September 21, 2012
In early autumn 2009, my life was changing significantly for the better in many beautiful ways. One October afternoon, I boarded a Greyhound bus to head east to meet a friend near Asheville, North Carolina, before heading on the next day to the Raleigh-Durham area for the inaugural U2 Conference and my third show (of six total) of the 360 tour.
What an honor to take my 25 year love affair with U2 and turn it into an intimate presentation about some of the more delicate aspects of my life, U2’s lives, and the message of their music for people struggling with addiction and recovery. But my talk titled “The Meme of Surrender” was only one of many windows into the intellectual, spiritual, and activist lenses with which we better understand the musical and societal contributions of our favorite band.
The 2009 conference changed lives and the forthcoming conference in spring 2013 will surely do the same. Never before had such wide and international collaboration of writers, professors, preachers, activists, and fans come together in such a unique fashion under an academic but inclusive big tent to offer sustained, in-depth meditations on the meanings of U2.
So many highlights soar in my memories three-years out, but some deserve more mention, in hopes that someone reading this might make the trek to Cleveland next April.
I will never forget hanging out after Saturday’s lunch, midway through the three-day conference, with a fellow presenter who had never seen U2 and didn’t have a ticket for Saturday’s show. A couple of us fans found this tragic. How could you have come this far, this close, and not be ready for liftoff with several thousand of your dearest friends? We convinced our colleague, who found a single seat online, and decided to come along for the party.
During a session called “Every Poet Is A Thief” and during a paper discussing “Lemon” in particular, when the presenter cued up the song for us to hear, a couple of us could not help but to get out of our classroom chairs, you know the kind that are desk and seat all in one, to start dancing to U2 at one of their most disco-soul moments.
In a weekend when the epiphanies wouldn’t stop coming, meeting African activist Agnes Nyamayarwo was more than amazing. We’ve thought in the abstract about how U2 and their fans have been involved in movements to save lives, but hearing this testimony from Agnes put face and place to such bold redemptive claims. Lots of ink has been spilled in recent years to criticize Bono’s approaches to African issues, but meeting Agnes offered a saving counterargument that supersedes the critics.
Agnes and her friends had brought some hand-made jewelry made by folks in Africa. My beaded, red, ONE bracelet is so beautiful and special and unique, that I will always treasure it as one of many mementos from that fall weekend. The weekend also prompted the publication of an anthology and a new online journal of U2 studies will soon lanch.
While I doubt U2 will show up to play a concert, and while I am not sure that Cleveland in April could ever be as beautiful as North Carolina in October, the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame and Museum is a more than perfect venue and partner for a conference like this. I predict scholars and fans from all over the world will converge on America’s north coast for the second U2 studies conference. Everything you could want to learn about the 2009 conference along with all the breaking news about the 2013 conference as it becomes available are at http://u2conference.com. There’s plenty of time to draft a proposal or determine another way that you might get involved. See you next year in Cleveland!!!
–Andrew William Smith, Editor
(Image: Webzine editor Andrew William Smith meets up with hardcore U2 fan and author Cathal McCarron.)
July 4, 2011
Tennessee summers get steamy hot, and when U2’s sort of homecoming finally came to Music City on the first Saturday in July, we knew we were in for a scorcher, with temperatures reaching and staying in the mid-90s. For the Irish quartet’s second gig ever in the fabled capitol city of the Volunteer state, fans were willing to sweat it out in close proximity to thousands of others as the unschooled rock and roll preacherman known as Bono once again turned Saturday night into Sunday morning.
As the show grew closer, I enjoyed and joined the feverish buzz around town as well as on Twitter and the fan forums, anticipating an “It Might Get Wow” kind of moment to get stuck in, to shake up the standard and beautifully scripted setlist. In my mind, a special-guest saturated superjam seemed in order, perhaps involving former tour-openers Kings of Leon or Edge’s fellow guitar god Jack White joining the band onstage for an It Might Get Loud-reunion rendition of “The Weight.” Of course, I knew Bono had a few other Nashville connections that might prompt extended shout-outs or other unusual alterations in the two-hour-and-fifteen-minute itinerary.
