Fandoms are a fascinating journey. It can be very interesting to listen to someone speak about the first time they discovered their favorite band – hearing their passion come through, and seeing the light in their eyes sparkle just a little brighter. Sometimes their reaction alone is enough to make you experience that band in a new way – uncovering something you might have otherwise missed while listening to it on your own. It’s the stories fans tell that keep an artist’s music alive by sharing the diverse ways people can appreciate and admire the same thing. Our own ways of expressing that are different, but still bonded through an unspoken language. For more than 20 years, I have found new ways to stay connected with a group that has given me space to discover myself and what I could be.
In October 2000, I was 13 and living in Alaska when U2 released their album All That You Can’t Leave Behind. More than just my formal introduction to the band, the album cemented within me this was my U2. Others who had been listening to them for years before me all had their own U2s – from those who saw them on their first tour through America or on MTV for their historic concert video, to the new fans who propelled them to superstardom with The Joshua Tree, and to their reinvention in the wake of the fall of the Berlin Wall and the emergence of a new technicolor-bright decade – the moment they saw U2 and something clicked in their brains and became the version forever enshrined in their consciousness. Already cultural juggernauts by the time I became aware of them, what was old news to so many became a birth of personal discovery for me and the beginning of a musical journey.
“Beautiful Day” was an instant anthem for me, offering something deeper and more intimate than what my friends were listening to. Any time it came on the radio or the video played on TV, I had to experience it. This was way before the arrival of streaming media and when the Internet was still too slow to fulfill a teen’s need for instant gratification.
For many critics, and even some fans, this was a turning point for the band. They felt U2 was making music that felt safe, following their decade of sonic and aesthetic experimentation.
However, the song actually reflected a bold decision to take on the challenge of getting older, addressing ideas and themes that I wasn’t able to relate to until many years later. And while I wasn’t able to truly grasp that deeper meaning of the album at the time it was big, it was the time I started to dream bigger. I was an impatient kid wanting to break out and discover what else was out there. And the answer was in that song; that even when you’re feeling stuck and things are not moving forward, remember what is essential to keep with you, because what you think you don’t have is actually what is holding you back.
I was finally able to buy All That You Can’t Leave Behind with my own money in summer 2001, when I visited my grandparents in Ireland. That trip allowed me to connect with a part of my background I was less familiar with, and helped strengthen the bonds I began to form with U2 – something I documented at the end of my first book, U2’s The Joshua Tree: Planting Roots in Mythic America.
The trip coincided with the band celebrating their 25th anniversary that fall. My discovery aligned with their milestone and has become something I reflect on as a significant moment in my life. Now, fans all over the world, including myself, celebrate U2’s next milestone on September 25th, their 50th anniversary. Fifty years since Adam Clayton, David Evans, and Paul Hewson first jammed in the kitchen of Larry Mullen Jr.’s home after answering the notice he posted on their school’s bulletin board: “Drummer seeks musicians to form band.”
Although I have only been following U2 for half the time they have been together, the music and memories that fill that space gave me more than I ever thought could be possible when I was growing up in Alaska and living on what felt like was the far side of the world away from everything.
Going to concerts with friends and loved ones, the thrill of a new album announcement, visiting places of significance connected to the band, and going on to write two books on U2 has instilled in me a special appreciation for the ways music can shape the course of our lives. Our relationship with the music we love is just that, a relationship. And the longer that relationship grows, the experience becomes deeper, revealing new ways to feel that connection more meaningfully. I have come to see these moments as gifts and touchstones and how we measure how far we have come in our own lives. Even after all these years, there are still surprises where music continues to give us so much.
I was reminded of this when I visited the Woody Guthrie Center in Tulsa, Oklahoma, this past March. On Oct. 21, 2025, U2 were honored with the Woody Guthrie Prize. This is an award given to artists who embody the beliefs and values of its anti-fascist namesake by using music to advocate for social justice, human rights, and the notion that songs can help make the world a more equitable place. Past winners include iconic musical activists such as Mavis Staples, Chuck D, Bruce Springsteen, Tom Morello, and Pussy Riot. "Woody and U2 have been aligned for decades," said Anna Canoni, granddaughter of Woody Guthrie, at the ceremony that was attended by Bono and the Edge. "Whether it is protesting against war and violence, standing up for humanitarian rights, singing about greed, corruption and injustice."
