well here is my third and final post gig review. i'm going to do it in present tense for shits & gigs. again, overly long, but it would be cool if you could read it!
I can't really say how happy I am to be going another U2 gig, in possession of a GA ticket, after my enjoyment of the second Melbourne show was tempered by 80-odd per cent of the people around me who could have just watched the Rose Bowl DVD.
My friends think it's fucking ridiculous that I'm going again, especially interstate. I reason that I wouldn't be going if I didn't have cousins also going. If I had to pay for accomodation I wouldn't be going. But they don't get it. No one does - I can't name anyone I know outside of this forum who is affected by music the way that I am.
Wednesday arrives and I'm feeling very apprehensive about travelling by plane. I mean I know the overwhelming odds are that I will arrive safely, and they say that travelling by plane is much safer than travelling by car. But when you travel by car if you are in an incident you have a chance of survival. If you're on a plane you're fucked.
I park my car in the long-term area of the airport and the second I open the door Hurricane Katrina II hits. I hastily thrown on my poncho from the first Melbourne gig, but as I run from my car to the bus shuttle stop, all the water runs directly onto my gig jeans, completely soaking them. "Fuck," I sigh, annoyed, but not overly caring.
At check-in I am told I selected to use to Web Check-in when I booked the flights, and as I failed to do so four hours before my flight, I'm being slugged a $25 fee to get my boarding pass. And they only take cash or credit. "And if you pay by credit card there's a $6.60 surcharge," the male checker-in-er informs me. I wait for him to stop talking, expecting more consequences to roll off his tongue. I pay the fee - the first of a massive amount of over-zealous fees I will over the coming 48 hours - and continue through to the gate, where I change into my tracky daks and attempt to dry my jeans in one of those wall-mounted, streamlined hand-driers that promise your hands will be dry in 10 seconds. Non-applicable for denim, it should say.
Boarding the flight a Chinese family in front of me missed their flight to Sydney which made me laugh. I've had enough shit luck already, and who doesn't get a kick out of someone else's misfortune from time to time?
You know you're on a budget airline when you have to walk at least half a kilometre to reach the plane, which is much smaller than you think, and then you have to walk out onto the tarmac and climb those welded aluminium stairs to get inside. I'm about to experience something new today though - a flight on which not every seat has been sold. There is no room in the seats but the two next to me are vacant which gives me ample room to lay out my jeans in the hope they'll dry out somewhat and won't smell as much by the time I get to Brisbane.
I've flown probably ten or so times now and I'm still not any less amazed by flying under, through and above clouds. At certain points when I look out it seems as if we're in a white-grey vortex, completely surrounded by cloud. It's very surreal.
The plane arrives in Brisbane without a hitch. Cousin Kaylee and her husband Dave were meant to pick me up but don't have the room, so cousin James - a very likeable bloke who will go out of his way to give you the exact time of day - explains in sufficient detail how to make my way from the airport to Suncorp Stadium by train.
Brisbane's trains are better than ours, I think to myself. Not as noisy, better scenery and less bogans tagging the seats and windows. I arrive at Roma St Station, which has everything you could ever need and more, and get Maccas and read mX (they have it here too!! Even the creepy "I saw a hot girl on the 8:06 train to... coffee?" bits!!) before I figure out how to get to Suncorp. I get second-hand directions and begin the walk.
About halfway through I see a tall man with scruffy, orange facial hair standing against a wall. It's cathal (I've forgotten your name), whom I met in Melbourne. We chat for a bit. I mention how I was disappointed with the crowd in the seated area at the second Melbourne gig, and cathal cottons on. "You're cobl04, the long review!" He's not going tonight. He says I'm going the right way and I hurry on.
I walk down Caxton St which is brimming with activity. A sign for one of the pubs says "U2 and Jay-Z live!" "Surely not," I think, common sense leaving me for a moment. "Come to the Caxton for your pre and post-gig fun", it reads, or something along those lines. Love to, if I were not staying with cousins. In that moment I wish I had more money, I'd definitely fly up solo and just stay in a backpackers or a hostel.
