^@

by Michael Cummins

EUGENE OR BUST--A Short Story

Last week, I realized that U2 was not going to sell out in Eugene. I found myself staring at the huge USA map on my wall at work. I began taking measurements. Exactly how far is Eugene from my Bay Area home? It doesn't look that far on this map. The drive is through some of the most beautiful land this country has to offer, truly GOD'S COUNTRY. I got on the ticketmaster page and found that there were plenty of seats left in the back. Then I see a post about a ticket for sale below cost. I snatch it up [thank you Brian-Friend Of P]. Then I start having doubts. What the hell am I doing? I won't know anyone up there, I have to be back at work on Thursday, and I'm not getting any younger. I figured it would be about a nine hour drive, weather and Highway Patrol willing. I've never been to a concert by myself before. I was becoming more and more attracted to the idea of seeing them without knowing anyone around me. The more I thought about U2 and what their music has meant to me over the years, the more I realized that the connection they make, to what I consider my very soul, is a one-on-one thing. I've had other friends that were into them, but I keep getting the feeling that they aren't into them for the same reasons. Even after meeting all the WIRELINGS in Vegas, it was clear that we all get something different out of their music and live shows. Guitarists get Edge's proficiency, bud-heads have Adam to worship, religious people get a kind of validation, frat boys [I use the term affectionately] get something worthwhile to high-five and spill beer over. People ask me
why I love them so much and I find myself speechless [this speechlessness stops me from autograph seeking, what on earth would I say to them?]. What they mean to me can't be verbalized, suffice it to say that one reason I WILL FOLLOW them wherever they go is I believe I'm still alive because of them.

Anyways, I was okay with myself driving 600 miles to a town I didn't know.

When you're in a car for nine hours you have a lot of time to think. When you have to rely on a radio, you have a lot of time to try to find good music. Let's just say that from Sacramento to Eugene is a U2 radio-free zone. Unofficial survey found most popular song THEY CALL IT A RODEO or something from Garth Brooks. I stopped at a rest area outside of Eugene to wash up and change with the other vagrants. If there's one thing Oregon knows, it's rest areas. They would serve as my hotel on the way home, as I drove and slept my way back to California.

There are certain milestones you encounter when driving into a U2 town from afar. The first radio mention of the show, the first live broadcast, and most importantly, the first Arch sighting. I remember when Ken Rosenberg and I were driving towards where we thought Sam Boyd was. We weren't talking much, just scanning the horizon. When it
finally comes into view, it's like a mirage. It's just so fucking huge. The arch. You can see it for miles. I'm driving into Eugene, with the faintest notion that the stadium was somewhere on the left. Then I cross a river and there it is, in all its yellow glory. I exit
and backtrack and drive by it. Small groups are already there at 2:30. I see the two angels that God has sent from Germany. I'm hoping those guys are washing those shirts between shows.

I decide to try to find the WIRE gathering. Again with no directions and no map I find the correct street, but then can't find the actual pub. I head to the stadium.

10 bucks for parking? Are you kidding me? I'll drive the half block and park in front of someone's house for free thank you very much. I walk to the stadium and chat with the Germans and Chris from San Diego, familiar faces from Vegas, which is seeming longer and longer than twelve days ago. I'm to meet Friend of P at the ticket office. He would recognize me by my BEAUTIFUL PINK WIRE TAG. I wait and wait. Doubt creeps into my head, what if he's ripping me off. How stupid was I to drive all the
way up here without a ticket. A huge group of WIRELINGS approaches and hands
me a bright orange sheet of paper with I WILL FOLLOW on it. I found this to be a great idea. You can wave your sheet at others in the huge stadium and see where everyone is sitting. The group seemed extremely enthusiastic and positively gleeful about the impending show. My ticket angel shows up and I head in early. Security did a visual search with no patting down. I could have smuggled a Trabant in under my sweatshirt.

I stand around the outside of the seating to get an overview. A 50 year old hippy strikes up a conversation. I respectfully answer all his questions about our band. What does that lemon do? Why so much security? How come the tickets cost so much? Who the heck is RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE? He shows me the place in the stadium where they actually ripped out forty seats or so to expand the tunnel. Apparently, the band couldn't get their equipment in using the 15 foot high tunnels. It is turning colder. Teenagers in belly shirts are rethinking their outfits.

I saw my first U2 show 13 years ago. Eugene was my 13th U2 show. Guess what my seat number was. I sat with Propaganda people over on Edge's side in the 12th row. I begin talking to the guy to my left. From Seattle. First saw them in 1983 at his community college gymnasium. Older than me. How's this RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE band? he asks. They're angry, militant, and once in a while they might utter a profanity, I answer. I enjoyed my view of the stage.

