THE TOP SECRET ALBUM

Industry insiders have dubbed it The Thing That Dare Not Speak Its Name. Even the members of U2 are unaware of its existence. It's Bono's unbelievable solo debut. Review: Mail Lackey

BONO: "BOYO" (Motherfucker Records) For months now, industry insiders have been referring to it as "the best-kept secret in the West". AIl calls to Principle Management offices about the project have been met with a wall of silence and, is for U2 themselves, if the topic was even so much as hinted at in interviews, they would quickly change the subject to something less contentious. The author knows this from first hand experience. "Relax, take it easy," Bono admonished, when I raised the grim spectre of The Thing That Dare Not Speak Its Name. "Let's just cool down here a minute.," he continued, "let's bat the breeze awhile, kick around a few less weighty themes for a change."

"Such as?", l enquired, feigning nonchalance. "0h, I dunno... how's about the military-industrial complex and its profound implications vis-a-vis the crushing financial debts of emerging Third World Nations?", he said pleasantly. Readers can be assured that your tenacious reporter wasn't so easily put off.

"Righty-o then," I parried, "whatever you say, Bo." (You learn fast that it pays to he subtle in this business - especially, when, as I thought at the time, one is talking to one's actual employer. I have since, of course, learned that this is not the case - it's Adam who owns Hot Press; Bono merely owns the building. And as for Larry and The Edge, all they have is the minor, peripheral involvement of a joint 51% share-holding in The International Bar. But I digress and I sense my readers are becoming impatient).

So what is this hidden thing of which we speak? Well, at long last, all can be revealed. Hot Press has gotten its paws on the master-tape of the record U2 don't want the world to hear: it's called "Boyo", and it's Bono's extraordinary, ground-breaking debut solo album.

Extraordinary, because this was the record that resulted from his so-called long-lost weekend, a six-month period between the release of "The Unforgettable Fire" and "The Joshua Tree", during which the charismatic, lion-maned U2 vocalist totally lost the run of himself in the dark, infested underbelly of New York city, in the company of some of rock'n'roll's most notorious hell-raisers and hooligans. The album's sub-title offers more clues: "Tales Of Shame & Degradation In The 80's", it reads, adding, ominously, "Vol 1". The few intimates who have been aware of its existence from the start call it by a different name: "Debasement Tapes".

On even a cursory hearing it's not hard to work out why. Recorded 'live' onto a portastudio in the back room of Dirty Dick's, a biker hang-out in the Bronx, "Boyo" brings the stocky, ear-ringed U2 front-man together with such quintessential outlaw figures as Johnny Thunders, Lemmy, Ted Nugent, P.J. Proby and Ozzie Kilkenny ... sorry, Ozzie Osbourne. Lightening the belligerent mood somewhat, drums and percussion are supplied by all the members of nice boy collective Guns N' Roses.

The result is an album that throws a rather different light on some familiar U2 classics and unveils a bunch of never-before -heard originals to boot.

The opening salvo, the tenacious "(In The Name Of Jaysus) Get Out To Be Fucked", sets the tone. Backed by a furious guitar barrage, underpinned by the last word in thunderdrumming, 'Fucked' allows the garrulous, stubble-chinned U2 lyricist vent his spleen on all those who've numbered him as rock's sole salvation. The opening verse carries the authentic ring of truth. "They liken me to Buddha/They liken me to Ghandi/They liken me to Godabove/When all I like is brandy", wails the shamanistic, pony-tailed U2 prime-mover, before being joined by his motley back-up crew on the raging terrace-style chorus: "Get out to be fucked/Get out to be fucked/In the name of Jaysus get out to be fucked." Stirring stuff indeed.

Next up is "Angels Of Harley" a tribute to the New York chapter of the world's scurviest motorcycle gang. Full of striking juxtapositions of image (check "throttle and scum'), the song ends on a real audio-verite note as, with the tapes still rolling, a bunch of disgruntled bikers are heard entering the room and demanding 18 cases of beer for favours unspecified, before commencing to trash the place with tyre-irons. The resulting cacophony of feedback, human shrieks and shattering glass amounts to the single most corrosive slice of vinylised 'rockumentary', since Iggy nailed down his own coffin lid on "Metallic KO" way back when. Uplifting stuff - and then some.

