A U2 Concert Virgin Sees U2 For The First Time—By Kelly
Kelly Eddington
May 13, 2005
"Hi. I'm very sorry."
A strange little man at the Champaign train station--the first of several Lynchian characters I encountered Saturday--said those words to me before scurrying away. I was waiting for the pre-dawn train to Chicago, where I would finally see my first U2 concert after 22 years of waiting. I didn't know whether to take this comment as a good or bad sign.
Good sign: U2 were sorry I had such a bad seat. Bad sign: U2 were sorry they wouldn't be able to live up to my sky-high expectations.
Maybe it was a little of both...?
U2 had their work cut out for them. How many times have people (always with GA tickets) assured me that, Oh, it doesn't matter where you sit at a U2 concert; they will connect with you like no other band and make you feel like you're the only person in the arena, blah blah blah? Lots of times, and as much as I love U2, have I ever really believed these people? Rarely. There's just no way. Could my band possibly cut through the thin layer of resentment and disappointment I admit I still felt as a result of the pre-sale fiasco? Also, my boyfriend Mike was going to meet me there. Mike, a U2 sympathizer, lives in Michigan and I live in Illinois, and our long-distance relationship has helped me truly understand the mysterious distance between a man and a woman. Yes, my friends, that mysterious distance is something called "Indiana." If I want to be completely honest, I have to say that I was looking forward to being with Mike slightly more than I was looking forward to seeing U2.
But oh, oh, I couldn't wait to see U2, I assure you. I even had rituals. On Friday night I watched Almost Famous,the ultimate rock and roll movie. I watch this movie all the time and often have it on as background when I'm painting the cartoon--it gets me in the mood. I put as much thought into my wardrobe selection as a young bride puts into her wedding dress. I didn't want to advertise the fact that I'm the person behind Achtoon Baby. I just wanted to enjoy the show "incogcado"--this is a word my sister Poof (nickname) and I invented long ago; it's a combination of the words "incognito" and "incommunicado." I selected a green T-shirt that said "Cheers Dublin!" and a black and white floral print skirt, thus creating a femme version of that hipster-doofus look that's so popular these days. I peppered Mike with predictions. Example: "Okay, when Bono sings the chorus to 'Vertigo'? He's going to say, 'Hello, hello / we're in a place called Chi-ca-go!' I mean, you've gotta admit it's perfect!" And so on. I told Bun about the whole thing as she gorged on Fancy Feast: I was going to meet my Gentleman Caller and we would see U2 with the tickets she bought for us a few months ago (see Achtoon Baby, Feb. 2005).
BONO VOYAGE K ;;;;;;
As I drove to the train station, I looked over at the other side of the road. "I'll have seen so many things the next time I'm on that side," I thought to myself, giving Future Kelly a small salute.
I met Mike a few hours later at Union Station, and we spent the lovely but chilly afternoon at the Shedd Aquarium. All week long I had been feeling the need to look at fish -- not sure why. Along the way we encountered some kind of Polish celebration/parade. Everyone was dressed in Polish regalia, and I kind of stood out in my Dublin shirt. "Did the Irish ever persecute the Poles?" I asked Mike jokingly. Because if the answer was yes, boy, was I in trouble. At the aquarium I saw an extremely talkative and charismatic beluga whale--clearly the tank's Bono--and he actually seemed to be working the crowd,
squeaking cutely and all but giving them autographs. I waited my turn and got close to him, and we made eye contact for one magical second, and I got all fangirly.
Later that evening Mike and I made our way to the United Center on foot. Funny how a couple of inches on a map translate to miles and miles in real life! Neither of us had been to the United Center before. My only knowledge of the place came from watching Bulls games on TV with Poof. We did this religiously during the Bulls' heyday in the mid-'90s. Before playoff games, they showed a particularly hilarious computer animation sequence: a bull running through the streets of Chicago, pausing at various landmarks and even nodding at the lions outside the Art Institute before rampaging west towards the United Center as "Eye in the Sky" by the Alan Parsons Project played in the background. It was awesome, and it was my only knowledge of where the United Center is in relation to the rest of Chicago. I'm here to tell you that the Chicago Bulls' computer animation is grossly inaccurate in terms of scale.