But rather than get treated to “The Weight,” we got to wait, as we found our cheap, sidestage endzone seats in full view of the setting sun. While Florence Welch is a brave and beautiful diva whose striking voice more than fills a stadium, the conditions made it challenging to fully appreciate her opening the show. Uncomfortable doesn’t quite describe the last couple of hours before U2’s set, awash in anxious perspiration and too amped for meditation on the deeper meaning of the night.
When U2 finally took the stage, we found an aisle place to stand closer to the action and were entirely ready for God’s mysterious ways to remind us why we were there and relieve any obsession with our creaturely discomfort. The opening Achtung attack of early-90s tracks surely stole our attention and prompted Bono’s first speechifying of the night, a righteous rant about peace, freedom, and democracy during “Until The End Of The World.”
Dipping back to the very back of the catalog, a ferocious “I Will Follow” was filled with lots of new lyrical twists I’d never noticed before and a punk-rock passion that made it only fitting for Bono to pull the inked and shirtless fan “Tattoo Dan” onstage to wail with him during the final “your eyes” refrain.
Having heard “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” at several stops on the 360 tour, I was ready for the stunning stretch early in the song where Bono goes silent and lets the entire stadium sing. While I’ve always both listened to and joined this choir with the open heart of my off-pitch participation, I was actually a little disappointed that I wasn’t moved to goosebumps or tears as I often am at this part of the concert. Faithful as we fans who follow this band to multiple dates are, we tend to raise the emotional bar of our expectations. Truth be told, I am not sure our perspectives are particularly fair—for us to constantly notice or even be too critical of the concert’s choreographed aspects—especially when we’re surrounded by folks experiencing this brand of communal joy for the first and possibly only time.
Perhaps the quick “our friend Cowboy Jack in-the-house” nod at about two minutes in (referencing the band’s Rattle and Hum period colleague who introduced U2 to the legendary Johnny Cash) could have served as my clue, but no Nashville rumors or high hopes could have prepared me for the extended snippet of 1993’s “The Wanderer” that concluded “I Still Haven’t Found.” Originally an epic Zooropa collaboration with the late Johnny Cash, and appearing live in a proper U2 concert for the first-time ever, Bono gave us the gravity of his best, deep-throated Cash growl as his rendering of the song’s apocalyptic and biblical narrative made time stand still for a few stanzas of music history in Music City.
After the deep valley of Cash-mimic slipped into a smoother, high-pitched Bono mountaintop for the last few seconds of the song, the frontman got emotional and raspy to talk a little story from the mic: “Wow, we had some special times with Johnny and June here in Nashville over the years. I feel like I should take my shoes off when in his company—beautiful, beautiful, beautiful spirit. Next time, we’re going out to Hendersonville, Tennessee to say goodbye.”
Nothing about the crazed consumeristic postmodernism of the band’s 1990s experiments or their current carnivalesque equivalent in the gaudy “Get On Your Boots” could let us in the rustic sound of the rugged song Bono once described as the “antidote” to all that. Based in part on the Old Testatment’s book of Ecclesiastes and narrated by a character called the Preacher whose trajectory of sin to salvation resembles the real-life Man in Black, Bono revealed to us all in Nashville that some songs are too sacred to sing every night and reminded us of the abiding spiritual truth that some places and people are so holy that they require us to take off our boots.
To say that to be a part of that special moment (a mere seven songs into the show!) made my night would be an understatement. But the honest underside to this confession is that after this, the rest of show seemed to blaze by in a steamy and sober but foggy blur.
You couldn’t drink enough water to stay hydrated, and after one of too many trips to the bathroom, we ended up just standing in the concourse by a misting fan outside the First Aid station. We know some people had to leave the show on stretchers, passed out under duress from the cramped coziness of the stadium and punishing Bonnaroo-quality heat. As we watched dozens of exhausted fans head to the exits of their own accord during “One,” we pondered ditching and reluctantly made ourselves stay, still hoping for one more surprise.
Not even the always stratospheric strains of “Where The Streets Have No Name” could elevate my weary mood or soothe my suddenly gloomy mind, sad that my sixth and final show of the 2009-2011 run of the 360 tour was coming to a close. But things started to change when Bono started his concluding rap before “Moment of Surrender.” I’d been waiting for more Nashville-specific testimony since “The Wanderer,” and we really got it.
