S’Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas—By PJ & Kelly
Sphere Bono, watercolor by Kelly Eddington, 2023. Based on a reference photo by the mighty Justin Kent.
S’Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas
PJ DeGenaro
Kelly Eddington
Note: Everything in regular print was written by PJ, and everything in italics was written by Kelly.
A musical journey
Dedicated to Linda, the elder Scorpio Sister who was my seatmate between JFK and LAS. She told me I was beautiful just when I needed to hear it. I send my love to her, to her husband, to her grandchildren, and of course to her dogs.
Dedicated to Mo, the very cool GenX woman in GA who stood to my left, let me know about an important TikTok account, refilled my water bottle when she took a restroom break, and helped me come up with an imaginary backstory for a certain dude at the rail (drug dealer, but he caters exclusively to a high-class clientele, no question about it). After the show, Mo told me that watching me getting lost in the music made her day, and in saying that, she made my day, too.
Love, Lyft me up out of this car
The journey began with a near heart attack in a sweltering Chevy Traverse. I almost missed my flight to Las Vegas due to a Lyft driver who took me on a scenic tour of NYC rather than just driving the relatively straight shot from my house to JFK because he wanted to avoid a toll. He seemed to have no concept that an airport isn’t a subway station, and that if you miss one flight you can’t just grab one five minutes later. I had to pounce on a worker in the airport and beg to go to the front of the security line so I could get on the plane with about 5 minutes to spare. When you have GA tickets and you want to get a good number the day before the show, AND your best friend is already waiting for you in Vegas, missing your plane is not an option.
I made it. Barely.
Our show was on a Wednesday night, and it was fun to know the GA line had already started on Monday while I was 1,300 miles away and heating up dinner. I was out the door at 4:00 the next morning for the long drive to the airport. My husband Jeff and I live in the Missouri woods, which is the opposite of Las Vegas in terms of light pollution, and as always I was dazzled by the stars (“There’s Cassiopeia!”). While I sat in a fully-packed airplane hours later, the sun hit my wedding ring and created disco ball light patterns on the tray table. I find everyday things like these visually fascinating, so I knew I was not prepared for the upcoming sensory assault of U2:UV Achtung Baby Live At Sphere.
Side note: as a woman who is still in the throes of perimenopause, when anything can happen at any time, I made a pact with my body: if you’re a good sport and don’t fight me on this one, you will be richly rewarded. I made a similar pact with Jeff.
Fear and loathing in Las Vegas
If Las Vegas is your hometown, I apologize for what I’m about to say. Please feel free to visit White Plains, NY and trash the hell out of it. But I must speak:
Friends, if Elvis actually did eat America and then barf out a city, it would be Las Vegas. Shoddy, ostentatious, nearly devoid of trees and sidewalks. The casinos are sort of brown and depressing inside, and they reek of cigarette smoke, which is a real culture shock since indoor smoking is just not a thing anymore almost anywhere else. But you need to get to the Sphere, and so you keep looking for the exit signs, only to find you’ve been walking in circles around the garish machines, disoriented by the inexplicably loud music and the 70s nightmare carpeting. Worse still are the desperate characters still shuffling around from the night before when you leave for your pre-dawn GA check-in.
And the cigarette smoke, my god, the cigarette smoke. I can still smell it. Again, my apologies if Vegas is your place. We’re one but not the same, etc.
PJ at 4:30 a.m.
During the forty hours PJ and I spent together, our mantra was: “We are being tested.” When things became extra testy, we employed a second mantra: “Fuck you, Bono!” Our tests included everything PJ just mentioned, along with the following items: dehydration, the bastardization of my beloved Paris and Venice, way too many people for this introvert, shocking heat, aggressive air freshener/solvents in our hotel room, line—uh—“organizers” who were actually Germans (that wasn’t a test, just mildly amusing, and they were nice), unbelievably long traffic lights, fellow hardcore fans who were unaware of our life’s work glorifying U2 and the indignity of having to explain our dumb little website and even AtU2.com to them.
During the predawn hours on the day of the show, we joined around a hundred people on the sidewalk near the Sphere. A car drove by, and the driver yelled, “HELLO WHITE PEOPLE!” That cracked me up, and I almost made it the title of this…whatever this is.
A dream realized.
The U2-terus
After we received our wristbands, we found shelter from the heat and the dust in Zoo Station. This is a special exhibit inside the Venetian (genuine-faux sidewalk canal gondolas!) that was cool, dark, smoke-free and full of awesome U2 stuff. We got our picture taken in a Trabant! We entered the theater and sank into soft leather chairs to watch some "making-of" U2 videos. You have most likely seen these videos on YouTube, but they were exquisite on the large screen in the blessed air conditioned blackness. Pro tip: Edge’s young, beardless face is the most calming sight in the known universe.
