U2
– Zooropa
Zooropa is what happens when a band that filled stadiums with sincerity decides to let the weird in. Coming off the global juggernaut of Achtung Baby and the sensory-overload chaos of the Zoo TV tour, U2 found themselves straddling satire and sincerity. This album doesn’t know whether it wants to hug you or scramble your signal—and that’s the point.
Best of…
Bono slips in and out of character like he’s trying on new masks. Sometimes he’s the pitchman, sometimes the prophet, sometimes the glitch in the broadcast. The Edge’s guitar is there, but often drenched in effects or swapped for synths and loops. Larry Mullen Jr. and Adam Clayton anchor it all with grooves that are less rock band and more machine with a pulse. Brian Eno and Flood behind the boards turn it into a dream you don’t remember choosing to have.
What makes Zooropa stand out is its willingness to be messy, even directionless. It’s a record about overstimulation and media burnout, and it leans into that fuzz. U2 didn’t break new ground here so much as dissolve the floor beneath them. It’s disorienting. It’s ironic. It’s sometimes gorgeous and often strange. But for a band known for grand gestures, this might be the most genuinely experimental thing they ever did—and they pulled it off wearing silver jackets under a wall of TVs.
Choice Tracks
Zooropa
A slow dissolve into digital static. The opening track starts like a transmission from deep space and blooms into a lullaby for a future that never came. Bono whispers slogans like mantras while the band builds a synthetic cathedral around him.
Stay (Faraway, So Close!)
The emotional core of the record. A ballad that sounds like it stumbled out of The Joshua Tree, but slightly drunk and staring at neon lights. Bono dials it back here—no preaching, just a quiet ache.
Lemon
Bono sings in falsetto for nearly five minutes, and somehow it works. The song shimmers like a disco ball through a smear of tears. Equal parts ridiculous and sublime, it’s a high-wire act of glam weirdness.
Numb
The Edge monotones a list of modern irritations like a bored cyborg while the band piles on noise, samples, and tension. It’s not a song you sing along to—it’s one you get trapped inside. And it’s brilliant for that.
The First Time
Tender, stripped-back, and oddly spiritual. Just guitar, voice, and space to breathe. After the sonic chaos, this quiet moment hits like a confession whispered in the dark.
Zooropa isn’t U2’s best album, but it might be their bravest. It’s the sound of a band mid-transformation, poking holes in their own myth. It’s awkward, searching, often beautiful, and totally unconcerned with legacy. That’s why it still matters.