RECENT ITEMS»

U2
United Center
Filter Grade: 90%
by Sean Moeller | 01.01.2007

On the third night of the six that U2 are scheduled to play in Chicago this calendar year, Bono indulged in some champagne, a sermon (surprise, surprise) and an unprecedented encore. It was his 45th birthday and he celebrated it below three Stanley Cup banners and the retired numbers of Stan Makita and Bobby Hull at the house that Jordan built, but had trouble shooting in. Though the sold out crowd was without cake, they came bearing party favors, pointy birthday hats and flags of Ireland with “Happy B-Day Bono” scrawled in the white stripe down the center part of the cloth. A chant of “Happy Birthday” arose out of the seated and the floor-bound at the completion of “Mysterious Ways” in the second encore, but otherwise the milestone was not mentioned by Bono or the band. He did, however, continually wish his daughter JoJo, whom he shares the day with, a happy one.

Bono was peculiar and ebullient, with a constant magnetism drawing the eyes to his mangled poses, his unorthodox ways with the microphone and his strut around the oval ring of stage (that took members out, deep into the audience and side-by-side with those in the first few rows of the tiered seats along the sides of the stadium). He’d flash a mean set of pantomimed tiger claws and then segue into an impersonation of an ape or chimp picking bugs out of his own head of hair and then feign snacking on them before his band launched into “Beautiful Day,” six songs in.

He white man-danced and leaned into songs as if he were trying to stretch every muscle in his body. It was captivating and rousing, nothing like the bored and uninterested U2 a caller to a Chicago radio station said she saw days earlier in the opening night of the four-show stand that took place over six nights. You believed the sunglassed Bono, uber-cool Edge, shy drummer Larry Mullen Jr. and soft-stepping bassist Adam Clayton must have heard the claim and said, “We’ll show that fucking bitch on that radio station.”

They entered with “City of Blinding Lights,” off of newest record How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb shrouded by six sections of red-appled, bulb lights that hung down like beaded Venetian blinds, at which point Bono went about bump-setting imaginary portions of love out and into the crowd. The night before, Coldplay’s Chris Martin, his wife Gwyneth Palrow and Keanu Reeves were all in attendance, but the cameras were out on stage this night, recording the show for a forthcoming DVD. As Bono said, “This is going to be the Vertigo Tour forever.” And maybe that was the reason for the awkward serenade of a 10-year-old boy that he brought up on-stage and walked hand-in-hand with during an extended outro of the “Boy” medley of “An Cat Dubh” and “Into the Heart.” He also called for “the beautiful giant from Chicago” to pick up a guitar and play with the band for “Party Girl,” the last song of the first encore.

For the second encore, after the band had torn through “Original of the Species,” Bono hailed The Edge, who came running across the stage to him. They spoke briefly, after which, Bono gave a briefing on the meaning of the word “encore.” “It’s when you play something you really like again,” he said right before giving a hearty “Uno, dos, tres, catorce” for the second time during the set, launching into a celebratory version of “Vertigo” – this one Part Deux. It was a night that was arguably Bono’s. His expressions, like a man who just got the lights turned up on him out of complete darkness, the grandiose dramatizations of frailty (curling up into the fetal position in front of the drum kit on two occasions) and his preachings of ending starvation overshadowed the superior musicianship of the rest of his band – as it does most nights.

The Kings of Leon – the mostly clean-shaven Kings of Leon – opened the show to a cold, emotionless arena full of unresponsive, snobbish U2 fans. The 45-minute set was something that should have been embraced for its purity and the hickory-smoked voicings of lead brother/cousin Caleb Followill. He can sound like a gruff old man shaking off three sleepless nights, Gargamel from the Smurfs or a sweet, young tempest. Jared and Matthew, both in matching, skin-tight Ramones trousers, put their heads down and went to work as Nathan provided his normally arresting harmonics and time-keeping. Caleb, who looks like a Cobain/Kutcher mix in long, pointy boots, shook the daylight out of his guitar and took some time after “California Waiting” to thank their mom for being there all the way from Tennessee. It was a live performance that reinforced the solid “Aha Shake Heartbreak” as a bitchin’ no-frills record and the band as a bunch of hard asses.