RAGE shredded. If their political posturing or swearing bother you, just listen to the guitarist because he's some kind of stud. The band played almost the entire GHOST OF TOM JOAD, Mr. Springsteen's tune. The crowd appeared to be into them, pockets of teens bouncing up and down as Mr. La Roche said in a low-key manner "Fuck you, I won't do what they tell me". Very melodic. I might just buy their CD.

The sun goes down and now it's really cold. Line for port-a-potties is ten deep. I go to stadium rest room, where I am alone. Let that be a lesson.

Back at my seat, I try to give others hints of what's about to happen without giving too much away. The band is late. It looks like the techs are having trouble tuning. There is no rain. Howie B right in front of us. With no words exchanged guy in second row points to tape he's holding, Howie nods, tape flies, Howie catches, guy thanks him,
Howie puts in bag. Stage manager-type grabs turntable off table. It must be showtime. Lights out. POP MUSIK playing. Everyone looking at stage besides me. Spotlights at fifty yard line. Crowd goes nuts.

Same outfits. Into MOFO. Bono goes to stage left so I concentrate on rest of band. Here's the thing. Remember on Knight Rider when there was the evil Kit Trans Am that tried to kill Michael Knight. Or what about when that guy on X-Files could change his appearance to look like Mulder so that he could make his move on Scully. I think that's what happened in Las Vegas. Our band was abducted and held captive while
look-a-likes took the stage. The four guys that showed up in Eugene were the real deal. Playing their asses of, Bono sounded good most of the night. Whatever pills RAGE takes before taking the stage, Edge must have had a handful. He was jumping up and down and swinging his guitar with abandon. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. It was the old Edge from the JOSHUA TREE days. I swear at one point he was about to launch himself into the crowd. Was this Edge or Henry Rollins?

I can't tell you how much they've improved in just five shows. I WILL FOLLOW with the scat verse. EVEN BETTER THAN THE REAL THING. If you sit close enough on the side you'll see the guys who run the screen frantically pointing at pixels that aren't working. They'll climb up and replace them while the show is in progress. DO YOU FEEL LOVED. PRIDE. Now I'm no professional, and I'd love to hear the tapes of this
show, but I believe, that Mr. Vox may have been off-key during the choruses. Don't kill me please, I'm just reporting the facts as I see them. The crowd was trying to help. How come I'm always next to the tone-deaf guy? Bono says "Eugene reminds me of Dublin. Good town. Good people. Shit weather" I STILL HAVEN'T FOUND WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR. Bono says, in his best rock god voice "It's been a long, long time
since.......well, we've never been to Eugene, but I've been to me." Apparently he was about to say the same things he said to the other cities about not being back in a long time, but then he remembered that maybe he'd never been to Eugene. Anyone who saw R.E.M. back when they were good remembers the sign that came up that said "Hello [insert city name here]. Are you ready to rock? It's great to be back in [your city
here]". This sort of thing has always bugged me. It's like the people who cheer wildly when he sings "Outside it's America" without having the foggiest idea of what the lyrics mean.

GONE sounded great. LAST NIGHT ON EARTH. Then the most exciting part of the night for me. UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD. I've never thought this song was one of their top twenty. Bono cruises out to the B stage. Singing. Then as the song's ending, Edge jumps off his perch and runs out to join him on the catwalk. Edge is dueling with Bono. Edge's weapon is his guitar, Bono's is, well, his personality. He'd
scream something unintelligible and Edge would counter with a wicked riff, then back and forth. It was extremely cool. Did I mention that Edge was playing like a man possessed?

IF GOD WILL SEND HIS ANGELS on the B stage with just Edge playing and Bono singing. I think this really works. I wish they'd release this thing as a single so that the 'common fan' would be singing as loud as we 'uncommon fans' do. Then Edge goes back to the main stage and Bono says "drums" and Larry starts playing STARING AT THE SUN. Just drums then Bono starts and it's just drums and Bono. Then the rest of the band begins playing. Then the curse of the SATS continues. Bono walks back to the main stage carrying his guitar. He may have had a red guitar and the truth, but he definitely didn't have the three chords. His guitar wasn't working. If you hear that song without the rhythm guitar it sounds pretty bad. Edge's part is cool, but when it's the
only thing you hear, it takes away the song's whole form. I remember when the video for WITH OR WITHOUT YOU came out. Bono held a guitar for the first time, but never seemed to use it. My friends and I decided that he was singing the song TO his guitar. "This song will sound the same, with or without you". But I digress. His playing is now an intricate part of their live show. He changed the lyrics to "armour plated suits and ties, daddy just can't play guitar". Again, a humanizing mistake.

