Episode +13—I’m Glad To Be Alive
Why do I have to be a fan of the biggest band in the world?
Why can’t I be like my friend Rob? He drives throughout the region, watches indie/folk artists perform at modest venues several times a month, and is a beloved VIP in a community that respects his prolific fandom work (he records shows and takes great photos). Artists know his name, take selfies with him, and value his dedication.*
Why can’t I be like Rob? The simple answer is because I think folk music is boring. The complex answer is this.
Vegas Adam, watercolor by Kelly Eddington, 2024. Based on a reference photo by Joe Ahorro.
I flew for four hours to see U2 at Sphere during the mid-October heatwave in Las Vegas. It was their ninth show, or as the band’s social media czars would call it, their IX show, a.k.a. The One Where Morleigh Got On The Balloon Swing. It was a Wednesday night, and U2 were still figuring out a few things. Bono wasn’t venturing into the crowd yet, and “Trying To Throw Your Arms Around The World” didn’t incorporate his locked-door shtick. But it was spectacular, and I cried throughout because they were playing my favorite album from start to finish with a little break in the middle for other (predictable even then) stuff.
In my experience, the U2 online “fam” is like a small town that loves and supports what PJ and I do, and we love you right back. But when we’re at actual shows, we immediately realize that there are all these other people, including the woman standing directly behind my right ear who repeatedly shrieked, “Bono!” (pronounced BOÓÔÕÖNÑṄŇ-NÑṄŇOÓÔÕÖÌÍÎÏÌÍÎÏÈÉÊËÈÉÊËÆÆÆ with 5,000 exclamation points).
Our day-long and dehumanizing G.A. experience in a city that made our skin crawl culminated in the two of us standing inside a massive but cramped and oppressive concrete bunker for two and a half hours. This ensured that we were fully in subspace** by the time U2 appeared.
Noli Me Tangere, watercolor by Kelly Eddington, 2024. Based on a reference photo by Ayaz Asif.
And then it was mostly worth it! Most was forgiven! Unfortunately, the stage kept U2 at a bit of a distance even to those of us standing near the front. When the band migrated towards the center, the stage’s height blocked everyone’s legs from their shins down. PJ and I have written about this ad nauseum, but Edge’s virtuosity, Adam’s devotion, and not-Larry Bram’s stunning competence were wonderful to witness. After five years of not seeing them, the band’s interactions and their clear delight in simply being U2 again brought us joy. Bono has a tendency to interact with himself, and at times he reminded me of a professor who, in the midst of a lecture, makes silent, knowing asides to no one in particular. This is the kind of thing for which I am happy to shell out big money. Bono was in roughly the same shape as he was when Achtung Baby was released (seriously, how?) and appeared to be—gasp—leggy when he approached the front of the stage or hopped up on his wee platform. He performed his usual geisha move where he kind of lets his leather jacket slip down his arms, revealing an inch or two of skin.
Sphere Bono, watercolor by Kelly Eddington, 2023. Based on a reference photo by Justin Kent.
The Sphere shows are choreographed to the point that even I, a one-show champion, know that my illustrations here are wildly inaccurate. All dedicated G.A. photographers do heroic work, especially when dealing with this stage and screen. The photos that inspired my paintings had black backgrounds that I changed to incorporate a few tastes of U2:UV’s incredible imagery. But anyone who’s watched the many fan-created videos coming out of the Sphere knows that Edge does his confrontational move with Bono during “Zoo Station” and can even identify the lyric when it happens.*** And yet I’ve put what is clearly the background used during “Until The End Of The World” behind them. Everyone knows that Adam does not wear that t-shirt during “Even Better Than The Real Thing”—that wardrobe change happens much later in the show. And Bono tends to hug Edge during “Trying To Throw Your Arms Around The World” and not, as my background would suggest, during “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses.”
Embers, watercolor by Kelly Eddington, 2024. Based on a reference photo by Terutsugu Takano.
As much as I loved show IX, it asked a lot of me. Unlike some people, I didn’t return home with any kind of illness, but I self-quarantined for over a week to prevent my long-suffering husband Jeff from getting “long Covid because of Bono,” which is probably grounds for divorce. The U2:UV high I experienced lasted until the end of the month, which was enough time for your girls at achtoonbaby.com to create art and write a review, and we even talked about the show on a podcast.