Bono began by namechecking folks from the contemporary Christian music scene—people like Michael W. Smith, Charlie Peacock, Amy Grant, and Jars of Clay—referencing the positive changes that came after what was dubbed the “Nashville Summit” during Bono’s visit here on his World AIDS Week Tour in 2002. Before that time, according to Bono, “There was no one on AIDS drugs on the continent of Africa. Now, because of the United States of America, four million lives have been saved and have been put on those anti-retroviral drugs.”
Then, what had been a tribute to the late Clarence Clemons for the last few shows, became a deeply cosmic and simultaneously Christological benediction hymn. “You’ve heard of the miracle of the loaves and fishes,” Bono preached. “Well, we’re going to make this space station disappear. We’re going to turn this place into the Milky Way. Would you take out your phones? Turn these lights off Willie. There’s our little planet in the corner—our little bluish planet spinning around the sun. Some people find it harder than others to hold on. This song belongs to them. It’s the theme of our whole show. This song is called ‘Moment of Surrender.’ Thank you, Lord.”
As we tied ourselves with wire to the final thread of the set, I hung on Bono’s every word. For too long in my 20s and 30s, I’d been falling into black holes and worshipping at altars of some very dark stars. In my early 40s, the band of my teens helped pull me back via the stations of the cross. Couple Bono’s poetry about addiction and redemption with Edge’s perfect keyboard and guitar, and we have the sonic salve to the scarier and seedier sides of life inside skin on this spinning globe. As Edge moaned the final “Whoa, oh, ohhhhs,” Bono started chanting rap-style, “Where were you when they crucified my Lord,” over and over and over again.
As the crowd roared and the band prepared for its final bow, Bono kept talking: “Thanks for your patience, unbelievable people. I don’t know what’s happening to this band. Thank you.” Then, with the other three heading to the ramps, Bono kneeled into the crowd. Apparently, a man had been holding a sign that said “Blind Guitar Player,” front row center, for the entire night, and now, Bono was talking to him.
Bono asked the man, “What do you want to play?” Then, “Get a guitar for this dude. Gents, we have a surprise guest. Give him my guitar, little acoustic guitar.” After Bono and crew helped the blind brother onstage, they fit him with Bono’s green “Irish Falcon” guitar, the one played during “The Fly” and that has the words “The Goal Is Soul” etched upon its body.
Putting “dude” in front of the mic, Bono asked, “What’s your wife’s name?” Then, speaking his only words, he replied, “My wife’s name is Andrea,” followed by a long pause, followed by “I’m real nervous man,” followed by the familiar opening of “All I Want Is You.” For a split-second, it was just Bono and blind “dude” tentatively treading water on top of the song, but then suddenly, they were joined by the rest of the band and the entire stadium screaming and singing along. And in my case, I was finally crying the tears that didn’t come on cue earlier, turning away from the stage to stare into the oh-so soft and also wet eyes of my sweetheart.
No, Bono didn’t go as far as laying-on-hands and restoring eyesight to our special guest. But at this point, I doubt any of us would have been surprised had that happened. But Bono did give his new friend a particular green guitar to take home to hopefully play many more love songs on.
There was a time when U2 really didn’t write romantic love songs and even resisted the idea. But in a town that’s got heart-soaked ballads dripping from the public fountains and infused into the drinking water, ending with such lyrical intimacy seemed more than fitting. Originally a love song to Bono’s wife Ali, “All I Want Is You” became a love song for lovers everywhere, performed that night by a group whose even larger love for the world could no longer be contained by a college football stadium. After such a show, we had to take that love with us back into the Nashville streets, where we could take off our boots and walk on holy ground. –Andrew William Smith, Editor
All photos shot for Interference, copyright David Bundy (David Bundy Photoworks, http://www.davebundy.com/)
June 27, 2011
As Bono crooned a question in the pre-Motown girl-group sensation “Will You Love Me Tomorrow” (made famous by the Shirelles) before ramping into the stratosphere with the stadium-rattling “Where The Streets Have No Name,” the band’s fans from Michigan, the Midwest, and the world let their reply of “Yes” be known during the encore’s familiar lyrics, in their collectively screaming, singing, shaking bodies.
