Many of you know that I’m a staff writer for @U2, the best damn U2 website on the planet. I have another article posted there to share with you, and a little background as well.
The big U2 news of the past week is the theft of a rough copy of the new album (due out in November), and the band’s concern that the entire thing will show up on the internet and be downloaded by a million people. There are many fans who think this is a fine thing to do: I’m not among them. I got so fired up about this in @U2 internal discussions that I ended up with the assignment of a “don’t download” essay, and another staff writer took the pro-download position.
Those essays went up last night at about 11 pm West Coast time, just as I was heading to bed. When I got to my computer at 8:15 this morning, there were already emails stacking up from people who had read the essay, followed the link to this website, hunted around for contact info, and taken the time to write thoughtful responses. There is also a discussion in the @U2 forum.
It’s not like I need more proof of the connective power of the internet, but wow…
Writing the essay left me physically exhausted and emotionally shaky in a way that only fiction ever has before. I’ve never before made a passionate and opinionated public statement knowing that it would be seen by tens (possibly hundreds) of thousands of people, all of whom have passionate opinions of their own. It’s made me feel “public” in a way I never have before. I think this has to do, at least partly, with deciding to break the unspoken rule that debate is more valid when it is factual and intellectual. Our culture regards argument based on emotion and personal values as unfortunate at best, contemptible at worst. Trying to craft an essay that people would stick with even after they realized what it was (yeesh, it’s all about feelings and stuff!) was challenging and scary. Feelings are hard to articulate, not easily defined head on; they like to turn their head when you’re trying to take a picture (which is why metaphor is so useful in fiction). But I had to try, or the argument devolves into, “It’s wrong because I feel it’s wrong.” Which is valid, sure, but pretty much a conversation-stopper: that wasn’t the point for me.
I ran into so many temptations: to be dispassionate and clever rather than passionate and clear; to take a preemptive defensive stance (you’ll probably say I’m pious, naïve, unhip, kiss-ass, and here’s why I’m really not); to hedge about my own bootlegs in order to make my position more seamless and secure. I’m glad I didn’t (at least not consciously or deliberately), but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a near thing.
If anyone is interested in discussing any of this over a virtual Guinness, the pub is always open.
Before reading each of the essays, I thought about “for” and “against” arguments for each position. Your main argument took me completely by surprise. I hadn’t thought about U2 being hurt, for some reason. I guess because I’ve gotten so used to these debates always being about money vs. exposure. Wow. You hit the target: ignoring the wishes of the artist(s) and taking something from them by force is really a despicable action. There is no way I can justify such a thing.
Thank you for showing me how reason is best built on a foundation of… ah, I don’t know what the word is for: having observed, and listened, and touched, and felt, and then felt some more, and sensed with clarity what others may be feeling.