After a few minutes of wondering if the United Center in fact even existed, we saw a small pack of people our age--not really cool-looking people, but not really uncool-looking people either--so we felt we were on the right track. We were. Soon, there it was.
The atmosphere inside the United Center was electric. As our tickets were scanned, we heard the booming of the Kings of Leon enveloping a mob scene reminiscent of Wal-Mart on Christmas Eve. Mike was fascinated by the idea of seeing 20,000 people who all liked the same thing. "I never would have come to this show of my own free will," he admitted with a grin as he paid $3.50 for a bottle of water. said that I never would have seen a performance of a certain obscure American composer if not for Mike. We're all about expanding each other's cultural parameters and spending big money on basic human needs.
We climbed many, many stairs before reaching our area and peeked in, instantly concluding that the Kings of Leon were too loud for our dainty ears, which we wanted to save for U2. We spent about a half hour milling around the concession area, admiring jumbo photos of Michael Jordan and, oddly, Neil Diamond. No one recognized me, but it was fun to be among "my people."
Once the house lights were up, we entered again, suddenly standing near the top of a giant bowl of humanity easily fifteen times the population of my hometown. I adopted Russell Crowe's stunned expression as seen in Gladiator when he finds himself inside the Colosseum for the first time. We were dead center, next to the last row, and right in front of the tip of the ellipse, or as some people like to call it, the "eclipse." Climbing the steps gave me vertigo, which reminded me of a well-liked song some of you may be familiar with.
Our seats were in the middle of the row, and we hated to do it but due to zero legroom we had to force several guys to stand up so we could get to our places. The last guy smiled at me and declared, "You're fabulous!" I said thank you, and in case that guy is reading this I'd like to thank him again, because, you know, I was uncertain about the outfit and it's nice to be validated by a fashionista.
Soon the Arcade Fire began and pandemonium ensued. I recalled one of my favorite Marv Albert quotes from the Bulls' glory days: "They are on their feet at the United Center!" To this day, that quote is something Poof and I like to announce at random times when bored. Section 309 remained on their feet for the duration of the concert, by the way, as did pretty much everybody else.
But back to the important part of the story: U2! Suddenly there they were! In they crept, each holding a powerful flashlight, and get this: I was in the same room with U2! Can you believe it? Them! It was almost too much to comprehend!
My God, they were so small. I held up a pinkie finger to compare. Bono was no taller than my fingernail. How far away were we? To illustrate: let's say you're standing about a hundred yards away from a man with a shotgun. He shoots it. You can tell he's fired the gun because you can see the puff of smoke, but you don't hear the blast until a split second later because you're so far away, right?
Okay. That was happening when Larry hit the drums.
The stage was phenomenal, hypnotic. The beaded curtain was gorgeous, and I applauded it often. I took one photo before the show but that was it. This always happens -- I'll be looking at the Grand Tetons or Michelangelo's David, for example, and I'll become so enthralled with beauty that to take a photo of it would seem crass and would interrupt the moment. So I really have no visual record of what I saw Saturday night. Also, what I saw was so tiny that I knew others would produce much better photos than anything I could come up with.
The new songs were met with jubilation from the party in the back. Everybody sang, and everybody danced, as much as people can dance in an area approximately 18 by 12 inches with limited arm room. Ancient songs? Heck yeah. People who knew the words to these songs belonged to an exclusive club, and a certain amount of good-natured snobbery was doled out to those who didn't. The music was so loud I was able to sing along, something I simply do not do in public. I was confident that they were drowning out my tone-deaf vocals. It was even better than singing in the car.