Seeing my first show on the last leg of the postponed and rescheduled North American 360 tour (having taken in four in September-October 2009), I traveled to Michigan with fellow fans, family members, and best friends – with all three with me Sunday seeing their first 360 show, with one seeing the band for the first time ever (after following the band since the 1980s). Walking to the car and waiting in traffic after the show, Laurie Britt-Smith described the set as a “love letter to fans.” At her first U2 concert, my best friend who’s accompanied me to countless rock shows and festivals for the last two years, many in much more intimate venues, remarked at the effectiveness of the techno-cathedral stage and its respected ring of a ramp, where the band immerses themselves into the crowd with a sense of courage, surrender, and abandon she feels other bands lack.
And then, whenever he stopped to talk, Bono carried on and on (and on!) in a ragged and raspy post-Glastonbury voice about how great it was to be in the “verdant green” of East Lansing (a nod to school colors), extolling American ideals and campus activism at places like Michigan State to support the goals of the One campaign or Amnesty International. Before “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” Bono took humility and humor to tell the university-town crowd that U2’d never been to college, that they were still students, still searching, still learning.
Overall, the combined and glowing consensus of my show companions put into perspective some of the complaints and concerns I’ve recently heard on the discussion boards from the more hardcore fan community about the alleged safety of current setlist stasis. Clear to me after last night, there’s nothing safe about the 24 songs chosen or their order of performance. With the exception of “Stay,” “Miss Sarajevo,” and the Amnesty-themed segue of “Scarlet” into “Walk On,” folks around us were on their feet for the entire show. And to some of the casual fans that were our neighbors among the metal benches of Spartan Stadium, some of the tracks clearly trekked into the realm of the risky, unexpected, and experimental, so ferociously featuring the rugged electrified thumps and bumps of each member’s contribution.
Nothing “safe” from our vantage point with opening the show with a string of four songs from an album that’s twenty years old or with the searing sonic rocking emphasis on tracks that “edge” so experimentally into the proggy, trippy, electronic realm with the zonkers “Zooropa” really stealing the show. With strange scratchy samples of rhetorical questions slicing the sky and the Claw dropping a veil of blinding blinking lights to hide the band, the jarring spectacle looks more like something you’d expect from the likes of Tool, Flaming Lips, or Pink Floyd.
As Bono’s shoutout before “Stay” namechecked Rolling Stone editor Jann Wenner, he thanked the magazine for supporting the band through its 1990s experiments, honoring and furthering a sense of moral and musical adventure that possesses U2’s inner light despite the pejorative logic and reason that might have the band merely limp towards retirement. If anything, this final phase of the 360 tour seems to be about a career-spanning set that pays due tribute to the boundary-lands of their creativity.
Late in the show when some fans were already itching towards the exits, the spaced-out final encore begins with a ridiculous SciFi cartoon that probably had something to do with the Claw’s own inner mythology. This surreal cinematic interruption collapses into a pre-recorded sample asking “what time is it in the world” before the band reappears with Bono decked in his laser jacket as the licks drop into the 1995 single “Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me” from the Batman Forever soundtrack. With Bono swinging from the spaceship’s steering wheel like a teenage boy might hang from the trees, nowhere to be seen is a middle-aged man who couldn’t play this gig a year ago due to back trouble. What time is it? Showtime, indeed!
Likewise, numbers such as the opening quartet from Achtung Baby, “Elevation,” “City of Blinding Lights,” or “I’ll Go Crazy If I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight” really rocked and vibrated the building with ecstatic vision, involving every element of the senses and imagination, of sound and sight and stadium. Obviously, a viable current flows through a show like this that equals an immeasurable quantity greater than the sum of the many parts.
Only due to a spiritual and communal component do U2 operate so infectiously and effectively, even admittedly tired from spending their “day off” flying to England and back. Obviously, the band nourishes itself emotionally on fan response, as we feed ourselves cosmically on their redeeming message. To see half of this show in pre-dusk summer light only added to its grand sense of open welcome, of secular yet sanctified embrace.
To stake out what I see from this show in my heart’s mind, I’d have to name it as an extension of spirit, played out on a postmodern, pop-culture democratic and carnivalesque canvas as inclusive interfaith incarnational apocalyptic mysticism. From the work of activist volunteers at the event to the staggering statistics that scroll across the Claw’s screen right before the show to a stunning sermon inserted into “Until The End Of The World” about “peace, love, freedom” and the end of it all, U2’s performance as participatory liturgy invites fans to ponder faith’s unlikely optimism and practical relevance at the crossroads with global economic and ecological demise.