While U2 winning the award was cool in its own right, something else caught my attention. The Woody Guthrie Center’s gift shop was carrying my latest book on the band, U2: Until the End of the World which documents the band’s 50-year history. However, due to the cost to fly to and staying in Tulsa, as well as the price for a ticket to the award ceremony, I talked myself out of going. However, I knew I would need to go there eventually, just so I could see my book on the shelf. After all, visiting Tulsa had been on my mind since the Bob Dylan Center opened a few years prior. With my book at the Woody Guthrie Center, I felt like it was the right time.
When I made the trip, it happened to be the No King’s Day on March 28. Millions of people across several thousand towns and communities marched to protest the same scourge Woody had fought against a century earlier. Seeing photos of friends holding their signs to protest the encroachment of authoritarianism on civil and personal liberties, I experienced some complex feelings for being in the cozy confines of a museum and not out there with them pounding the pavement.
Looking over the displays dedicated to the life and work of Woody Guthrie, I thought about all the countless people through the years who gave more than I ever had given or even could give, and wondered what my responsibility should be as an American during a time when the nation’s worst impulses are being legitimized by those in power and celebrated by those who refuse to know better. Here I was seeing the work of one of those people, and the way his music and words have affected the rest of humanity and our collective consciousness.
Viewing a reproduction of the handwritten lyrics to Guthrie’s defining statement (one could argue is America’s true national anthem), I read the lines of “This Land Is Your Land” under its original title “God Blessed America”. I was on the verge of tears thinking about what those words truly meant and about the resiliency of Guthrie and those since who continue to give them meaning.
After all, why was I even there in the first place? U2 earned the award, not me.
I wrestled with the idea of me being there because I contributed absolutely nothing to what has enduringly made the band worthy of earning this distinction. My presence was tangential to all of that, and only by circumstance.
But reading those lyrics, and seeing the vastness of Guthrie’s creative output, I felt the meaning of the music as it was meant to be; as inspiration. In my own way in that space at that time, I was connecting with the same values and beliefs that drove the people marching that day, as the spirit of Woody Guthrie moved throughout us. U2’s music and what that instilled in me was the reason why I was there.
Visiting the Woody Guthrie Center was a remarkably moving experience to me on its own, but the staff made that experience truly memorable and among the greatest moments in my life as a U2 fan. When I showed up at the center, I was greeted by an incredibly polite and friendly docent named Sam. When asked where I was coming from and why I was visiting the center, I mentioned that I was visiting from Chicago because the center carried my U2 book and that finally presented me with an opportunity to make the trip. Immediately, Sam made me feel welcome and graciously introduced me to other members of the museum staff. Each one talked with me about how much they liked my book and how glad they were to see me finally come to visit. Sam comped my entry and took me on a mini-tour to describe the exhibits and archive. He generously answered any questions I had about Guthrie and the museum. When I finished the tour, he walked me over to the Bob Dylan Center where I was introduced to the staff and given a tour by Quinn, the assistant manager. I knew I was going to enjoy myself on this visit, but the reception I received for just being some guy who authored a book brought the experience to a whole new level. I felt a lot of gratitude for that.
As I finished touring the Dylan Center, Quinn said he would escort me back to the Woody Guthrie Center, as they had some things they wanted to give me. We returned to the lobby and I was introduced to Cady, the executive director of the Woody Guthrie Center. She thanked me for visiting and gave me a bag of museum goodies including pens, a notepad, and cup. All of this was incredibly touching, and I let Cady, Sam, Quinn, and the others just how much I appreciated their hospitality.
Then Sam asked Quinn, “Did you show him the wall?” “No,” Quinn replied. Then Quinn asked me to follow him to the back of the museum. He took me to the administrative offices that connect both the Guthrie and Dylan centers. I followed him down the main hallway, and when we came around the corner, I saw the wall. It was next to the table supporting the office microwave and coffee supplies, and it featured the Woody Guthrie Center’s logo and a whole slew of signatures flowing down to the floor. Quinn explained that this is where notable guests come during their visits and leave their signed names to highlight the reach that Guthrie’s music continues to have. I was stunned as I viewed the signatures from all those who passed through there. Quinn pointed out the musical luminaries such as Natalie Merchant and Flea, along with other signatures from people I recognized like Tom Morello and the Sklar Brothers. Over to the side, extending onto the adjacent wall, Quinn pointed out Bob Dylan’s signature, the only one covered in protective plastic with several inches of space around it. Classic Bob.
