And so we’re told this is the golden age…

Everyone now and then it’s ok to have a moment.

It felt like side 2. of Under A Blood Red Sky was everywhere I went for a period of time in the 80’s. It was one of the few non-metal albums I remember being played at the Cave on Matthew St. in ’83. The this is not a rebel song introduction to Sunday Bloody Sunday was met with a surge of energy and the dance floor became one rhythmic sweaty mess of bodies, usually fueled by the cooking lager that was so cheap at the bar. It was a time when being seventeen and in a “club” was so cool, even if it was a slightly seedy club past it’s prime.

Blood redIt was a moment before U2 became bigger than anyone needed them to be, when they were still a band who looked a little awkward in their skins and looked like they had discovered the secret. It was a time when they were still a bunch of guys just rocking out, later would come the pomp and circumstance and the ego-trip.

So as I rooted around and found a copy in a neglected corner of the Salvation Army Store I had a moment. I could almost smell the mix of smoke, sweat, spilled beer and perfume on that dance floor. I could almost see the pale girls faces light up and the sway of the combat jackets as the dance began. I could once again see those metal warrior boys mellow for a moment and look content to sway along.

Then I looked at the vinyl and saw the scratch. The sinking feeling and the realization that this album was one of those I had to have. Here I was holding part of my youth, so even if it sucks it was going home with me. Anyway, it’s fine cleaned up great and plays well all I need now is a mirror ball and a room of sweaty drunks to achieve the required ambience.


7 thoughts on “And so we’re told this is the golden age…

  1. Nice. This is the only U2 I actually like before they got all ironic and dancey and I loved them, but all their original fans started to desert them.

  2. This album (mine was actually a cassette) was my introduction to this band that has since accompanied me in life. My sweaty drunken mirrorballed dance hall was a 1976 Ford Pinto that I still had distinct memories of when I found my copy of Under A Blood Red Sky last summer.

    1. The Pinto, a passion wagon if ever there was one.

      I turned down a Pinto in favor of a Chevy Celebrity and have forever regretted the decision.

      Funny how the music brings back really tactile feelings.

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