The GA line is on the grass at Suncorp and my goodness gracious me is it green. It hasn't rained in Brisbane since I landed (and it was warm and sunny, so a few hours before that it must have been fine too) but the grass is still waterlogged. James rings me, telling me he's already in the GA line (I'm slightly annoyed) but says to just join the line and "you should be right to walk through". I get in the queue to get a wristband and two girls in front of me haven't had their tickets holepunched so they must go back, the haggard woman doleing out the wristbands says. "But we've been waiting for ages," complains one of the girls. (Five minutes at best). I get my wristband and make my way past hundreds to catch up to James and his wife Carmen in the queue, embarrassed as I'm a nice person by nature. I wasn't comfortable doing it but another bloke was doing the same thing so I just put my head down and follow. One woman holds onto the temporary fencing to subtly hint people that no one else is getting through, but I apologise and keep walking. She mumbles something under her breath. I reach James (wearing a high-vis XXXX shirt) and Carmen, and with them are Camilla, Carmen's sister, and her French boyfriend Pierre. We catch up, discussing among other things the Melbourne gigs, Jay-Z, parking troubles, and "what the hell is that little hat on top of the e called?"
The gates open at 4:30. I choose to check my backpack (five bucks) and then run back to go inside Suncorp. A security man stops me, "where have you come from?" I argue I just had to check my bag, I don't want to rejoin the queue at the back. He lets me through.
I'm immediately impressed by the stadium. It's a rugby ground, so all the seats are much, much closer to the field than at Etihad, and they appear to be on more of a slope to. I figure this will add to the atmosphere.
Danny spots me and comes over, and remains with me for the rest of the show. (In a show of solidarity we both thoroughly enjoy singing every word). People James knows come and go. Jay-Z starts at 6:30, and once again he is brilliant, getting the crowd going once again. My particular highlights from his set are the final part of Encore, where Jay-Z warms the crowd up for U2 with his "they're a small band who got a shot at making it big one day, they in the dressingroom, you gotta be louder than you have so far" line, and then the band explode into the cacophonic brass-led ending. The other highlight is this wicked mash up the band do against Everything in its Right Place, with Jay going, "I think I'm in the right place tonight, make some noise if you in the right place tonight."
During Jay-Z's set a British woman of Subcontinental descent and her attractive friend get me take numerous photos and eventually push in front of me as they can't see because James (who is taller than me) and two of his equally tall mates are in front of them. They are all a head taller than most of the crowd in this area. Once Jay-Z has finished two annoying New Zealand blokes conspire with the two British girls how to get closer to the stage. Among their plans are to strike my cousin in the groin or seduce him. At first it was a conversation that killed time but it got annoying quickly. They try to edge closer to the front but a European man, here with his teenage son, has been eyeing them off the whole time and loses it when they cut in front of him. "NO!" He yells. "He wants to see too!" "Alright, calm down," says New Zealand bloke. But European man is having none of it. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" He repeats furiously as smug New Zealand tries to calm him down. A tough-looking bloke behind European, a man whose presence is surprising given he'd look more at home at an AC/DC or Metallic gig, tries to defuse the situation, using the World Cup as a topic-change. Europe calms down and a near-punchon is averted.
The analogue clock appears, and being a two-gig veteran it's funny to see people's reactions to it. Growing more annoyed by these two New Zealand blokes by the second, I spoil the surprise, telling them it's running fast. "I'd be very surprised if it's running fast," one of them says, and even a check of the time doesn't change their minds.
Someone got the clock wrong because Space Oddity began at about 11:28, robbing the Brisbane crowd of a round of cheers when it hits midnight.
The band come out and let me tell you the first nine songs are absolutely exhilarating. It's a bit hotter here than it was in Melbourne last week, but I'm an absolute ball of sweat by the time UTEOTW is finished. My enjoyment is helped by a group of early-20-ish blokes to mine and Danny's left, who are really into the gig and jumping around and know some of the words to Boots and Magnificent, even. To my right is a young couple, the bloke wearing a backpack. One of the New Zealand blokes tells him to take it off. "What?" asks the man, annoyed he even has to reply. "Take it off man, put it at your feet!" I hate New Zealand blokes now. I mean, it's annoying that this bloke bought his backpack in but you're hardly going to leave it at your feet in GA are you? Idiot.
ISHFWILF is preceded by a lengthy-but-entertaining speech, where Larry at one point says the most impressive quality of Queenslanders is their unique use of profanity, which the crowd loves. Bono gives everyone a say, Adam has nothing prepared and was put on the spot, giving some answer before they hurriedly begin ISHFWILF, which is tremendous, again.
North Star is ho-hum, and for the second gig in a row I am absolutely stunned by the relatively poor reaction to Pride. That not every is up and jumping the second it starts just confuses me. The girl that Bono pulls on stage is overcome with many emotions, and it's fantastic to watch. Somewhere in front of me I think I can hear quadcaster punching the outer rail as IALW is played again. Scarlet is shortened tonight. The British girl of subcontinental descent has succumbed to the heat of GA by this point, and despite all her efforts to get in front of my cousin and his mates has to leave, nearly fainted, with her friend in tow. Shame the two New Zealand blokes didn't follow them. As I suspected, they only knew about five or six songs and didn't get into it all that much.
This being the 30th anniversary of Lennon's death references to him are scattered throughout the show, but most notably when Amazing Grace is replaced by Dear Prudence with Bono on guitar. His vocals are great but he really does suck at playing guitar. Danny comments "that doesn't work!" as the lead-in to Streets, and whilst I really enjoyed the snippet, he is right. The buildup to Streets tonight is shorter and the song as a whole doesn't have the same impact that it usually does. Still awesome though.
We get Ultraviolet (I prefer it, I like it better than HMTM and it works better into WOWY) and the gig closes with MOS (the crowd do not take up the oh oh oh refrain, try as some of us might).
We walk back to the car, about 15 minutes. I see why there's a 10:30pm, three-gigs-a-year restriction on Suncorp; there are a string of houses literally right across the road. Awesome if you're a fan of the artists who play those three gigs, I think to myself.
James, Carmen, Camilla, Pierre and I dissect the show. Carmen agrees that Streets didn't have the same resonance it usually does. Camilla says the gig went for too long and that Bono taking the girl on stage is not all that awesome given his age. We all complain about sore bodies as we have some late-night maccas at Indooroopilly.
We drop Camilla and Pierre off and go back to James and Carmen's. They give me a quick tour, informing me that if I need the toilet I'll have to go downstairs (most Queensland houses have these under-house garage sort of things) as their bathroom is being self-renovated. I fall asleep quickly in the spare room.
Carmen is up early to go to the chiropractor, and James gets me up around 9:30 as he needs to head in to work soon. I'm groggy as all fuck but you do what you gotta do. He shouts me Eggs Benedict at a cafe in Indro, which I've never had before. It's fucking delicious. We talk about America and other stuff. Great catch up.
He then drops me off at a City Cat terminal and goes off to work. I see a bit of Brisbane from the City Cat, a bus on the river, if you like, getting off at Bulimba for some solo fish n chips, which I didn't need and don't finish, before reboarding to go back to North Quay and head to Roma St Station and back to the airport. It's a terrific way to see the city. I chose to sit outside the entire time, with the wind rushing against my face. Wind makes you forget the sun's hot rays, and so my forearms, hands and face get reasonably burnt.
On the plane home I am seated in the Emergency exit on the wing, window seat, which has more leg room but as I discover carries a hell of a lot of burderning responsibility should something go wrong.
The girl next to me smells a bit, she is wearing a high-vis shirt and is reading playboy. But my inital suspicions were wrong; she brings up her boyfriend regularly in a conversation the bloke next to her starts by asking about her leg tattoo. Their conversation ebbs and flows, but mostly it's not awkward and after a while it flows well. Yes, I do enjoy people watching.
The plane lands safely in Melbourne once again. I charge my phone when I get home and discover a text from Danny, who has taken a picture with his iphone of a picture on his digital camera of him and Bono. I am struck by vicious anger and jealousy, but am very happy for him, and the look on his face in the photo is one of pure, unadultered, barely restrained joy.
And so my run of gigs has come to and end. I loved them all (though I am slightly annoyed I didn't cry at any of them - I'm always annoyed when I don't cry at things I wish I cried at, but it's probably hard to start crying when you're consciously thinking about it) and am starting to suffer some post-gig blues.
'Til 2014, thanks U2.