Quinn then directed my attention to the other side of the signature wall and pointed out a couple names. Nestled in the small corner between a doorframe and the main signature wall were Bono’s and the Edge’s signatures from their recent visit to accept the center’s award. Seeing the signature wall at the Woody Guthrie Center was such a privilege (and I respect their wishes to not share photographs of it), but seeing those signatures was a nice way to close out the trip. Then Quinn handed me a marker.
At first I was confused. But when Quinn said he wanted me to sign the wall, my confusion gave way to surprise that I was even being asked.
I didn’t feel like it was something I should do, because I hadn’t done anything. I was there because the museum carried my book in its store, and I just wanted to see it in person.
Over the years, I have seen other writers I knew and respected in museum stores, whether they were connected to an exhibit or not. I just wanted to give myself the gift of having that experience. It was something nice that I could do for myself. Even when I asked my boss for time off work, I jokingly told her what I was doing; that I was going on my “ego trip.”
Despite my initial resistance, Quinn insisted that I sign the wall as an honored guest and I accepted the marker. I looked over the wall and wondered where I could sign. Then again, there was only one place I should sign. While there was a space in between Bono’s and the Edge’s signatures, I couldn’t place mine in between theirs. I’m outside of that, on the edges looking in, only capturing glimpses in the life of a fan. So I signed my name close to theirs and wrote “No Kings Day 2026.”
Quinn then walked me back to the front lobby of the Woody Guthrie Center, where Sam presented me with one last thing; one of the few remaining posters from the award ceremony. It is now framed in my apartment to serve as a reminder of that beautiful day and to make me wonder, “what if?”
I flew back to Chicago feeling creatively reinvigorated with gratitude for visiting the Woody Guthrie Center, and how gracious and kind everyone was. I knew I would have a good time, but it became the best time. I felt good about visiting when I did. In retrospect, it was the best time for me to go.
A few days after returning home, I sent an email to Cady to thank everyone for their hospitality and tell them I admire the museum and all the magnificent work they do keeping alive the legacy of Woody Guthrie – both the man and his message – for future generations. When Cady replied, I was stunned to realize why I had received such a warm welcome. She wrote, “I was personally glad to meet you, as your book was the one that I used to research U2 before their visit. I found it very helpful and informative! Maybe you’ll have the opportunity to do one on Bob and Woody!”
Fandom can come with many surprises, but the greatest gift is when the music touches you and you get it for the first time. You’re not just listening to it, but really hearing what it is telling you. You realize that there is a deeper existence beyond you. The mystery will unfold only if you choose to follow it. We may or may not be what we watch or read or listen to, but within that are threads of a shared common and collective humanity.
U2 shaped my life in ways that I did not foresee, by providing direction and an outlook in which to see the world. Many values and beliefs I have, such as grace or the autonomy of all people, I can trace back to U2’s music. Maybe those things were already inherent in me, and their music was just the language I needed to express it. Or maybe their impact on me was much bigger than I realize. Fan or fanatic, the music finds its way into the soul of who we are whether or not we were looking for it.
I went to the Woody Guthrie Center thinking I had nothing to do with U2 receiving an award there, but I left understanding that as a fan among many, I am important to their story as they are important to mine. U2’s journey has been shared for 50 years. I feel grateful to have been a part of it because they made my life so much richer.
It’s a beautiful day so don’t let it get away.
Thank you, Larry, Adam, Edge, and Bono, for all the music and memories over the years! Happy 50 years, and here’s to many more!
About the author
Bradley Morgan is a media arts professional in Chicago and author of U2's The Joshua Tree: Planting Roots in Mythic America (Backbeat Books, 2021), Frank Zappa's America (LSU Press, 2025), and U2: Until the End of the World (Gemini Books, 2025). He manages partnerships on behalf of CHIRP Radio 107.1 FM and is also the director of its music film festival. He enjoys listening to records with his ginger cat Rusty.