As of late, U2 have been having some trouble getting to the finish line. Because their new releases have grown so infrequent and because, as a songwriter, Bono retains the ambition of several precocious Model UN students all vying to be chairperson, even the band’s simplest ideas end up feeling labored to the point of incoherence, abetted by a revolving focus group of co-writers and producers. I’d label it a classic case of “too many cooks,” but then, during the pandemic, Bono and the Edge kept themselves busy by rearranging their hits in understated, acoustic renditions. That humble project wound up spanning four discs and nearly three hours, with at least one track completely rewritten to address then-recent escalations in the Ukraine.
Days of Ash is, by mere virtue of existence, a step in the right direction: a new EP released with little fanfare while the quartet continues work on its first full-length in nine years. The songs were composed recently enough to address political events from this winter, and the slapdash artwork and YouTube-rip-quality mix suggest the band was too excited to slow down and consult many outside collaborators. “Six postcards from the present… We wish we weren’t here” is the subtitle affixed to the release, and it’s a welcome statement from a band that once thrived in the spirit of protest, inspiring several generations to cast their eyes to the world, release their inhibitions, and sing from the heart.
Still, this is a U2 release in 2026 and nothing is quite so simple. Perhaps no EP in rock history has benefited so greatly from a supplementary zine, whose entries detail the exhaustive creative process and sources of inspiration for each of these dense, texturally rich compositions about ICE violence in America and Israeli settlements in the West Bank and teenage uprisings in Iran. This is why, even on a 23-minute stopgap release, we still get a minute-long spoken-word interlude to establish the stakes. And did I mention this band is still actively vying for radio hits? So say hello to Ed Sheeran, who stops by for the closing “Yours Eternally,” a webinar-waiting-room anthem that finally, fully closes any existing gap between the worst tendencies of this band and Coldplay.
At other times, you’re grateful that U2 can’t help being U2. After drummer Larry Mullen Jr. was forced to sit out their Sphere residency while recovering from surgery, one of the EP’s simple pleasures is just hearing the band play together again—one of the only lineups from the classic rock era that remains intact since the beginning and still occasionally sounds inspired. In the 21st century, the Edge has become a significantly more conventional guitarist, trading his effects pedals for propulsive acoustic strumming in “Song of the Future” and arena-ready power chords in “American Obituary.” And Bono deserves credit for pushing himself to sing both urgently and meaningfully—for example, stretching the name of slain activist Sarina Esmailzadeh into a six-syllable refrain in “Song of the Future”—and reminding us that his heart is in the right place.
But these days, Bono’s political writing can feel like a Veep plot about finding a slogan that will appeal to everybody and offend nobody in the fewest words possible: “Rise against the people of the lie.” “We love you more than hate loves war.” “What you can’t kill can’t die.” Believe it or not, all three of those are in the same song, “American Obituary,” which is at least more memorable than their last few attempts at a rock-radio single in the mold of their most recent hit, 2004’s “Vertigo.”
For all of the song’s swings at zeitgeisty sloganeering and earnest eulogizing and singalong choruses, the line that hits the hardest is a passing thought in one of the verses. “Our children teach us who to trust,” Bono speak-sings, and it’s a rare show of humility: a sign that maybe he has learned from the mistakes of the Bush-era diplomacy that came to define his persona outside the band and, for most of this century, threatened to overshadow it. Coming from a guy who’s been accused of being preachy since the Reagan administration, it hints at a new level of self-awareness that colors the EP’s strongest turns.
It’s also a moment of self-deprecation, because, let’s face it, in 2026, why would any young person trust these guys? Compared to the Cure—who had a creatively and commercially successful comeback album in 2024—I’m not sure any skeptics will find their gateway with the well-meaning protest music of Days of Ash. But if there’s any song here that could do it, it’s “The Tears of Things.” The lyrics are a little bit about the wisdom of ancient Jewish prophets; it’s named after a 2025 book by a Franciscan priest; and absolutely nobody will be able to sing along if it makes it into their live shows next year. With production and additional accompaniment from Jacknife Lee, it’s the rare recent song they’re willing to let breathe: delivered as an idea they’re developing, not a product they’re testing for maximum impact.
Turns out, the whole thing came to Bono with a simple realization: If you look into the eyes of Michelangelo’s David, 17 feet high in the Galleria dell’Accademia, you’ll see that the pupils are shaped like hearts. It’s a moving germ of inspiration that makes you want to consider something iconic in an endearing new light: the exact challenge this band has struggled to overcome. This would be hard enough if they weren’t also seeking approval from the Billboard charts, the endlessly patient segment of fans who want them to experiment again with old pals Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois, and, whoever you are, the ones who want to hear them throw back to their alleged punk roots with boneheaded throwaways like 2023’s “Atomic City.” You can imagine how all of this pressure has led these old school chums, now in their mid-sixties, toward a state of creative paralysis, still trying to throw their arms around the world. But if nothing else, U2 at least sound like they’re learning to trust themselves again.
