HelloAngel
ONE love, blood, life
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By Carrie Alison, Chief Editor
2005.02
I’ve been lucky enough to see U2 in concert six times in my life—two shows during PopMart in 1997 and four shows during 2001’s phenomenal Elevation Tour. Each show is distinctive and memorable in myriad ways for me that I will share with you now.
PopMart, Jacksonville – Nov. 12, 1997
My first U2 concert. My goodness, how does one summarize the experience of seeing your favorite band in the whole world up close and personal for the first time? I was lucky enough to have fifth row on the floor on The Edge’s side, so I knew my first glance of the members of U2 in the flesh would be a great one.
Lights go down and the opening strains of M’s “Pop Muzik” fill the arena. I see spotlights searching the floor, presumably to create a dramatic effect. But, no, the spotlights were indeed signifying U2’s approach to the stage on foot. On foot! As in, they’d walk right by me. My heart started throbbing in my chest. My head filled with fluttering butterflies and I’m sure I could see spots. My legs felt like Jell-O and I was dizzy with excitement and anticipation.
Then I saw Edge’s cowboy hat. And Adam Clayton in a gas mask. And the eternally youthful Larry Mullen Jr. And then, the vision I never thought I’d have the chance to see in my life—my hero, Bono.
Indeed, it was Bono, clad in his shiny blue boxing robe. I could see the hood over his face, but nothing could conceal that famous jawline. There he was, Bono. And if you can believe it, that’s almost all I remember from the show.
And then I felt it, ever so gently, the buildup of tears in my eyes. All the years of listening to U2, loving U2, feeling U2, living through U2, and here the band was, right before me, real people. I looked up to see Bono doing his best Muhammad Ali imitation—fighting jabs and all at the end of the catwalk—while the rest of U2 prepared to take flight on the stage. My facial muscles began to tighten and my head became light. I clenched my teeth to keep from having an uncontrolled outburst and to save some face. But my friends knew, they understood what I was feeling, which is why they had predicted what would happen next before I did.
The next thing I know, the gargantuan sounds of “Mofo” were surrounding every inch of me—Edge’s powerful guitar, Adam’s sexy bass, Bono jumping around getting the crowd riled up for the show. I tell you this out of uncertainty however, because I didn’t actually see this happen. I was too busy bent over screaming at the ground and crying out an emotional purge I didn’t know I was capable of. When I finally raised my head minutes later, mascara down my face, my hair falling every which way, the loving glances of my friends upon me as I steadied myself to take in the show, I felt happier than I had in years. This is how U2 made me feel, and has continued to make me feel at each and every show I have attended through the years.
After the show, my four friends and I were spent. We might just have been the last concertgoers to amble out of the stadium. I’m sure they had beckoned me to get out of my chair sooner, but I was just too taken, too stunned, and too moved, too anew and awash in happiness to want to move, ever again.
As we were walking through the concessions area to wait in the merchandise line, we happened upon a group of foreign-speaking fans who had formed a garrulous circle, excitedly showing off their homemade U2 shirts, signs and space cowboy hats in honor of The Edge. Curiosity got the best of me, which lead me to approach a girl who had an accent I couldn’t place. As it turns out, she was from Sarajevo and had attended the now infamous concert at Kosovo Stadium on September 23rd, and had made a decision at that point to follow U2 around for the remainder of the PopMart Tour.
In the parking lot, my friend Robert spread himself across the hood of his car, hand over his chest, looking up at the stars, all of us silent with contentment, hearts still pounding as if “Mofo” was still playing overhead. “Better than sex,” he said. “Better than sex.”
“We should do it again,” I suggested. “Soon.”
PopMart, New Orleans – Nov. 21, 1997
So elated were Robert, Carrie P. and I (as well as inspired by the girl from Sarajevo), that we bought tickets to the New Orleans show immediately upon returning to Tallahassee the very next day. Spontaneous road trips were new to us in those days, but we didn’t care. We had to see U2 again and we didn’t care where we sat, how far we had to drive or how much money it would cost. PopMart had, very simply, become mandatory for us. It became all we talked about and all we thought about. College, personal responsibilities and work would just have to wait—this was far too important.
The road trip across Georgia, Alabama and the early parishes of Louisiana were amazing for us. We made sure to stop in the little, quirky towns we passed, rolled down our windows in big tunnels to yell “We love U2!” danced in the rain, drove through Mobile and on past Lake Pontchartrain in the St. Tammany parish.
We pulled into New Orleans just in time to miss the opening act. The Superdome was unlike any venue any of us had every seen. Round, silver and visually imposing from the exterior, and brash and large on the interior, PopMart’s big yellow arch seemed smaller and less mighty than it had in Jacksonville.
As we took our seats in the last row in the back of the Superdome to the opening strains of “Mofo,” we took in the sheer enormity of the fact that we were even there, and how dazzling the stage design was. The huge vidi-wall was much more effective far away than up close. Unlike my “breakdown” in Jacksonville, I would actually see this show from beginning to end.
One song that sticks out the most for me is “One.” Long my favorite U2 song, (and coincidentally, the song that made me a fan to begin with) my friends and I clasped hands and sang aloud as if we were at a church service. Tears in our eyes, absolute joy in our hearts, and our favorite band once again, right in our sights.
Coming soon: Achtung Carrie #9 - A Personal Look Back At Elevation
Carrie Alison can be reached at carrie@interference.com.
