OH no, not another rock ‘n’ roll memoir! Hang on: it’s by Brother Paul. You don’t call him that? I do. Not because naming him this way mocks his religiosity but because, for me, Bono Vox inspires fraternal feelings both good and bad ever since I saw him sing for the first and only time at Strathclyde University.
Like some other 18-year-olds in the crowd Bono – Paul Hewson – was a bit feral, was (as his song has it) “out of control”. He was into Golding’s Lord of the Flies. He resembled one of the lost boys in that novel because his Protestant mum died when he 14; his Catholic dad couldn’t deal with her loss. Bono felt abandoned.
He attended a nondenominational school and formed a loose gang with other misfits calling themselves “Lypton Village”; each gave one another a daft, albeit durable, nickname. Drummer Larry initiates U2 and The Edge, a “pleasant weirdo” into prog rock, joins the band. They sign to Island Records and release Boy, a terrific debut received with much praise.
