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Bono was flawless and so were Gemma, Kate and Jacknife.
No recording so far.
The audience was absolutely into it from the first minute. I've listened to several recordings of the tour and the crowds were much more subdued - we were on fire, singing, clapping along and interacting with Bono. He clearly did feed off our energy and gave an incredible performance.
Little can be said about Bono that hasn't already been said a thousand times. Rivers of ink have been poured about him and his band, he has transcended the boundaries of his own persona and is now in the public domain. Everyone has an opinion about him, good or bad (usually bad). But what almost no one knows is that this chubby little red-headed Irishman is capable of moving mountains with a simple gesture, capable of getting standing ovations just by stepping on stage, capable of making you cry just by uttering a word. He is our little shaman, our 1,67 m billy goat, and around him we feel at home. Because we are. U2 and everything around them is home. As ABBA says in a song, "Mother says I was a dancer before I could walk, she says I began to sing long before I could talk". And so it is, my friends. The first conscious memory I have of my life is sitting - at the age of 3 or 4 - on the parquet floor of the living room of our house in Peñagrande, in front of the record player, and asking my mother to play "the lemon record" (Zooropa) again.
The music, voice and lyrics of Paul David Hewson have been with me since before I can even remember, and to have him slitting open his chest literally in front of me to show us his weaknesses, his strengths, his worries, his triumphs and his defeats has been an absolutely unrepeatable experience. Halfway between micro-theatre and stadium concert, between the intimacy of telling in whispers how his father died on a hospital bed in front of his eyes and the grandeur of describing a Wembley stadium packed to the rafters? Life itself. For what is life if not that, a succession of contrasts and contradictions?
Monday 28th was a luxury, a rara avis, one of those times when everything aligns and life smiles straight out for a few hours. Thanks are superfluous because all of us who were there shared the privilege of having enjoyed our shaman looking us in the eye and convincing us that the streets have no name, that he is still out of control and that, in spite of everything, if you leave, if you leave.... We will follow.
And if, as fate would have it, Monday 28th ends up being our last event in the presence and under the baton of Paul David Hewson, I will be happy and grateful that it is so. If that brutal a cappella "Torna A Surriento" ends up being the last thing we hear Bono sing, we'll just have to say amen and thank you. Thank you for giving us a great life.
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