By Carrie Alison, Chief Editor
2005.02
I’ve been lucky enough to see U2 in concert six times in my life—two shows during PopMart in 1997 and four shows during 2001’s phenomenal Elevation Tour. Each show is distinctive and memorable in myriad ways for me that I will share with you now.
PopMart, Jacksonville – Nov. 12, 1997
My first U2 concert. My goodness, how does one summarize the experience of seeing your favorite band in the whole world up close and personal for the first time? I was lucky enough to have fifth row on the floor on The Edge’s side, so I knew my first glance of the members of U2 in the flesh would be a great one.
Lights go down and the opening strains of M’s “Pop Muzik” fill the arena. I see spotlights searching the floor, presumably to create a dramatic effect. But, no, the spotlights were indeed signifying U2’s approach to the stage on foot. On foot! As in, they’d walk right by me. My heart started throbbing in my chest. My head filled with fluttering butterflies and I’m sure I could see spots. My legs felt like Jell-O and I was dizzy with excitement and anticipation.
Then I saw Edge’s cowboy hat. And Adam Clayton in a gas mask. And the eternally youthful Larry Mullen Jr. And then, the vision I never thought I’d have the chance to see in my life—my hero, Bono.
Indeed, it was Bono, clad in his shiny blue boxing robe. I could see the hood over his face, but nothing could conceal that famous jawline. There he was, Bono. And if you can believe it, that’s almost all I remember from the show.
And then I felt it, ever so gently, the buildup of tears in my eyes. All the years of listening to U2, loving U2, feeling U2, living through U2, and here the band was, right before me, real people. I looked up to see Bono doing his best Muhammad Ali imitation—fighting jabs and all at the end of the catwalk—while the rest of U2 prepared to take flight on the stage. My facial muscles began to tighten and my head became light. I clenched my teeth to keep from having an uncontrolled outburst and to save some face. But my friends knew, they understood what I was feeling, which is why they had predicted what would happen next before I did.
The next thing I know, the gargantuan sounds of “Mofo” were surrounding every inch of me—Edge’s powerful guitar, Adam’s sexy bass, Bono jumping around getting the crowd riled up for the show. I tell you this out of uncertainty however, because I didn’t actually see this happen. I was too busy bent over screaming at the ground and crying out an emotional purge I didn’t know I was capable of. When I finally raised my head minutes later, mascara down my face, my hair falling every which way, the loving glances of my friends upon me as I steadied myself to take in the show, I felt happier than I had in years. This is how U2 made me feel, and has continued to make me feel at each and every show I have attended through the years.
After the show, my four friends and I were spent. We might just have been the last concertgoers to amble out of the stadium. I’m sure they had beckoned me to get out of my chair sooner, but I was just too taken, too stunned, and too moved, too anew and awash in happiness to want to move, ever again.
As we were walking through the concessions area to wait in the merchandise line, we happened upon a group of foreign-speaking fans who had formed a garrulous circle, excitedly showing off their homemade U2 shirts, signs and space cowboy hats in honor of The Edge. Curiosity got the best of me, which lead me to approach a girl who had an accent I couldn’t place. As it turns out, she was from Sarajevo and had attended the now infamous concert at Kosovo Stadium on September 23rd, and had made a decision at that point to follow U2 around for the remainder of the PopMart Tour.
In the parking lot, my friend Robert spread himself across the hood of his car, hand over his chest, looking up at the stars, all of us silent with contentment, hearts still pounding as if “Mofo” was still playing overhead. “Better than sex,” he said. “Better than sex.”
“We should do it again,” I suggested. “Soon.”
PopMart, New Orleans – Nov. 21, 1997
So elated were Robert, Carrie P. and I (as well as inspired by the girl from Sarajevo), that we bought tickets to the New Orleans show immediately upon returning to Tallahassee the very next day. Spontaneous road trips were new to us in those days, but we didn’t care. We had to see U2 again and we didn’t care where we sat, how far we had to drive or how much money it would cost. PopMart had, very simply, become mandatory for us. It became all we talked about and all we thought about. College, personal responsibilities and work would just have to wait—this was far too important.
The road trip across Georgia, Alabama and the early parishes of Louisiana were amazing for us. We made sure to stop in the little, quirky towns we passed, rolled down our windows in big tunnels to yell “We love U2!” danced in the rain, drove through Mobile and on past Lake Pontchartrain in the St. Tammany parish.
We pulled into New Orleans just in time to miss the opening act. The Superdome was unlike any venue any of us had every seen. Round, silver and visually imposing from the exterior, and brash and large on the interior, PopMart’s big yellow arch seemed smaller and less mighty than it had in Jacksonville.
As we took our seats in the last row in the back of the Superdome to the opening strains of “Mofo,” we took in the sheer enormity of the fact that we were even there, and how dazzling the stage design was. The huge vidi-wall was much more effective far away than up close. Unlike my “breakdown” in Jacksonville, I would actually see this show from beginning to end.
One song that sticks out the most for me is “One.” Long my favorite U2 song, (and coincidentally, the song that made me a fan to begin with) my friends and I clasped hands and sang aloud as if we were at a church service. Tears in our eyes, absolute joy in our hearts, and our favorite band once again, right in our sights.
Coming soon: Achtung Carrie #9 - A Personal Look Back At Elevation
Carrie Alison can be reached at carrie@interference.com.
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