Screenshot from Outside It’s America. While watching it, we mentally gasped at the size of Edge’s head.
Another pro tip: In the ante-room of the theater, you will hear gorgeous, ambient mixes of Achtung Baby songs. These are mostly isolated instrumental or vocal phrases that might be unrecognizable to a casual fan, but which caress the ears of the initiated with gentle buzzes and soft throbs. They are no doubt the same sounds that soothed the Zoo Baby as it gestated in its techno-womb — so beautiful and so safe.
On a square of concrete he makes me wait
Despite everything, PJ and I were glad to be together again, and we found ourselves in complete alignment after spending a year apart. “You finish each other’s sentences!” enthused a fan who was part of a cluster of three women ahead of us in line. They immediately wanted to discuss whether Bono has had any “work done.” My collaborator and I are always happy to discuss The State of the Muse. Based on videos/photos we’d seen from the first eight Sphere shows, we agreed with the cluster that he looks phenomenally good and (in my opinion) possibly the best he’s looked in twenty years. I added that if any kind of aesthetic tweaking has contributed to his current championship form, my compliments to the chef, because it is so subtle that it made me wonder if my mind was playing tricks on me. I could just as easily have made the case for no tweaks.
Other popular things to discuss in the GA line: the people who seemingly move to Las Vegas, possibly rent a house, watch U2 all fall long, and do the line for every show. Two questions: (a) how? (b) expense?? (We have no quarrel with the fans who manage to pull this off and are obviously into the music. It’s the ones who occupy the rail and just stand there listlessly making videos who baffle us, but more about them later.) Meanwhile, PJ and I are two married women with responsibilities. Just swinging a midweek getaway was a hardship that was fraught with spousal bewilderment. But we have a fan site where PJ writes U2-centric poetry and essays, and I have tubes of watercolor paint purchased specifically to match Bono’s eyes and lips when viewed under normal lighting situations, so who are the true maniacs?
Our wristband numbers (66-67) entitled us to several square feet of prime Sphere real estate. We were directly in front of the Bono/Edge intersection, two people back.
See these hands? They’re good for nothing.
S’Fear
That’s our nickname for the Sphere, because the damn thing is huge and terrifying and because GA is always kind of a nightmare. Yet we do GA compulsively because we are weirdos who want to absorb the band on a molecular level, special visual effects be damned.
Here are some complaints, which you knew were coming:
Why must uncommonly tall men hog the rail if they’re only going to record the entire show and never bounce or yell or even clap, while small women are stuck behind them, struggling to see? Is that what I followed all the arbitrary GA rules for? Thanks a bunch, giant dudes, and feck off the lot of you.
(The frowny one is the imaginary drug dealer.)
And why, oh why, do people bring children under 12 into GA and make those children dress like The Fly in the brutal Las Vegas heat? Your child is not a prop, and if they’re so tired they have to sit on the floor—which is really dangerous when people are stomping back and forth to the bar or the restroom—or else be held in your arms so they can see? You should have bought seats.
Okay, this is not a complaint, but apparently an LED panel behind the stage was out throughout the show. I must have been laser-focused on Bono’s knees or something, because I didn’t even notice! I didn’t think the Sphere sound was as impressive as has been touted, but it was certainly fine. I was already jaded from all the phone videos I’d seen, but the visuals were cool and did not actually induce (hello hello) vertigo. I liked it best when the walls seemed to fall away, leaving us under a brilliant, gilded sunrise.
We weren’t on hand for opening night, but don’t worry, the venue still had that new Sphere smell three weeks in. The stage was somewhat lower and smaller than I was led to believe, but nevertheless we felt as though we were being kept at a distance. The circular component of the stage’s “turntable” was like a cake we couldn’t see the top of.
“Most is forgiven when the show begins,” PJ said, and it was hard to argue with that when the faux-concrete rumbled and split and the light shone through the cracks and…there was U2. Most of them, anyway.
Sista Morleigh
If you know me at all, you know how I feel about the fan-on-stage business at this point in U2’s career. I do not think the Eternal Feminine is well represented by girls younger than Bono’s daughters who are also tiny enough to fit in a cloth swing without destroying it. It was fun, I guess, back when band and fans were more or less the same age, but seeing the band age while the stage girls remain under 27 makes U2’s much touted feminism feel a little bit sus, and it also feels like a dis to the older women (and queer people, let’s be real) who have been the emotional core of the fandom all these years. If you’ve never given this a thought, do me a favor and please try.
