Imagine, giving away your music | MARK HUGHES COBB

Remember when people lost their minds over a gift?

See also the cementing of U2 as a gag, like the Eagles post-"Big Lebowski." It's a good punchline: "I hate the (expletive) Eagles, man!"

No. Wait. It's not. That's not an amusing line, by any stretch, but the genius of Jeff Bridges' delivery, his spite and bite, turned it into a corner piece of The Dude's scattered and tattered jigsaw of a character. It's an attitude that fits old-school Jeff, a fella time has worn the rough edges from, though not enough he'd succumb to peaceful easy L.A.-studio production and '70s country rock hits. Ironically, The Dude's beloved Creedence dabbled in similar roots-rock, though being fronted by John Fogerty's piercing rasp, CCR probably couldn't be mistaken for the owl-poop-on-a-tin-roof slick sheen of Don Henley, or the slightly more hungry croon of Glenn Frey.

The anti-Eagles bit is something too many who appreciate Lebowski on a surface level − believe it or don't, there's more to every Coen film than gloss and gleam, more than stoner drawls and deadpan absurdities − latched onto, as though it were a badge of cool to loathe.

Don't get me wrong: Hating's a huge part of pop fandom. Just check any forum, group or site. Anonymous, distant crap-slinging has become more popular than the Eagles or ABBA.

No. Wait. Few things are. The Eagles have sold something like 200 million discs; ABBA, closer to 380 million. Estimated.

For a measuring stick, the Beatles have (also roughly) sold 600 million, Elvis Presley 500 million, the Rolling Stones 200 million, The Who 100 million. Also up in that pantheon roost Garth Brooks, the Monkees, Led Zeppelin, Billy Joel, Michael Jackson, Elton John, AC/DC, Queen, Rihanna, Pink Floyd, Bruce Springsteen, Aerosmith, Whitney Houston, Barbra Streisand, Mariah Carey, Madonna, Metallica, Eminem, Beyonce, Taylor Swift ....

Again, it's perfectly fine to hate Eagles, ABBA or Mr. Rogers -- No. Wait/ -- but do so on your own squeaky time, K? And don't let me catch you screeching along to the execrable likes of Journey. Do stop believing, truly.

See? I can hate, too. It's catchy. Like flu.

U2 is remarkable for retaining the same four guys for what, 46 years? ZZ Top had 'em beat at a touch over a half-century, until the tragic death of Dusty Hill in 2021. Aside from that, bands remaining entirely intact drop down to mere 30s and 20s, groups such as Radiohead, Blur, and the kids in Kings of Leon and Coldplay.

On a late '70s outburst, U2 bore a punk-ish edge atop roaring, rousing choruses, and if their sometimes oversimplified spirituality bent toward the preachy, it was still possible to imagine other meanings, to sing along to "Gloria" with all the fervor of a Van Morrison on white crosses, and not feel clogged in the treacly on-the-noseness of spirit-based pop.

But bands rarely grow massive without vaulting ambitions. From marketing them as distinct individuals, the way of things at least since the Fab Four, even a casual fan could distinguish classic bass player Adam Clayton, rivaled in on-stage rigor only by "It hurts if I smile" arpeggio-master the Edge, and chiseled-solid drummer Larry Mullen Jr. − really, the bass player should be named Larry, for the Three Stooges look of things − over Bono. Bono on vox.

Yes, I'm riffing partly on an old Tuscaloosa band with pretensions, one that dubbed its singer "on vox." Meaning on vocals, I'd imagine you've guessed; vox being Latin for voice.

Born Paul David Hewson, he earned the nickname from pals in Lypton Village, a surrealist street gang. They initiated by mambo dogface to the banana patch, after catfish riding a bicycle. Those wacky boys rolled through other gag names such as Steinhegvanhuysenolegbangbangbang before moving through Bon Murray and Bono Vox of O'Connell Street. On hearing "bono vox" translated roughly to "good voice," Hewson accepted it with teen-age grace.

Ironically, it's said Bono hates his own voice. And, from the time of the Apple debacle − No. Wait. − from the U2/Apple tempest in a teapot, so have some others.

In case you weren't alive in 2014, get to bed. You need your 11 hours before third grade starts up again.

