How do you write a fan review of a U2 concert? Sure, we’ve all read reviews of shows in the newspaper or in magazines such as Rolling Stone... “real” reviews by people who go to concerts as part of their profession. They get paid to write out setlists, take notes, and look at things objectively. In the U2 community, however, objectivity is a characteristic that can be in short supply, at least when it comes to the die-hard fans who forego warm feet for 12 hours and sometimes rent money to take part in the religious experience of singing along to “Where the Streets Have No Name.” This was the way of it on Saturday, December 10, in Cleveland.
Being a part of Interference.com, I was nervous about writing a review. I almost decided not to do it—just to let the idea fade away. I was afraid of having to take notes—and, thus, not really enjoying the show—so that later I could give an exact summary of what happened, from song to song, lyric to lyric. But fans know what the songs sound like. It’s what happens in those live moments that make the experience special. It’s remembering those moments that make a review of a U2 concert.
The confetti that fell from the ceiling at the start of “City of Blinding Lights” was a sprinkling of fairy dust, signifying that the world of cold fingers, sore feet, and wind-chapped faces was to be left behind for the world inside where time runs differently and people don’t stand in line but join together with shared affection and understanding. The U2 of Saturday night’s show was a U2 so sure of itself that it accepted, and even expected, help from the crowd. And the crowd gave them what they wanted. Bono didn’t need to encourage the audience to take up a line or melody—it was automatic. It was a part of that magic that fell from the sky. Bono, the Edge, Adam Clayton, and Larry Mullen Jr. used that magic to convince people that the world they imagine—one with understanding, respect, and peace—was possible. We all knew that when we left the arena that our lives would be full of the same trifling annoyances, but for two hours people believed that they could change themselves and that they could change the world. When we go to a U2 show, we leave our cynicism at the door. In a word, we coexist. It’s the message that contains the magic. Bono and the others put it into their audiences and send it out into the world.
While U2 have played songs from The Beatles and John Lennon at other shows on this tour, this show had special significance. John Lennon was killed 25 years ago this week. For some of us, the idea that Lennon was wiped out by a man who considered himself a fan is still a shock; the memory of the threats that Bono received all those years ago because of his support of a national holiday for Martin Luther King Jr. brings to mind a connection to Lennon that we’d rather not make. The concert in Cleveland, home of the coining of “Rock ‘n’ roll” and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, could be considered a tribute to Lennon. For U2, as it was for Lennon, the song is the message. And, it can be argued, Bono has taken over where Lennon left off. It is easy to scoff at the dream of peace, the idea of human rights, because these are huge wishes. It takes almost an impossible amount of faith—and, some may say, a huge ego or even a bit of insanity—to believe in them. Lennon believed. Bono believes. And we believe. When he needed it, we all sang “Help.” In case we forgot, he made us believe that “We all shine on.” And in case we needed a little extra convincing that there is such a thing as “Instant Karma” (the good kind!), the names of people who texted their names to the One Campaign were flashed on the jumbo screen above our heads.
It’s the smaller, intimate moments that make a U2 show special. We watched Adam laugh as Bono joked about Larry dancing. We saw the man—the dad—in Bono when he pulled a little girl out of the audience to represent the next generation of people that we have to help along and then put his hand out to take the gum she was chewing. We cheered as the Edge and Bono chased one another at full speed around the ellipse during “Until the End of the World.” And we smiled when Bono pulled Miroslava out of the front of the audience to cuddle during “One.”
U2 shows are big things, but the band does what it needs to make them feel small and intimate. It’s part of U2’s philosophy from the early days—to connect with the people in the audience. On Saturday night, light was the connector. We lit the arena up like a Christmas tree with our cell phones, using the magic of technology to connect with the band. Toward the end of the show, Bono picked up a light and spun around several times, throwing light on the fans in the upper seats, illuminating them for the people on the other side of the arena or down below, bringing everyone together. Maybe that’s why we go—to find a place where we can connect with people who won’t laugh at our idea that things can be better, to share the faerie dust.