THAT SAID, all bets are off when your show coincides with the birthday of Morleigh Steinberg: choreographer, dancer, artist and Mrs. The Edge. Turns out she is a mere three-ish weeks older than me, and we share the same background, although she got the dark, lanky, athletic genes and I got the blonde, busty, opinionated ones. It’s fine. I love her and admire her and it was an absolute delight to see her bare feet dangling above the crowd. Also adorable to hear 18,000 fans go “awww” simultaneously when Edge gave her a sweet birthday kiss.
Unlike Morleigh, we aren’t dancers (although I did take seven years of tap classes when I was a kid, a skill that has never once come in handy). We couldn’t really move around all that much, what with the tiny, crushable child in our midst who we felt obligated to monitor. So in order to communicate our love for the music, we relied on what I’m calling interpretive dance hands: lots of clapping, grooving, Prince-kinda moves, and pointing specifically at Bono when he sang a line that has helped us get through all manner of strife throughout our lives.
Never once did we whip out our camera phones. We barely even looked at the enormous screen. This was our only show, and we didn’t want to miss things because we were busy fussing with our camera’s white balance, etc. The band deserved and received our undivided attention.
I'll be yours through all the years
Please don’t think we didn’t notice Bono singing “Love Me Tender” directly to Edge in the lull between “One” and “Until The End Of The World.” I have watched several YouTube videos of this transition (thanks, phone freaks) and I’m not sure what is being implied by the Elvis/Kennedy/Moonshot/Bomb imagery in the background, unless it is a callback to the original ZooTV. Without all of that, I would assume it was meant to be Judas professing his love to Jesus just before he goes and wrecks everything.
But never mind. It was Bono singing to Edge, and I will take it as a testament to one of the most unshakeable bonds in the music business, and probably in all of humanity.
U2:UV leans into their partnership. Bono’s interactions with Edge were very smiley, and the two frequently laughed with each other. Bono acknowledged Edge’s genius by standing back and admiring his friend rather than distracting the audience during his (many, virtuosic) solos. They seemed forever impressed with each other, and it was a joy to behold these two perfectly complementary legends.
Bram is more than adequate as a drummer, and his youthful energy was appreciated by all, but Larry’s absence was the elephant in the room, if you can call that thing a room. Adam was, of course, solid gold. He radiated tenderness and devotion. I’d estimate that he was 35% more theatrical than usual with his bass, striking poses that put me in a Red Rocks state of mind. I miss the long-haired, beardy art professor look he had going on during the pandemic, but that’s okay. I just wanted a chance to paint him that way! Heh, I guess I still could. (Please don’t think we didn’t notice Bono patting his ass.)
Sometimes the hero takes me
Despite the giant men who were doing everything in their power to block our view, we could see the micro-expressions on Edge's beautiful, oval face while he played those emotionally fraught Achtung Baby solos. Do yourself a favor and listen to “Love Is Blindness.”
Edge is a platinum razor blade wrapped in the softest indigo velvet. A bolt of blue silk unspooling across a black sky full of quasars and pulsars. To hell with all those “it’s the delay pedal” people. They are ignorant armies clashing by night. We know the truth about this brilliant man.
Can’t see or be seen
Again, that bro-pod in front of us was not even grooving, and they were blocking a group of female ultrafans who simply wanted to see U2 (and be seen by them, to be honest). As PJ mentioned, one door-sized block in the Sphere’s massive screen was not working, and it was a black rectangle throughout. That one flaw symbolized our tiny problem with the show: we wanted to be closer and maybe receive a flicker of eye contact. For about three seconds during “Vertigo,” Edge leveled his hooded eyes at me. He was a professional doing his job, his expression was serene, and I felt *observed.* Bono’s gaze eluded us, though, and later that night I came up with the following analogy.
Bono : Bob :: Us : U2
I mean, it kinda works.
Love rescued me
I have been accused of being an uncritical U2 groupie (yeah, I’m so uncritical!) but if there’s one song of theirs I could never endure and always skipped, it was “Love Rescue Me.” An absolutely interminable dirge that sounds like U2 trying to be someone else.
Well, I was going to hear it anyway.
I very much appreciate Bono for alluding to the current situation in Israel/Gaza without quite naming it—because these shows are meant to be a respite from the world—but without giving us the luxury to forget about it entirely. He said, “Not gonna scream about it, not gonna speak to it, but I am gonna sing to it, with the help of the great Jewish mystic, Bob Dylan. This song could be a prayer if you’re praying-type people.”
U2 shows are like the proverbial foxhole, in that they always challenge one’s atheism. And the shortened version of this song, with Edge playing on unaccompanied bass, is now something that I will love forever. I can’t quite explain, but it doesn’t matter. That’s how U2 shows work.
Kelly at 7:30 a.m. (Not an ad, but I love these things.)