Frontman Bono, a sort of cross between Robin Williams and Rod Stewart, pushes himself out there. Way out. You can't accuse him of thinking teeny. You also can't blame those who wish to knock him off the pulpit, because humans will human. Much as we love to build folks up, we dig slashing 'em down twice as much.

By the way, I'm not crazy about "blue-eyed soul" disclaimers, as someone with faded blue jeans (and patriotic bloodshot whites) in his peepers, and a proclivity toward rawer singing. It seems like cheap code, the way R&B used to mean simply "Black musicians." "This is a white guy who sings soulfully" doesn't roll off the typewriter as readily.

In "Saturday Night Live" skit "Kiss Me I'm Irish," an overtly twee-kelly take on Chuck Barris, Bill Hader's Niall introduces himself saying "My favorite food is gray. My claim to fame is that I once punched Bono in the back of the head. ... At least I think it was Bono." Beck Bennett's host replies "Well, better to be safe than sorry."

Ouch. Especially from a show where Bono has sung four times.

U2 met with Apple − Picture the voluminous boardroom that could constrain those egos, all at the once. Headroom for miles − and pitched giving away its disc, "Songs of Innocence," to every iTunes device and user.

Free music! The very idea. Was what Apple and record execs said, thinking it would be a major financial mistake.

Because of the fury of burgeoning social media, the perception remains that everyone hated, with flames, flames on the side of my face! that idea, and that band, and that album.

Well, yes and no. Then again, no.

The outcry created an urban myth. The reality is 33 million people accessed that album in its first week. Within a month, "Songs of Innocence" had 26 million full downloads, and more than 81 million Apple customers had listened.

For perspective, U2's 2009 "No Line on the Horizon," which did OK for a more experimental disc, soaring to No. 1 around the world, had sold just 14 million to iTunes folks. It sold five million hard copies (CDs, LPs, etc.).

"Songs of Innocence," by contrast, sold at the kinds of numbers an indie band would take as a message from the gods, but beings demi-gods themselves, U2 saw the figures as, well, kinda sucky: roughly 160,000 copies, worldwide.

Either 14 million or 81 million people listened on digital, while relatively no one bought it hard copy. Earlier U2 discs had sold in the tens of millions, such as the 1987 "The Joshua Tree," 25 million, with the band's streak of No. 1 singles in "With Or Without You," "Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," and "Where the Streets Have No Name." "Songs of Experience," released three years after "Songs of Innocence," sold a couple million hard copies.

So. Signs of the digital times, or actual measures of interest?

What the apple-ites groaned about was the forced nature: "Innocence" loaded into devices, like it or not. At the time, there was less storage space, so a whole album ate up a bit. Apple made a huge mistake − imagine − hiding its slide-to-delete button, forcing users who didn't want U2 chewing up space to work through, oh, a couple more buttons.

Insert "Back in my day" rant here, concluding with "These kids today and their hippity-hoppity."

And yet U2 next disc, "Experience," sold a respectable couple of million. Because of the negativity from "Innocence," the band changed its digital strategy, and from such hasn't touted those download numbers. But worldwide tours apres-Apple-bonking broke records, in part because the band hadn't toured in almost a decade. Nostalgia no doubt played a part in sales for its "Joshua Tree" tours, which netted $400 million.

Yet again, for those ticking down to the point where they can explode "Popularity isn't everything!," you're right.

It's kind of like being wealthy. We rightly condemn hoarders, but how much of it is just envy? Every kid who has ever picked up an axe and painstakingly 3 1/2 chords would trade a shade of "cool" for the chance to connect on a widespread scale.

Every band and musician who's ever played for "exposure," who has given away their music, and then failed to make their landlords accept handfuls of exposure for rent, can file a grievance. And admit to a dream.

It's condescending, reductive and utterly fruitless to whine about art that stretches out its arms to the masses. It's wild magic when contact is made, as millions of humans reach back.

Reach Tusk Editor Mark Hughes Cobb at mark.cobb@tuscaloosanews.com, or call 205-722-0201.

This article originally appeared on The Tuscaloosa News: Imagine, giving away your music | MARK HUGHES COBB