There are not many things in life that disappoint me; I’m a relatively happy-go-lucky kind of guy. I can sometimes feel a little disgruntled when I can’t find a shade of socks to entirely match the colour of my tie, and there’s a certain kind of sadness when a pair of boots I particularly enjoy wearing are cracked right across the soles (although this experience did very recently aid me in getting the most wonderful laugh out of a barmaid when a random stranger I was conversing with decided to reveal to her that he works as a shoe repair man and I was at the ideal level of drunkenness and boldness to comment: “A shoe repair man? That sounds like the kind of job that must be great for the soul [sole,]) but other than that the greatest disappointment I tend to feel is when I step into the shower on a morning and realise that I have forgotten to replenish my Nivea facial scrub, which happens once approximately every seven weeks.
One moment in my thirty-three-and-a-half years outside of the womb has stuck with me as being a poignantly displeasing experience, however. It was the time that one of the most iconic performers in the world, Bono, covered a Ryan Adams song with The Corrs.
I love U2. Somewhere on the internet in the dense scrap heap of discarded blogs written by me there is a series of posts detailing my adoration for Bono and the lads. And The Corrs are a quite inoffensive pop quartet. Indeed, probably the only offensive thing attached to the family foursome from Ireland is the pub question popular amongst groups of men who have nothing better to discuss: Would you fuck Jim Corr in order to sleep with the rest of The Corrs (particularly, although not limited to, Andrea?)
I would like to state for the record that my answer to this brain teaser is typically no. Not out of some overtly masculine fear over my sexuality being brought into question. Nor is my answer negative due to some vague form of chivalry whereby I refuse to have sex with a prospective lover’s brother. I generally answer no to the question of whether I would have sex with Jim if it meant I could have relations with the other members of The Corrs because I cannot help but imagine how awkward the subsequent family dinners would be. The trembling in my hand as I pass the gravy to Sharon whilst trying to avoid eye contact with Jim. The silence that would wash over the room when Andrea asks her brother if he would like more meat. It would be too much for me to bear. And there is certainly no way you could have a meaningful relationship with Andrea Corr after such an inglorious courtship.
I cannot remember where I first heard of Bono and The Corrs covering When The Stars Go Blue. I have a suspicion that they performed it at a large benefit concert that was televised in the mid 2000’s (I’m thinking a Live Aid or something similar?) and I felt this palpable excitement when it was announced that one of my favourite artists would be covering a song by my absolute favourite musician. I couldn’t wait to see it.
Then Andrea Corr called it “Stars Go Blue” (fair enough, hardly the greatest crime ever committed – especially when you consider the things her brother does) and Bono pranced onto the stage wearing those purple shades and with a yellow rose in his hand. Everything about how they made this lonely and miserable song an attempt at upbeat beauty made me cringe. By the time Bono and Andrea finished up dancing I could not think of a musical performance I hated more. There should have been a benefit concert for the tragedy of this song.
It has taken me a long time to get over this disappointment. Ryan recently (in the last three or four years) reintroduced When The Stars Go Blue into his live set and it still makes me feel uneasy, although my intolerance of it has cooled the more he plays it. It is a lovely, melancholic song and I would kind of like to like it. Maybe this year he can reclaim it.
Album: Gold
Album release: 25th September 2001
Also appears on: VH1 Presents: The Corrs, Live in Dublin
Diaries of a single man 