Edge: "For the first time in the history of the State Of Oregon [he did say Oregen correctly, not Ore-gone]" then launched into DAYDREAM BELIEVER. The guy on my right began the commentary that would continue in between and during every song until the end of the show. MIAMI is getting better and better. Bono tried to pick up his hat with the umbrella and then drop it onto his head with no success. BULLET THE
BLUE SKY. I like him fencing with the U.S. flag umbrella. An image full of political explanation without words. Contrary to other posts, I heard no AMAZING GRACE. They then went into PLEASE. I still don't like this song, but at the end they played way too much of SUNDAY BLOODY SUNDAY for it to be called a 'tease'. If someone can tell me what the meaning of this is, please do. Larry doing the rat-a-tat drumming, Edge playing his part, I think I even heard Bono sing, in a different tune, "I can't believe the news today". Needless to say, this got the goat of the commentator to my right who actually booed. Nearly the entire section turned to look at the heretic. WHERE THE STREETS HAVE NO NAME and he's over by us on the stage now. He's looking right at me I swear. He's Oohhing into the mic and holding it out for us to do the same. He's smiling. He's inviting me to fly back with them. They leave the stage.

I'm beginning to feel a weird clastrophobia and the commentator on my right is bugging the shit out of me. I know I have a good five minutes so I take off from my seats and head to the back of the arena to see if the band can still connect with me if I'm in the last row in the corner. As I'm walking, the lemon begins to spin. The Greenpeace booth girl watched, the guy selling ice cream watched, the ushers watched, the vendors watched from their booth, cops were watching, for God's sake,
the paramedics were watching from the top of their ambulance. It was the most surrealistic experience I've ever seen at a concert and I've been to PINK FLOYD. All eyes were on the spinning disco lemon. No one said a word. Then it opened and they came out and the lemon was put in storage until the next show.

I'm in the last row. The band is tiny, but the screen looks terrific. The first serious technical glitch I saw, was that the left third of the screen wasn't working correctly. This could be a serious problem. The picture would come in too late, looking like a frozen screen on your computer. DISCOTHEQUE. The lights reached even the last row. Then the ultimate test. WITH OR WITHOUT YOU. The other 35,000 people disappeared and it was me in the last row and the four of them on the B stage singing the one song closest to perfection that I'll probably hear in my lifetime. It worked. They can reach the back row. I'm not gonna say I teared up, but it was a very emotional moment, alone in a strange town, at the back of a stadium, with my favorite band.

HOLD ME TMKMKM. Exciting and loud. MYSTERIOUS WAYS. They finish and head off-stage. They get together for the official group bow. Are they done? What about ONE? The lights are still out but people are leaving. They have to do ONE. They come back and ONE is performed. I think it is a great way to end a show. The picture of the huge heart on the screen can stay there as people leave the show.

Eugene knows how to host a concert. There were cops directing traffic in an orderly and logical manner. I got to my car and thought I had a ticket, but it turned out that someone had taken the trouble to unwrap a perfectly good ice cream sandwich and place it on my windshield. I wasn't aware of this tradition of welcoming travelers with an ice cream sandwich. Apparently Lewis & Clark brought beaver pelts, blankets, and
ice cream sandwiches to the natives when they finally reached the Pacific Ocean. It's nice to be included in such a time-honored tradition.

I was intent on driving south as far as I could get before pulling over and sleeping. I went about 30 miles. As I put the seat back in my Saturn [it's still just a car], and got into my sleeping bag at the rest stop, I wondered, was my band freezing its ass off also. I doubt it. Woke up at 4:30 frozen solid and began driving again. Woman at
all-night gas station pumped my gas. Official State Motto for Oregon: FOR GOD'S SAKE DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PUMP YOUR OWN GAS. She tried to figure out why someone would put an ice cream sandwich on my windshield while I began drinking a Mountain Dew in order to wake up. "Well," she said, "there is a lot of gang activity up there in Eugene". Yeah, I thought. When Chico and Eyepatch wanted to get into the Crips, the leaders said, "enough with the popping caps into rivals, just see if you
can put this ice cream sandwich on a windshield without getting caught". Imagine if Tupac and Biggie Small were just covered with sticky ice cream instead of dead.

Met an esteemed member of the California Highway Patrol on the way home. He was polite, lowered my actual speed, and told me to take care. Needless to say, it took longer to get home than it did to get to Eugene.

The scorecard:
1201 Miles
31 hours
4.5 hours of sleep
1 sunburned left arm
1 ice cream sandwich

and the greatest band in the history of the world.

Not a bad two days.

See ya,

Michael

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