Were U there 2?
U2’s record-breaking show at the National Stadium in August 1993, had all the superlatives – and all their faults and contradictions. Here’s our review from the time... For sheer spectacle, you couldn’t beat the first half an hour – a spectacle of TV hell – splices of satellite, slogans, subliminal messages, 36 channels with nothing on, a high-tech mixture of George Orwell and Jeremy Beadle.
The concert lacked the atmosphere of their last visit six years ago – weighed under early on by the sheer technology confronting you, and Bono playing more to the cameras than the crowd.
The band too have moved on, as they must. CNN and NBC were the perfect backing for the PVC of Bono as band started with a huge chunk from their previous album Achtung Baby – techno-rock gloss of Even Better Than The Real Thing, The Fly, (and with exotic dancer) Mysterious Ways, three tracks which stand with Us2 best.
Normal service was quickly resumed with New Year’s Day, who struck the crowd dumb with his new solo, effort, Numb.
On Babyface, Bono invites a girl up – these days she gets a camcorder rather than a kiss, and promptly zooms in on his crotch.
The band at last leave the technology behind to take to a small stage for semi-acoustic segment – a memorable Angel Of Harlem, an improbably good version of Abba’s Dancing Queen, the excellent Stay (Faraway So Close) from Zooropa and Satellite of Love (with fuzzy image of Lou Reed bearing down).
The crowd are predictably welcoming for the “U2: the anthems” segment.
The old stadium rock atmosphere is recreated for Bad, although Bullet The Blue Sky is, with out irony, turned into a horrid Nuremberg-style rally, to a backdrop of burning crosses turning into swastikas, Bono ending with clenched salute declaring “We must not let this happen again”. Please don’t.
They finish with Where The Streets Have No Name and Pride, and we’re left with a relaxation video of tropical fish.
Bono returns for the encore as MacPhisto – dressed in gold glitter suit, platform shoes, red devil horns and lip gloss for Desire.
Then it’s on the mobile phone to Lady Thatcher. The band may have matured musically, but not politically – a naive call to the Commons in the summer recess to sing I Just Called To Say I Love You to The Lady (wrong number too), to be told by a telephonist to write in.
We should all write “Capitalism Sucks” 100 times on our £10 tour programmes and send them to the band.
It ends wonderfully quietly – Love Is Blindness and a quick impression of Elvis before a simple sign off with I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You.
“Elvis Is Still In The Stadium,” were his last words.
Somehow Bono himself never really was.