Hothouse Flowers
Born

I am well aware that Celtic rock nowadays does not enjoy great appreciation, at least not among the debaserian folks. The fault lies in a stride and eloquence that are certainly too epic and proud, as well as attached to the eighties, delivered to that decade in an irreversible manner. The rift with the historical period is also contributed by a seriousness of intents and purposes so much in countertrend compared to a populace of paninari (and metalheads in shocking pink leather pants) that the Celtic rock bands ended up being representative of "the other side of the eighties," the serious one, and therefore still representative "of" those years.

Thus, talking about this subgenre almost equates to discussing out-of-fashion music that pleases few and interests almost no one; for me who writes about it, it equates to receiving, if I’m lucky, one hundred and twenty visits and two comments. Yet there was a time when if someone (Giov) gave five stars to "Achtung Baby," few were those who found anything to disagree with...

The causes of disaffection with the genre are to be found all over the place, from the change in fashion and sounds in the rock scene, to the inevitable aging of the more appealing and marketable faces, but I believe they are to be found also, if not especially, in the rest of the discography of the masters Vox, authors, from that famous record up to the present day, of a whole series of works that were almost forgetful of rock, and which, among other things, range from mediocre to inadequate.

Certainly encouraged by the varied "Achtung Baby," the masters of Dublin limited themselves to doing their (experimen-)'tings, even changing their moniker on one occasion, distancing themselves moreover from their great producers, ending up trying even pop-dance... When they attempted reconciliations with the past they failed, and not even so conspicuously among other things, because after all from U2 no one or almost no one expected anything anymore, except at most a couple of successful video clips, a mega tour starring a giant screen, the usual pseudo-pacifist pseudo-environmentalist poses and, above all, a new collection of sunglasses.

Who knows if Vox, between leafing through the latest issue of Forbes, skid marks in a Maserati and a Dublin-Monte Carlo haul on the yacht, still thinks about how good he and his teammates were way back in 1991. For me, who for the moment does not have all this abundance at my disposal, it occasionally comes to mind, and perhaps I’m the only one on DeBaser to do so in the year of our Lord 2008.

Yet "Achtung Baby" did have a sequel chapter, the excellence contained therein was matched. Certainly not by the four magnates, but by the band they themselves discovered, launched, and produced. In 1998, "Born" by the Hothouse Flowers was there to show that being U2 was still possible.

"Born" has everything the perfect post-Celtic rock record should have. The feeling of pan-reconciliation, it must be said, is always in the first place and dominates absolutely throughout the album, as per the best tradition for the Dubliners: just listen to the opener, "You Can Love Me Now," to realize that things are set in this way. "Forever More" is the warmth of a sip of whiskey in the limbs of a bum who rejoices at having survived another night in the cold. "Born" is the toy-pop guitar-based lyophilized by a company that makes powdered milk. "Used To Call It Love" is the hardest epic rock; "At Last" has orchestral and stunning choruses.

If Vox has duetted with Sinatra (but also with Wycleaf Jean and Pavarotti), envied the crooners, always tried with soul, dressed up as a member of the Village People, the Hothouse Flowers in "Find The Time" become Barry White and orchestra, and love is in the air. In "Believe," we seem to find ourselves stuck in Sting’s (and Eric Clapton’s) megalopolitan nightmare in "It's Probably Me." Besides the opener, even the closure is entrusted to the theatricality of Christian rock, in the ballad "Learning To Walk."

A varied album but with an important minimum common denominator, played like a real band of real rock, distant for this from the spiritual pop-rock of the beginnings, and sung by a first-rate vocalist, capable of pulling out vocalizations and parts that the stranger they are, the more successful and happy they are, nonetheless endowed with an expressiveness and eloquence that have nothing to do with Bono Vox’s two limited shouts and three falsettos, and with his typical mythical poses, who even when he screamed to the sky "No More" seemed to be saying "I’m The Coolest Guy In The Universe."

For those who still have the desire, that way of making music didn’t die in '91 with "One" and companions: here is the record of a band of people in God’s grace ready to conquer us. Achtung.