(Dorian Lynskey’s article appeared in the Observer, 10/12.)
is the same as it always was.’
A warm afternoon in the Côte d’Azur village of Villefranche-sur-Mer. Yachts bob lazily in the bay, diners dawdle al fresco, and Bono, nursing a hangover behind mirrored Ray-Bans, is playing tour guide. He wants to show me the Chapelle de Saint Pierre des Pecheurs, a tiny 12th-century chapel with 1950s murals by Jean Cocteau.
Inside the chapel, he encounters a group of grey-haired American choristers. He spontaneously invites them to sing Amazing Grace with him, to their initial bemusement. Afterwards, one man asks, “Are you a well-known musician? Should we know who you are?”
“Er,” Bono says hesitantly. “I’m Bono.”