You’re a star
Getting back to the surface of things for just a moment, I wanted to see with my own two eyes if my “work done” ideas were on target, and here are my conclusions. For the past seven years or so, Bono has worn those Lennon sunglasses, and while you can see his eyes through them, the frames cast wrinkly shadows onto his face and are not the most flattering things in the world. His Fly sunglasses, on the other hand, are the most flattering things in the world. (I have a pair, and I never want to wear any other sunglasses for as long as I live—heck, bury me in them). When Bono puts them on and becomes that character, a peacocky swagger overtakes him. Maybe he simply looks younger when he acts younger…? And I’d like to propose that since he spends around one-third of the show wearing sunglasses that make his eyes impossible to see, maybe he was pointing his head in one direction while totally looking at us the whole time, PJ.
He absolutely was. - PJ
I think some of the lines elsewhere on his face might—might!!—not be as deep, but even for me, holder of a Ph.D. in Bonoface, it’s impossible to be sure. It could be that the nature of the residency gives him an opportunity to rest, and he’s not spending his downtime being a diplomat/activist or interacting with fans. Perhaps what we’re seeing is a man who’s relieved that this Sphere venture is a revolutionary smash hit, and U2 are kind of starting to possibly become slightly cooler again.
In any case, he is such a star, and the shapes he makes as the Fly are very pleasing indeed. We always knew that ZooTV’s Fly would end up in Vegas, and here he is three decades later and right on schedule. It’s such a satisfying full-circle moment.
I forget that I can't stay, and so I say that all roads lead to where you are
What is it about Bono? Kelly and I have discussed this ad infinitum, and while we can name his distinctive and still-powerful voice, his quick wit, his generosity, his warm and welcoming presence, his strange grace that sometimes tips over into awkwardness, his refusal to ever surrender to the darkness, his beautifully lined face, his solid little body, and the long neck that supports his head like a pedestal (and his nose, about which we once wrote a visual essay), it is impossible to state simply and unequivocally what it is about him.
I can only speak for myself when I say I am willing to struggle to be close to the stage because being near Bono is like being near a little flame that warms my body and my soul. And once you’ve experienced that, you will always want it again. But I know I can only take my fair share and try to carry it with me until the next time.
(You speak for me, too, Peej.)
The darker songs on Achtung Baby’s side 2 hit me much harder than I’d anticipated. Tears began streaming down my face during the hypnotic marvel that is “So Cruel,” where Bono and Edge basically became the Righteous Brothers. It seemed like Bono was apologizing to Edge’s ex-wife Aislinn at the end of the song when he said, “It should be ‘I’m so cruel’.” (Imagine being the catalyst of a divorce that inspires this masterpiece of an album, and then for the next thirty-plus years, your ex performs songs about the toughest time in your life where you were the bad guy.)
“Oh sugar, don’t you cry,” Bono sang at the beginning of the next song, but I continued to do so throughout “Ultraviolet (Light My Way).” I pointed at him during “There is a silence that comes to a house where no one can sleep.” I’ve lived that line a couple of times this year, and “Ultraviolet” was my lightbulb.
The Sphere became an otherworldly blue that illuminated the crowd in an eerie way at the beginning of “Love Is Blindness.” Then insects and darkness descended. This visual metaphor for depression and the death of love was staggeringly moving. Articles and videos I’d seen made this idea seem somewhat obvious and simplistic. It is in fact crushing.
This band. Adam, who is the very definition of grace under fire. I wish him every possible happiness and I know it hasn’t always been easy for him. Larry, whose presence is very much missed on this Spherical Journey. I hate to think of him being in pain. When he comes back, the joy will be off the feckin’ charts. Bram, you’re doing amazing sweetie, and we appreciate you. We needed the songs and you stepped up to help bring them to us.
Vision over visibility
Anytime the screen created the illusion that the band was playing outside was a major *wow* moment for me. In print, it’s such a simple idea, like yeah, no shit, putting a realistic outdoor backdrop behind and around them will make it seem like they’re outdoors. But it’s so perfectly convincing. It’s like they’re some over-the-hill rock band from the 80s playing at a county fair. Imagine!
And Es Devlin’s Nevada Ark is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, full stop. I’ve been thinking about the perfection of animals a lot since I’ve moved to the woods. During “Beautiful Day,” when colors gradually brought those sculpted, endangered species to life, the effect was awe-inspiring, and I can think of no better use of the Sphere.
Clearly what we saw last week was next-level visually. I have to ask: is it too next level? Has this doomed our band to play for normal people who just wanna ride the Sphere? Sit back and watch it go? What will next year’s audiences look like? As for PJ and me—I think our work here is done.
Yes. That’s all I’ve got for now. Probably gonna take a shower and cry. Big love to one and all.
Kelly and PJ at 5:00 p.m. Special thanks to Joe Ahorro for giving us valuable GA line advice! Please visit his excellent GA Guide.