Inevitably, the drugs issue raises its controversial head on "Boyo", in the form of a bunch of radically re-worked U2 classics including "(Out Of My) Joshua Tree", "I Still Haven't Found My Stash Which I'm Sure I put In My Guitar Case Last Night" and, a genuine tour de force, "With Or Without Glue". "I can't live with or without glue", snarls the iconoclastic, Dublin-born U2 mainspring, articulating the ultimate, grisly paradox of solvent abuse. Sticky stuff - to be sure.

But it's not all rough and tough - "Boyo" has its lighter moments too, specifically the ingenious "Pullet The Blue Sky", a about the first chicken in space. Then there's "God (Continued On Page 94)" -in which the behatted, Grammy Award-winning U2 focal-point reels off a kind of reverse credo. Key lines: 'I don't believe in Dunphy, his type like a curse/he wasn't much of a footballer/but Giles was even worse. " Adding a topical Christmas appeal here the fast-talking, beer-drinking U2 lynchpin also reveals that he doesn't believe in Santa Claus. Unbelievable stuff. Totally

For the finale, however, the restless, leather-clad U2 pivot returns to band tradition, closing proceedings with a hymn-like, serene ballad. In what is surely his most compellingly literate statement to date, the amply proportioned, well-hung U2 major-domo, poses the metaphysical-cum existentialist question of the decade; "How long/how long/how long/how long/how lo-o-o-ong/how l-o-o-o-ong/how l-o-o-o-o-o-ng/how l-o-o-o-o-o-o-n-g/Is a piece of string?" Inquisitive stuff entirely.

And there you have it. Or rather, you don't. Because there's only one copy in existence and it's our's. But it could be yours. Yes, to earn your chance of winning this fantastic copy of "Boyo" (individually numbered by Jackie Hayden to ensure authenticity), send £40,000 - no let's make it £50,000; a bit of profit wouldn't go amiss - to The Hot Press Libel Action Fund, c/o 6, Wicklow Street, Dublin 2, Ireland. And complete the following slogan in not less than 10 words: "Our names are Wendy and Marlene. We live in Melbourne and we think it's high-time that U2 played Australia because..."

Competitive stuff.

- Mail Lackey

THE BAND

The man who is called Paul Wonderful sweeps his raven-black hair from his eyes and laughs delightedly. He is thinking back to the days when the crumbling, monstrous beauty of The Joshua Trio was born. There is still some raven-black hair stuck in the corners of his mouth, however, and he coughs violently before being able to continue.

"It's funny, but when we started we could hardly even play our instruments," he tells me, smiling softly. "We still can't, really…" he adds in that humble yet honest way that has earned him the title of Lead Singer Of The Joshua Trio. Looking at him, it's easy to see why he has won the undying worship of more than twelve people. He has the look of a fallen angel, and not just because of the bruises along his arm which certainly point to a fall or stumble of some kind. Paul Wonderful has known pain.

We're sitting at Stonehenge, supping on Guinness and watching the blood red skyline. Paul asks if I would like to begin the interview. I reply in the affirmative, but wonder where the other members of the band, Kieran (bass, whistling) and Arthur (drums, poetry) are. As if by magic, they appear behind Paul, emerging from a white cloud of fog that I hadn't noticed till now. "Hello Arthur. Hello Kieran," says Paul without turning around.

"Hello Paul," says Arthur.

"Hello Paul, my brother," says Kieran - for Paul is indeed his brother.

I place my tape recorder on the table and switch it on.

"There will he no need for that," says Paul, and hands the machine back to me. We begin.

When The Joshua Trio formed, they had but one goal, and that was to bring U2 to a wider audience. They've certainly done that, with sell-out nights at Dublin's Baggot Inn (upstairs, Tuesdays) leaving people exhausted, elated and, most importantly, hungry for that sound.