After that, a post-show malaise set in, and a lot of that is due to not just FOMO but GOMO (Guarantee Of Missing Out). PJ and I know when the shows are happening, we usually go to sleep before they start, and we wake up in the morning and look at photos and videos of the shows on our phones.
Once some time had passed, I realized that The One Where Morleigh Got On The Balloon Swing was not even in my top five U2 shows, and I’ve only seen them live nine times. (And I know people who will see them at the Sphere at least nine times.)
With each passing show, I’ve been picking up on a triumphant vibe from the band because this gamble has paid off. And good for them! They have regained, at long last, relevancy even at their age, with this residency being mentioned in end-of-year articles alongside tours by the likes of Beyonce and Taylor Swift and even surpassing them in terms of innovation and accolades.
But by mid-December it seemed like this machine was becoming maybe a bit too well-oiled. Where was the vulnerable man with the big voice who could shatter souls? It seemed to me that Bono was in danger of becoming a monolith—no, A BONOLITH.
Something major needed to happen. If you are here reading this, I think you know what I’m about to say. Early morning, December 15: a word rings out in the U2fam skies.
It spread like wildfire, and we knew about it before we had photographic evidence. And that word was VEST.
I’m Glad To Be Alive, watercolor by Kelly Eddington, 2024. Based on a reference photo by Noel Clarke.
And I feel like VEST resonated the most with women like myself who are of a certain age. Many of us have been fans for around four decades, and we have noticed that we haven’t seen Bono’s arms since, as Gen Z would say, the Nineteen Hundreds. And you know what? We get it. At least I do!
In recent years, hormonal changes have caused my uterus to expand to XXL size. A fibroid, which is a benign tumor that feeds on estrogen, has attached itself to the outside of my big uterus, barnacle-style. This fibroid is 🎶 the size of a newborn baby’s head 🎶, and getting rid of it would mean major surgery. My doctor has advised me that my fibroid/uterus might shrink once I hit menopause, but that still hasn’t happened yet. While I wait, this annoying bulge in my abdomen makes wearing jeans uncomfortable and unflattering, so I simply do not wear them. That is my little tale of woe as I hit age 55 exactly today.
But my problem is CHUMP CHANGE compared to what Bono has had to endure since almost the moment he entered his fifties:
back surgery that postponed a major tour for months
horrific bicycle accident that almost killed him
a second near-death experience that resulted in open-heart surgery.
He almost died twice, you guys! And, I dunno, I’m pretty sure he’s dealt with garden-variety illnesses like everybody else, and it seems like he maybe had a mole removed too at some point…?
Somehow our man survived his fifties, which clearly seemed like they were out to get him. And now here he is in his sixties, perched atop the pinnacle of the entertainment industry, and would any of us blame him for covering up his scars and staying in his all-black uniform for the rest of his life? No.
But. VEST.
Without warning, this little badass appeared in a Joshua Tree-esque vest while singing the “Moment of Surrender” segue between “Vertigo” and “Where The Streets Have No Name.” And as even one-show champions like myself know, the Sphere’s screen/lighting during that song is essentially Broad Daylight. There’s no smoke or dramatic shadows. There’s nothing to hide behind. That wicked scar on his left arm was there for all to see****, along with the faint vertical line running down the center of his chest. Displaying them was an act of true vulnerability. And whether he meant it or not, it was an encouragement to those of us who wonder if we’re going to survive a decade that seems like it’s out to get us. He didn’t have to do it, but he did. And he was smiling. He was glad to be alive.
Damn it, Bono, on shows XXIV and XXV, a.k.a. The Ones With The Vest, you proved to us yet again that you are not a Bonolith. You remain the patched-up, joyfully beating heart of U2. Reader, as I watched the story unfold on my dumb tiny phone that Saturday morning, I was deeply moved.
And this is why I can’t be like my friend Rob.
*With very few exceptions, U2’s social media czars do not acknowledge the fan photographers and artists who promote the band out of love. I dunno, Garbage does it. The freaking Kardashians even do it sometimes.
** With the guarantee of zero aftercare, btw.
*** “Your face pressed up against the glass.”
**** Photo by fandom MVP Ayaz Asif:
