HelloAngel
ONE love, blood, life
U2's sweetest tour
By Kathy McCabe
BONO, The Edge, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen step off stage after their first concert at the Oakland Arena and straight into black limousines.
California Highway Patrol officers on Harley-Davidsons fire up their blue lights and roar on to the highway, escorting the four town cars and several black vans packed with members of U2 Inc. and their guests back to the San Francisco Four Seasons hotel.
Within half an hour, a small hotel bar has been cordoned off and U2 and their management - headed by the band's "fifth member", Paul McGuinness - are hosting aftershow drinks.
Metallica's Lars Ulrich, actors Sean Penn, Robin Williams and Winona Ryder and champion cyclist Lance Armstrong are among those "groupie-ing up" as Ulrich jokingly calls it, having a few quiet drinks as Bono and The Edge and their touring family wind down from another magnificent performance.
Penn taps on a glass to call everyone's attention and delivers a stirring speech extolling U2's contribution to society, both culturally and politically. Bono stands quietly beside him, looking a little sheepish as he modestly acknowledges the tribute.
Just hours ago, he and the band were receiving adulation en masse as more than 20,000 fans screamed themselves hoarse.
Seven months into the Vertigo tour, which finally hits Australia next March, U2 are indisputably the world's biggest band.
Talk to them in their comfort zone and you wouldn't know it. These are four very down-to-earth Irishmen, even when surrounded by their A-list peers and the accoutrements of rock'n'roll success.
"We don't play the star ... I've never felt comfortable. I don't think of myself as a rock star," The Edge says the following afternoon. "I play U2 songs ... I don't even really play guitar. What I mean is my motivation to pick up a guitar is to play U2 songs rather than for the sake of playing it.
"My guitar usually comes out only on formal occasions. I don't do the campfire or bar-room improv thing."
There is a palpable sense of gratitude in the U2 camp - dominated by people who have worked with the band for 20 years or more - that they are still at the top of their game and fans are still interested.
Every show on the second leg of their US tour is sold out. The songs from their latest album, How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, receive the same voracious karaoke response as classics such as Sunday Bloody Sunday, Pride (In The Name Of Love) and Beautiful Day.
And every night there is at least one moment where band and audience reach that spine-tingling, mind-blowing point of mutual rapture.
"Most nights, there will be a few moments where you get really moved personally," The Edge says. "You see it in their reaction and that in itself is one of the most rewarding aspects of being in U2, that the songs do mean so much to our fans.
"When we perform, it's not so much we're receiving the adulation personally but the songs and the event ... it's a community thing. Everyone wants to celebrate the same thing: the songs and what they mean to each person individually and collectively."
U2 recognise these people and their desires as keenly as their legion of fans feel a connection to the four Irishmen.
"It's important to us that there is a relationship with our audience, it's important to us we know who they are," Clayton says. "They are decent, intelligent, good people who understand where we're coming from and what we're trying to do and appreciate it when we get it wrong and when we get it right.
"And I think they get an integrity from the music which is unusual but that's the way we make music. We believe in it and we invest a lot of ourselves in it and that carries through and has a strength people pick up on. In a way, it is our life story when you join together the records, it's almost like a journal of life for us from 16 to 45."
"I don't know if you get that with many things out there," he adds. "With Britney Spears records, you're not really getting anything about Britney Spears, someone else is writing it."
The connection between band and audience is one of the most intense in contemporary music. Fans have forgiven the band all manner of trespasses, whether it be the embarrassment that was the giant lemon on the PopMart tour or Bono's seemingly all-consuming involvement in political and charitable campaigns.
The lead singer is unavailable to chat to the Australian media to announce the Down Under leg of the Vertigo tour, as he has scheduled meetings with Google and Yahoo HQ to try to organise an online community for the One campaign.
But when he returns, he takes half-an-hour out before heading to the next concert, pours his Australian guests a glass of pink champagne and charms with erudite conversation about his meetings, a new Bible translation, the Melbourne Cup and some of the more interesting church services in San Francisco.
His capacity to fit so much into one life - he sleeps very little according to those around him - is daunting and inspiring.
But his bandmates have no doubt about his commitment to U2. The Edge laughs when asked if the band has to schedule year-long tours to "kidnap" Bono back.
"Bono is so in love with his time spent with us," The Edge says. "He loves to come back and get reconnected. I don't think he's going to be giving up his proper job, his day job, for politics. He enjoys what he does with us too much."
Watching his ease in the frontman role after 30 years, seeing him finely tune the audience's emotional responses with a "C'mon" gesture or by simply standing with head bowed, is to witness an artist born to perform.
The entire band looks relaxed and confident on this tour. Clayton and The Edge employ a natural choreography, stepping to the front together or flanking Bono on an ellipse runway which juts into the audience, with Mullen stepping out once during the show to play a stripped down kit.
And none of them want Bono's job.
"I think we have all found our absolutely perfect positions in the scheme of things in terms of our own personal aptitudes and skills," The Edge says. "I think I'd have made a lousy frontman. I am a great sideman, one of the best ..."
As U2 have been absent from these shores for eight years, they are delighted to be finally heading back our way. After playing the more intimate indoor arenas, they are boyishly excited about bringing the monstrous outdoor stadium production which played in Europe.
"We're more relaxed on stage now. We've replaced blind terror with enough reserves of control over the situation to feign looking comfortable up there," The Edge laughs. "We've almost fooled people that we know what we're doing."
http://www.themercury.news.com.au/common/story_page/0,5936,17423696%5E10431,00.html
By Kathy McCabe
BONO, The Edge, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen step off stage after their first concert at the Oakland Arena and straight into black limousines.
California Highway Patrol officers on Harley-Davidsons fire up their blue lights and roar on to the highway, escorting the four town cars and several black vans packed with members of U2 Inc. and their guests back to the San Francisco Four Seasons hotel.
Within half an hour, a small hotel bar has been cordoned off and U2 and their management - headed by the band's "fifth member", Paul McGuinness - are hosting aftershow drinks.
Metallica's Lars Ulrich, actors Sean Penn, Robin Williams and Winona Ryder and champion cyclist Lance Armstrong are among those "groupie-ing up" as Ulrich jokingly calls it, having a few quiet drinks as Bono and The Edge and their touring family wind down from another magnificent performance.
Penn taps on a glass to call everyone's attention and delivers a stirring speech extolling U2's contribution to society, both culturally and politically. Bono stands quietly beside him, looking a little sheepish as he modestly acknowledges the tribute.
Just hours ago, he and the band were receiving adulation en masse as more than 20,000 fans screamed themselves hoarse.
Seven months into the Vertigo tour, which finally hits Australia next March, U2 are indisputably the world's biggest band.
Talk to them in their comfort zone and you wouldn't know it. These are four very down-to-earth Irishmen, even when surrounded by their A-list peers and the accoutrements of rock'n'roll success.
"We don't play the star ... I've never felt comfortable. I don't think of myself as a rock star," The Edge says the following afternoon. "I play U2 songs ... I don't even really play guitar. What I mean is my motivation to pick up a guitar is to play U2 songs rather than for the sake of playing it.
"My guitar usually comes out only on formal occasions. I don't do the campfire or bar-room improv thing."
There is a palpable sense of gratitude in the U2 camp - dominated by people who have worked with the band for 20 years or more - that they are still at the top of their game and fans are still interested.
Every show on the second leg of their US tour is sold out. The songs from their latest album, How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, receive the same voracious karaoke response as classics such as Sunday Bloody Sunday, Pride (In The Name Of Love) and Beautiful Day.
And every night there is at least one moment where band and audience reach that spine-tingling, mind-blowing point of mutual rapture.
"Most nights, there will be a few moments where you get really moved personally," The Edge says. "You see it in their reaction and that in itself is one of the most rewarding aspects of being in U2, that the songs do mean so much to our fans.
"When we perform, it's not so much we're receiving the adulation personally but the songs and the event ... it's a community thing. Everyone wants to celebrate the same thing: the songs and what they mean to each person individually and collectively."
U2 recognise these people and their desires as keenly as their legion of fans feel a connection to the four Irishmen.
"It's important to us that there is a relationship with our audience, it's important to us we know who they are," Clayton says. "They are decent, intelligent, good people who understand where we're coming from and what we're trying to do and appreciate it when we get it wrong and when we get it right.
"And I think they get an integrity from the music which is unusual but that's the way we make music. We believe in it and we invest a lot of ourselves in it and that carries through and has a strength people pick up on. In a way, it is our life story when you join together the records, it's almost like a journal of life for us from 16 to 45."
"I don't know if you get that with many things out there," he adds. "With Britney Spears records, you're not really getting anything about Britney Spears, someone else is writing it."
The connection between band and audience is one of the most intense in contemporary music. Fans have forgiven the band all manner of trespasses, whether it be the embarrassment that was the giant lemon on the PopMart tour or Bono's seemingly all-consuming involvement in political and charitable campaigns.
The lead singer is unavailable to chat to the Australian media to announce the Down Under leg of the Vertigo tour, as he has scheduled meetings with Google and Yahoo HQ to try to organise an online community for the One campaign.
But when he returns, he takes half-an-hour out before heading to the next concert, pours his Australian guests a glass of pink champagne and charms with erudite conversation about his meetings, a new Bible translation, the Melbourne Cup and some of the more interesting church services in San Francisco.
His capacity to fit so much into one life - he sleeps very little according to those around him - is daunting and inspiring.
But his bandmates have no doubt about his commitment to U2. The Edge laughs when asked if the band has to schedule year-long tours to "kidnap" Bono back.
"Bono is so in love with his time spent with us," The Edge says. "He loves to come back and get reconnected. I don't think he's going to be giving up his proper job, his day job, for politics. He enjoys what he does with us too much."
Watching his ease in the frontman role after 30 years, seeing him finely tune the audience's emotional responses with a "C'mon" gesture or by simply standing with head bowed, is to witness an artist born to perform.
The entire band looks relaxed and confident on this tour. Clayton and The Edge employ a natural choreography, stepping to the front together or flanking Bono on an ellipse runway which juts into the audience, with Mullen stepping out once during the show to play a stripped down kit.
And none of them want Bono's job.
"I think we have all found our absolutely perfect positions in the scheme of things in terms of our own personal aptitudes and skills," The Edge says. "I think I'd have made a lousy frontman. I am a great sideman, one of the best ..."
As U2 have been absent from these shores for eight years, they are delighted to be finally heading back our way. After playing the more intimate indoor arenas, they are boyishly excited about bringing the monstrous outdoor stadium production which played in Europe.
"We're more relaxed on stage now. We've replaced blind terror with enough reserves of control over the situation to feign looking comfortable up there," The Edge laughs. "We've almost fooled people that we know what we're doing."
http://www.themercury.news.com.au/common/story_page/0,5936,17423696%5E10431,00.html
