by Mr. Macphisto *11*

to all my people in the heart, holla at y'all. I was blessed with a spot the square root of two people from Bono himself. That equates to the diagonal of a square of people 2 by 2. And I believe that the goofy attire paid off in the long run (buddy holly/discotheque shades, irish bandana, and "lemon" yellow shirt) with some priceless grins from the king of poise, Mr. Clayton. My buddy Alex got a handshake from Edge, so he'll pay dearly later but is a better man for it.
Forego this paragraph if your burning interest lies in the quality of concert, which I can assure topples that of the opening ouevre, Stereophonics. The following directive goes to my patrons of the heart. I overheard some disciples of U2 lore saying that in a recent show, Bono mentioned how "a heart needs circulation". No truer words spoken by a musical medicine man of sorts. To you devotees mobbing the front rail of the heart for shows upon end, don't disavow the man's diagnosis. It's like faith healing cancer. Not gonna slide. If you do choose to go without the proper medication, then at least take some of doc's orders and take it easy. DON't be jumping insanely if you've got 2 inches of chunked doc marten rubber to crush toes behind you. And, even if they're as big, this is no Beatles 1964 concert or a 1987 MJ show, so no fainting or pickpocketing Apple Records from Paul.
Bono says "you give yourself away" and now that i've witnessed it readily, I think a solid 90% of his animus is swallowed whole by the heart. The horror, the horror. And as I slunk down that treacherous river, I was nearly capsized by an ravenous crocodile beast. Indigenous to both the sidewalks and sewers of east coast USA as to the highways and its tributaries, it responds to hostility with a massive undulation of the body and attempts to overturn its prey. Luckily, I wore my jungle boots and, despite lack of machete in hand, planted my feet and thwarted some crazy amoeboid movement. Later this creature was domesticated, and albeit the snarling ferocity and mad-cow eyes, was safe as Ireland currently is to Hoof & Mouth Disease (yay Irish tourism).
Maybe a little chit chat with regards to the show then. My friend noticed Bono's fly was apparently down, which was either a wink to its absence on the setlist, or some deranged cokewhore fan during UTEOTW. The start of the set was throbbin' rock, with Elevation mighty strong through my first taste of New Year's Day. Boom cha to Adam's bass line. No one will ever truly learn the words to Out of Control, but that fits the chaotic fun of the tune. Fast forwarding to the acoustic set, and Edge starts strumming at a medium pace with little acknowledgement, until Bono croons "In the daysssssssss......." and I hit my Wild Honey epiphany. It's really a formidable song to lighten the atmosphere in the arena and sounds more groomed than its first time back in June. I'm one of the stalwart Pop advocates, and Please was very remarkable, even with only some light skeleton strokes on the guitar strings. I've got falsetto on a good day, and Bono was packing heat with his and most of his other voice ranges as well. It seemed like Edge got his share of singing in too, as he'd occasionally solo a fluffy cloud line as in Wild Honey that Bono might've broken his voice on. Everyone one knows how the main set ends, and yes it is as great as any would anticipate. Streets is the most pulsating live song you'll ever get, and ISHFWILF and Pride top it off nicely.
Nothing should be exaggerated or babbled on about the encore, b/c the tone is blatant from the songlist itself. It even surprised how cool (not cold) What's Going On was, definitely contrary to some of the groove on the new versions out there. hello London Version, and Fred Durst, how did Nona Gaye let you do the Reality Check mix. Right. Rap-rock is just like hair metal which U2 soared above long ago, and it's just a repeat performance now.
The concert was overall a little mellow and overcast, but Ireland hardly ever gets sunny days anyway, so don't hold it against the lads. I do think the quality itself of this show, regardless of feel, surpassed the first Philly this past June. Nothing will ever elipse Boston #4, but that's my sentiment, and those in my shoes know the truth.
For the final shows of this tour, to the vagabonds headed to Austin and beyond, let's keep things in check. If the bloody IRA can do it, I feel deep down like we all can simmer down and have a good time about going to a rock n' rock show.
Personal memos: the lovely redhead who saw Houston and was being crippled didn't deserve the jealousy of those less delicate than her. and thank you, I found a spot for my shirt.
To my direct neighbor, not being my comrade of course. You know it and I know it. I ain't budgin' so you can ogle Bono three inches closer. Rent Beverly Hills Ninja to observe Chris Farley's cool under pressure in tight places. You hold onto everything so tightly, there gonna be nothin' left for you anyway girl. If you know my friend from Baltimore, big man in the Fedora, he sends his best. Holla back.

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