Seeing subtle lyrical threads woven into a larger scripture-like fabric forms a medium-as-message that mediates and meditates on issues of a political and spiritual swath much vaster than the largely upper-middle-class gathering comprised. As an important example, note this slight altering away from the original words in “Miss Sarajevo”: “Is there a time for first communion/a time for synagogue. Is there a time to turn to mecca/be a beauty queen before God.” Add this multifaith twist to the Lennonesque invocation of “no religion” in “Zooropa” to the “blessings not just for the ones who kneel” in “City of Blinding Lights” to the overt use of Muslim symbolism in the video montage now accompanying “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” and we can cobble together a complex interpretative framework for Bono’s layered and challenging ethos for inclusion, incarnation, and illumination.
On his post-religious spiritual trip, Bono’s not just “turning tricks with [his] crucifix” to make boatloads of cash; instead, he’s employing a Christological vocabulary to push listeners into a collective space where we can “dream out loud” revolutionary notions of just what that cross might mean in our interconnected yet still impoverished and war-torn world.
I don’t really think the Claw had to tell us how many thousands of beings are dying these days due to hunger, suicide, smoking, abortion, and disease. No, the band didn’t need to broadcast all that bad news just to bum us out at a Sunday night party – not unless there’s a connection between the tragic bones and guts of those figures and their personal message of peace and surrender and sacrifice for one’s fellow human.
Now in the common counter-analysis of U2, all this spirit-theory’s nothing but cheesy pandering and sensationalist hypocritical liberal panic being pushed by megarich rock stars. But strip away the over-the-top 21st century shlock and awe of the whole endeavor, and we’re left with an antique first century poetics pointing to the ultimate in cosmic pandering – a physicality of loving sacrifice that still shakes the skies.
As we arrived at the stadium yesterday, we couldn’t help but notice a hell-fixated street-preacher hollering loudly at the fans in the GA line, matched only by a young dreadlocked woman dressed in a green t-shirt and kilt drowning out his voice with a bright version of “Amazing Grace” on the bagpipes. Quite peripheral to the U2 concert itself, this scene embodied everything the night would unfold for me in its message.
If we’re going to “go there” to the muddy discourse of religion and politics in an entertainment spectacle like this, it desperately matters what version of the truth gets peddled and preached. In U2’s case today as it was thirty years ago, it’s often about pondering deep questions and not just offering cheap answers. If we’re going to get our heads out of the mud and plant flowers there instead, as the lyric in “Zooropa” suggests, it definitely matters that we spin a song of love and hope and peace and freedom and redemption, as U2 has done for me for more than half of my life on this earth. –words and images by Andrew William Smith, Editor
June 6, 2011
Reading about a show on the U2.inteference.com fan forums is almost as good as being there, for sure. We loved all the emotional enthusiasm and fan unity expressed regarding Saturday’s show. We’re also super grateful to Justin Kent for posting a link to his photo stream. All photos posted here are his.
Miss Velvet Dress remarked, ”Simply an amazing night that did bring tears to my eyes at various points. Emotional to see my favorite band with some of my favorite friends on a beautiful day and night, in a city that clearly embraced U2 being there. Thank you Seattle and to my friends that helped make it that much better!”
Love2bmama wrote, “I just can’t say enough good stuff about my fellow fans. You all are my tribe. One of my favorite things was seeing the smiles the boys would give each other as they passed by in between songs or whatever. Not smiles for the crowd, not putting on a show, just four boys doing what they’ve been doing together for 30 years and still LOVING it. I loved the show. I sang my heart out to every song. I cried my eyes out during MOS, it hit me hard. I wasn’t the only one who got something in their eye, though. I got lots of pats on the back as I sang and smiled and cried. It was an amazing moment for me personally. Seeing U2 live is like coming home for me.”
And our faithful Cahtal McCarron once again penned a detailed person essay of his experience:
I like Saturday shows the most. They have a bigger, better and barmier vibe than Sunday or Wednesday shows. Saturday shows are more social. Loads more of the marvellous, familiar crazy U2 addicts fly in from all over America, Canada and beyond. And there are even more marvellous crazy U2 addicts to meet for the first time. Saturday shows are more fun, with a messy pre-gig pub session on Friday night to anticipate the gig (especially with a dangerous crew of peer-pressuring, beer-guzzling Canucks), and a merry post-gig pub session on Saturday night to prolong the aftershock. The weekend buzz around Saturday shows creates an infectious party atmosphere for U2 tourists. It’s like cheering for a footie team at an important away match where they always win (Macedonia, say).