There's been a lot of talk (maybe, maybe too much talk) about the "warhorses," a.k.a. "Sunday Bloody Sunday," "Bullet The Blue Sky," etc. How long must they sing this song, indeed? I wouldn't call them low points, but I've heard them so many times before, and on top of that, they're really long! If the band feels it has to include these songs as a sort of Greatest Hits Valu-Pak for the casual fan, I think it would be more fun to hear slightly different takes on them. "Sunday Bloody Sunday": how cool would it have been if Edge sang it alone, a la Popmart Mexico City? I know I'm in the minority when I say this, but "Bullet The Blue Sky" is my least favorite U2 song--it's impossible to dance to, for one thing. It inspires a sort of hippie-ish grooving,and I felt like we were watching the Doors play "The End" or something. (Thank you, Bono, for leaving out the "100, 200!" stuff. I did have to explain to Mike what was going on with your headband, though.)
I think those older songs have a place in the show and deserve to be played, but I came to hear the new songs, and for me those were the high points. The quality of the new material, along with the crowd's ecstatic response to them, is what is keeping U2 from becoming the Rolling Stones.
"City Of Blinding Lights" astounded me--the curtain was never more dazzling. The comets/electrons orbiting the stage during "Miracle Drug"? Unforgettable. Every time I was moved by this kind of gorgeousness, I kissed Mike, and I kissed Mike a lot that evening. I apologize to the handful of people behind us. I hope we didn't offend you; beautiful things fill me with love and I needed to put it somewhere. The crowd truly embraced the new music, and I'm sure the band has found this reception highly gratifying.
The overall sound of the show was cleaner and much tighter than what I've heard on the San Diego boot. Edge was flawless, a wizard who was unfortunately tethered to his side of the stage due to technical problems. Adam picked up the slack, working the ellipse three? four? times for the delighted GA fans. I wished Bono had done the same. I know if I had a flashy, mind-blowing racetrack at my disposal, I'd be running laps like there was no tomorrow, but I assume his relative inactivity was due to DVD filming concerns. Mike, an accomplished singer, noticed a few vocal missteps, but Bono's voice sounded great to me, if unexpectedly high and slightly tinny. It was hard to hear lower notes. Maybe this was simply due to where we were sitting. Larry's drumming was phenomenal. When I listen to the new album,he seems buried in the mix most of the time, but live he's right out in front and utterly impressive.
What was the apex of the show for me? Edge's guitar solo during "The Fly" brought tears to my eyes. This was the only time I cried during the concert. I cry easily when confronted with genius, and as a matter of fact I felt I should have cried more during the concert. I'm not sure why I didn't. I came close near the end of "One," but it was "The Fly" that got me. I've always considered that solo to be Edge's finest hour, and to hear it live was thrilling. When he finished I had two identical tears clinging to my lower eyelids. The entire Achtung Babysegment was a joy to behold. I'm glad they brought some of those visual elements back for those of us who possibly tried to see them back in 1992, but maybe the band backed out of a certain concert we had tickets for and we were crestfallen...but that's neither here nor there.
My eyes are greedy, greedy things. Was it frustrating for them to be so far from the stage? You bet it was. What I wanted to see more than anything else was the onstage interaction among the four people I've painted literally hundreds of times. While the screens above the stage helped, I often had to pry my eyes away: "Don't watch TV; watch them!" They were so microscopic that any subtle exchanges were lost on me. Truth be told, it didn't seem like the band interacted very much in the first place, again probably due to DVD issues. Still, I longed to see more of the electrifying yin/yang dynamic that is Bono and Edge, for example, but all I got was one standard moment when Bono draped himself over Edge's shoulder and just a little bit of mic-sharing during "Mysterious Ways."I missed the customary bull fighting that has been the centerpiece of previous tours. Bono, Edge: some of us enjoy that -- the fighting makes it better! And Bono: you didn't rhyme vertigo with Chicago. Why not? The crowd would have lost their minds!
I couldn't help thinking that the people down by the stage were getting a different, better experience than those of us way up in the back. There were times when the distance didn't matter to me, but there were times when it did. I didn't feel like I was getting the complete U2 experience. Then again, I was a U2 concert virgin, and as my buddy Prince notes, "They say the first time ain't the greatest."
But they will have the chance to do it all again in December, when I will finally be down there on the floor, and maybe then I will sing a new song.