"We want to wean people onto U2. We want to bring U2 to the old, the sick, the infirm, the handicapped, and members of Cactus World News," Arthur tells me. "We are to Jesus Chr- are to U2 as John The Baptist was to Jesus Christ. We are but the vessel for their words."

Do you not worry that you might overshadow them in some way?

"It's a constant danger," Arthur agrees, nodding. "A constant danger, and we often have to pull back, whenever we feel we are reaching that point."

"I was practising a few, urn... whatjacallem... chords a few weeks ago at rehearsal," begins Paul, his voice low, almost inaudible, "…when Kieran walked in and said 'Hey, that really sounds like The Edge.' I just... I just couldn't... I threw down the guitar and went to my car and drove deep into the country, as fast and as far as I could. I honestly thought that would be the end of the band."

"We live in fear of going that far," says Arthur. "We could even become a case of the baby spiders eating their mother."

A cold wind seems to pass us, and I shiver. Frightened by the turn the conversation is taking, I decide to try and cheer everyone up by asking Kieran a question.

You don't talk very much, Kieran.

"No," says Kieran, quickly adding, "I don't talk very much."

You're very quiet.

"Yes," he says, before continuing, 'I don't talk very much."

We laugh uproariously. Kieran, once again proving himself the joker of the band, smiles softly. Suddenly, a white dove flys towards us, circles three times over Paul's head and shoots off.

"That's been happening a lot lately," says Paul, watching as the bird becomes a dot in the clear-blue sky. 'I wish they'd just fuck off," he continues, and begins to look for a hand sized rock.

Cheered up immensely by what's just taken place, I ask about the new film "The Last Temptation Of Chris de Burgh-, which is in its pre-production stage at the moment.

"It's all set to roll," says Paul. "We have the cast mostly worked out and all we need now is some money. Chris is hopefully going to Play himself. In fact, he was supposed to call earlier on today but he didn't. BY the time this interview is out we'll probably have him. His is certainly the most demanding role in the film."

How so?

"He's filmed throughout from the viewpoint of a sniper on a nearby building."

Why is that?

"Well, all we can really tell you is that it introduces a note of tension into the film, but we can't exactly say why it's there because that would be giving too much away. All you really need to know is that Chris spends the entire film in the cross hairs of a gunsight."

"But the question is, " says Arthur, " is it really a gunsight? Or is it something far more ominous?"

"No, it's really a gunsight, " says Paul, giving Arthur a strange look.

Arthur: "The film also includes a car chase that acts as a metaphor for the Irish Music Industry. In the first car there's Chris, then there's us in a Ford Escort and behind us both, Mother Teresa of Calcutta in a Volvo, but she has to do with a subplot that really has nothing to do with the Irish Music Industry."

Are you hoping to equal the success of "Rattle And Hum"?

"Oh, we couldn't," says Arthur. "We just couldn't. 'Rattle And Hum' has to be the greatest film ever made. So far, I've seen it the most times - probably seven or eight times more than Paul or Kieran - and each time I spot something new."

"Yes," agrees Paul. "Like the kangaroo that crosses the stage in 'Bullet The Blue Sky'. That bit gives me the chills."

"Or that plague of mice that happens just after they leave Toronto," says Kieran.

Arthur has fallen quiet, and I am once again reminded that it is he who holds the dark secret of The Joshua Trio, something in his past that digs its taloned claws into his heart every day of his life. Something that gnaws away even at his very soul. I ask him to tell us as much as he can about it.

"I'm not telling you," he replies. "It's a dark secret."

I ask Paul if I would be right in saying that he looks to Bono as a help in hard times.

"Oh, absolutely," he tells me. "Without a doubt. I feel the deepest empathy with Bono because I play the guitar and so does he. Also, I have long black hair that I sometimes tie in a ponytail. And, like him, I was raised in a shack and beaten regularly.

"But he's also much more to me," he continues. "I look at Bono like a well. When I'm thirsty for love, for comfort, for inspiration, I turn to him."

"One pint please," jests Arthur. "Fill 'er up."

"Yes," concludes Paul. "He is our petrol, our Complan when we're not really ready for a big meal."