Last night’s show completed a North America tour low five, with an identical setlist for the fifth show in a row. This caused a very funny U2 setlist demonstration outside the Owl and Thistle at pub chucking-out time on Sunday morning, with demonstrators who had travelled from the Winnipeg and Edmonton shows chanting “Change one song! Change one song! Change one song!” (A U2 tribute band called Zoo Station played in the Owl and Thistle for three hours on Friday night, and again on Saturday night, covering perhaps fifty songs, including the hallowed Acrobat, which sure was something.) Bono talked during the Seattle show about the importance of starting again, so this setlist Groundhog Day may continue.
After Lenny Kravitz’s set I very naughtily grabbed a place in the third row from the front rail at the side below Adam, to hook up with the magnetically effervescent twins Mel and Neel, and their bubbly buddy Jenny. It was quite rude of me to claim a spot so far forward, but, well, it was too difficult to resist gate-crashing the best party in the pit. (Zooropa!) Adam popped past frequently to smile his approval at the girls’ party. (The people along the front row at this part of the rail were bizarrely static throughout the show.)
The show highlight for me last night was a manic, extended Until The End Of The World. Bono was out on the bridge near us during Edge’s solo, and throwing roses out into the crowd like an angry floral rioter for peace. He then staggered backwards jerkily across the bridge, like he’d been riddled with bullets from an unseen enemy. It was a noisily compulsive piece of rock opera.
The triple of UTEOTW, All I Want Is You and Stay was an unlikely highlight sequence. Bono’s singing during All I Want Is You, Stay, and the Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? intro to Streets had a beautiful, fractured tenderness to it. (Brad S told me afterwards that Bono had teared up during his speech before AIWIY.)
Some songs are better enjoyed from further back on the field than at the front of the pit (e.g. UTEOTW, Zooropa, City Of Blinding Lights. Streets, With Or Without You). I’d always thought that Crazy Tonight was in this category, as the stage lights and screen show are disco-dazzling, and because the band are off cavorting around the outer stage. But it was marrow-wobblingly wonderful being so close to the bass and subwoofers under the stage when Larry sprinted back to his kit for the big kick towards the end of the song. Bopping along to the stomping Discotheque snippet had me craving a full show of U2 playing pounding remixes.
The atmosphere behind and around us in the pit was quite flat throughout, strangely including during Sunday Bloody Sunday, which usually rouses everyone from just spectating during Crazy. It looked like it was going off more up in the stands. I spent many prolonged moments during the show watching the people up in the nosebleeds dancing along, especially during Pride and Streets, which both had Qwest Field pulsing like only those two stadium monsters can. One had even more of its usual gorgeous, cuddly, shared introspection, which is quite a trick in a stadium show.
May 31, 2011
Here at Interference.com, we’re always impressed with creative fan initiative. Inspired by the colorful displays at some of the European U2 shows, this week Canadian fans wear red and white and launch balloons, both to represent for their country and for the causes that U2 has so eloquently endorsed. -Ed.
On June 1st, 2011, U2 is headed back to Commonwealth Stadium to play their first show in Edmonton since 1997. To commemorate this, we are asking U2 concert goers to wear a red or white shirt in support of the Makepovertyhistory.ca/ One.org[[WHITE] and [Product (RED)] campaigns.
We are also asking people to please bring red and white balloons to celebrate as U2 takes the stage. These colors also symbolize a massive display of unity to show our Canadian Pride. We ask everyone to keep the balloons deflated until after the opening act has finished.
Please visit us at http://www.facebook.com/redmonton#!/event.php?eid=118969994793020
Follow us on Twitter http://twitter.com/RedmontonU2
For more information please contact: email@example.com
For those wanting to help with the balloons here’s a link to a bulk/bargain balloon website. We’ve ordered from this site so yes it is legit. http://www.bargainballoons.ca/10browse.asp?Category=12+Inch+Latex&Page=1&Display=High
This is a night for the fans by the fans. (RED)monton here we come!