollification. As Spotify’s T. Rex station pulses in the hangarlike space, and the mostly female and black-clad U2 entourage flits hither and yon, creative consultant/wardrobe stylist Sharon Blankson, a friend of the band members since they were all kids, stands back and bounces and peers from side to side to monitor how her boys are faring as the camera flash strobes.
Hovering over all this fabulousness and alpha-pop puissance are some nagging questions that the members of U2 will be the first to worry out loud about. For starters, the whole notion of being a chart-dominating superstar rock band is in grave danger of becoming an obsolete concept. Having sold 150 million albums and won 22 Grammys is all well and good, but it’s getting lonely at the top for U2, surrounded as it is by pop confectioners, hip-hop monarchs, the odd cowboy hat, Taylor and Adele, and the empty places where lots of other rock’n’roll bands used to be. The winners of two of the three big rock awards at this year’s Grammys were a one-shot mashup of Paul McCartney and members of Nirvana, and a 2007 reunion concert album by Led Zeppelin. However deserving-yikes.