Even in an interview, Paul cannot help being lyrical and he becomes slightly embarrassed at the poetry of his own words. We all smile and contemplate the lowly mustard seed that longs to grow into a beautiful swan.

I ask if they think that music can change the world.

"If it can't," says Paul grimly, "then why do it? Of course it can change the world. U2 changed my world. I started going out for long walks and I began to cure the sick after hearing them."

I tell them that I agree, and that after the last Banshees album review I had written, six Chilean political prisoners were released.

"There ye go," says Arthur. "People think that music and politics can't mix, but I think that's a load of rubbish. Look at Supertramp. They're not political at all."

"It's not that we don't like Supertramp's music, though," says Paul. "It's just that we think their records are atrocious.

What's the worst example of man's inhumanity to man?

"People who don't like U2 actually saying so."

I figure it's time for me to move on to something profound. Where did the name The Joshua Trio come from, Paul?

"It comes from the name of a U2 album, ', replies Paul.

Of course! Why didn't I think of it? But how did the band get together in the first place?

Arthur: "Paul used to heal people at the wall outside Windmill Lane, and soon he and Kieran were holding daily workshops for guitarists who wanted to be invited up on stage by U2 to play some songs. I thought they were great, and asked if we could get together and jam."

It was the beginning of something momentous. Deciding to perform jazzy, Sinatra-type versions of U2's greatest hits, the band took to the road and never looked back. The result is a residency at Dublin's Baggot Inn, possibly Ireland's most prestigious venue.

"We were a little worried about playing The Baggot," Paul tells me. "I mean Tracy Chapman had played there only a few months earlier, and subsequently went on to have a big-selling single and album. We're not sure if we're really ready for that yet, seeing as we can't really play our instruments or anything."

I beg to differ. The band's talent is obviously only exceeded by their modesty, and the truth is that their music is as darkly mysterious and melodic as you could wish for. They are not the next U2, of course, neither do they want to be, but they could take over for a few gigs if the band caught the flu or something.

"Let me put it this way," says Paul, as we begin our long walk back to the city. "I would rather listen to a U2 record than do just about anything else in the world, whether it's going to the toilet or sleeping - but I also think that fanaticism of any sort is basically wrong."

A man, and a band, of contradictions, ready to take on the world. Ladies and Gentlemen, The Joshua Trio.

- Graham Linehan

THE FAN LETTER!

In view of the recent controversy about U2 selling out, may I relate my experiences with the band on their current American tour. After a brilliant two and a half hour gig at the LA Colosseum, myself and sonic friends waited for U2 in the car park outside. After about 50 minutes, all four band members arrived outside and started talking to us. Then they invited us back to their hotel room, and we had a long chat and some drinks. Then we had a delicious four-course meal and went for a swim in the hotel's luxury swimming pool. Then Bono noticed that I had a slight cough and he offered to pay for a heart and lung transplant operation. A friend of mine also happened to mention that her mother had an incurable illness, so Larry and Adam stayed up all night working an antidote. Luckily the antidote worked, and my friend's mother is now a big U2 fan! ("Sunday Bloody Sunday" is her favourite song!). The Edge was also really nice, and gave me a guitar which Keith Richards had given to him. Then Bono gave us £10,000 each. Not to be outdone, The Edge promised to buy every one of us a luxury home in the Caribbean!

Surely no other band in the world cares as much about their fans as U2 do. U2, you're the greatest!

Sharon Dulux Wide Awake In Mulltuddart

THE APPRECIATION

For this week's column, I would like to depart a little from the norm and conduct affairs through the medium of Irish.

I have always had a great affection for our native tongue, although, as you will observe, I never fully mastered all the subtleties of the idiom. I However, I'm sure you'll bear with me, as the topic is a familiar and simple one - U2. From time to time, like Liam O'Murchu on Trom Agus Eadroim, I will insert an English phrase to jolly you up, and expedite the process of comprehension.

Indeed I hope that by showing that rock'n'roll can be interpreted as Gaeilge, a few young bands will set their minds to penning a few numbers in the, ancient language of Ireland. What they produce in English is no great shakes, so they have nothing to lose, and the Yanks would think they were deep and mysterious. They could start off a with a few standard covers like "Go, Johnny, Go- ("lmigh, A Sheanin, Imigh") or "Jailhouse Rock" ("Clock Sa Phriosuin"), progressing on to their own numbers.

So then, wish me luck as I describe the wonders of U2. (Good luck, you great pillock.! -Ed).

Ta ceathrar seinmeoiri ins in banna ceoil U2 - se siad Bono, Adam, Labhras agus An t-Edge.

Nuair a seinm siad i bPairc an Crocaigh, no na Madison Square Gardens, bionn ri ra agus ruaille buaille, bionn na cailini agus na leadini ag deoch Bulmers Cider until it comes out their arses.

Rinne siad a lan ceirnini mor agus ceirnini beag, cosuil le "Buchaill", "Deireadh Fomhair", "An Tine Gan Dearmad", "Cogadh", "Faoi Speir Fola Dhearg" agus "An Crann Joshua".

Nuair a cloiseann na paisti na ceinini ud, deireann siad "A Bhono, A Bhono, be mhaith lion do thoin a phogadh. " Agus "A Labhrais, A Labhrais, is tu an buachaill is aille ar fud an domhain. Agus "A t-Adam, A t-Adam, cen chaoi do you do it." Agus "An t-Edge, An t-Edge, shake that funky thang. Yo!"

Ta U2 an-mhor sna Stait Aontaoithe, san Astrail, sa Bhreatain, san Fhrainc, san lodail, agus beagnach gach air except Albania.

Ni ga Bono aon rud a dheanamh ach a willy a thaispeaint, agus titeann ne paisti ar an urlar, ag screachail "buiochas le Dia do U2".

Ba e mise, Seam Mac an tSnort, who discovered U2. Me fein agus Liam Graham.

Duirt me don t-Edge, "cuir hata ar do cheann, agus faigh giotar leis an funny shape. Ta me cairdiuil le bainisteoir iontach. Pol Mac an Guinis is ainm de. Ta se an-mhaith ag deanamh airgead, agus ta guth an-dheas aige, so they won't think ye're complete bogmen sa Bhreatain. Na deoch portar no uisce beatja. no poitin, agus na caith airgead ar na gcapaill. Ta me cinnte go mbeidh sibh an-mhor, b'fheidir nios mo na Stepaside, no na Buachailli Bogey, no na Poilini, no na Sex Gunnai, no na Bhraithre Everly. "

Lean me ar aghaidh: "Na bi ag deanamh LSD, no an 'phota', no an 'tapaidh', mar bhi me an-chion me fein ar na rudai seo, agus look what happened to me. Ach nuair a bheidh sibh an-mboir sa Mheiricea, na dean dearmad ar Sam Mac an tSnort, no bheidh ceann chapaill i do leaba."

Bhuel, bhi ceart agaim. Ni raibh ach inne siad an rud mi-cheart. hain nuair a r'Se sin an t-uair nuair a phleasc an ceirnin "Deireadh Fomhair" cosuil le buama. Ach, ag an t-am seo, leabhair An Tiarna do Bhono. Duirt se: "A Bhono, a mhic. Dean an rud seo i m'Aimn. Is tusa Mac An Tiarna. So for Christ's sake, write a few tunes. "

Labhair Bono: "Buiochas mor le Dia, mo Mainman." Agus d'imigh se go dti an telefon, agus rinne se clog ar Bhrian Eno. "Tar chuinn, a Bhrian," arsa Bono. "Taimid ag lorg fuaim mor laidir cosuil le Boston agus Led Zeppelin le haghaidh na big stadiums. Cabhair linn, in ainm De."

Agus nuair a rinne siad an ceirnin "An Tine Gan Dearmad", bhi gach rud go deas reidh agus muggalee moocha.

Tar eis "An Crann Joshua", bhi cead milliun punts sa Bhanc ag gach einne i U2, agus bhi Labhras in arm dul isteach go dti an Royal I Howth Yacht Club. TA se i ngra leis na mbaidi, go bhfoire Dia Orainn.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

- Le Sam Mac an tSnort