In the queue to see U2. Cooped like chooks among plastic barriers. Standing, sitting, sprawling; waiting, some for many hours, wearied by dumps of rain and sweltering sun. Humanitarian crows swoop upon this vulnerable yet sympathetic flock. Volunteers from two NGOs, who flit among us, collecting signatures and email addresses, tagging each chook with the 'gift' of a black wristband, thus marking their progress.
U2 is a band with substance; frontman Bono a rock star plagued by dreams of God and suffering humanity. A ridiculously wealthy humanitarian, Bono is an object of scorn among many grassroots human rights advocates. But there's no doubt he inspires passion and compassion. He is prone to rages against injustice. U2's catalogue contains songs for El Salvador, Bosnia, South Africa, Burma. To be a fan is, by default, to have concern for your fellow man. No wonder NGO volunteers see us as a captive audience.
True, these days the passion is mostly choreographed, stage-managed and scripted. This is evident later, inside the stadium, as 100,000-odd people jostle about the broad stage with its halo of lights and lunging arches. Rock jaunts as vast as U2's '360' tour are, necessarily, endlessly rehearsed and sound-checked. For a band such as U2, so is the politics. But they have perfected the art of advocacy as theatre.
Consider this triptych of songs cast as a call to fight AIDS and poverty in Africa: the gorgeous 'One', an aching rendition of 'Amazing Grace', and the relentless 'Where the Streets Have No Name', whose lyric Bono wrote while on a humanitarian trip to Ethiopia. The bracket is heralded by a video address from Desmond Tutu, spruiking Bono's ONE aid campaign. This is less a rock concert than a political rally.
The band's 2001 single 'Walk On' was written as a tribute to Aung San Suu Kyi, while she was under house arrest. Following her recent release, the song required recontextualising. U2 achieves this by playing, as a prelude, the prayerful 'Scarlet', with a spoken-word tribute to Suu Kyi from Bono. Bono then rededicates 'Walk On' to those who continue to suffer for the cause of freedom in Burma. This is an efficient way to include a popular single in the setlist without allowing its significance to diminish.
Stirring stuff, but, still, a far cry from the rawness of U2 past. Of Bono roaring 'Fuck the revolution!' during a performance of 'Sunday Bloody Sunday' on the night of an IRA massacre at Enniskillen. Or, during the Rattle and Hum version of Pride, declaring, simply: 'For the Reverend Martin Luther King: Sing.'
Similarly, at U2360, the most affecting moments are those free of stagecraft. Bono, a self-confessed egomaniac, is visibly humbled as the crowd continues to sing songs' refrains after the band has subsided. During the gospel song 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For' he holds the microphone aloof and lets the crowd carry the verses; nowhere outside a church (and perhaps rarely there) would you find so many voices declaring in unison: 'I believe in the kingdom come.'
In fact the venue at times seems more like a church than a sports-stadium-cum-concert-hall. Amid Bono's prayerful appeals for peace and compassion, the worshipful dimensions of 'Elevation' ('You make me feel like I can fly so high!'), 'Mysterious Ways' (read: 'She moves in ...') and 'Magnificent' (I was born to sing for you/I didn't have a choice but to lift you up') seem more profound. So, too, does the tragedy of 'Until the End of the World', a reimagining of The Last Supper with Bono cast as a cheeky, tortured Judas ('In the garden I was playing the tart/I kissed your lips and broke your heart').
Later, the numinous is made manifest by the elated guitar licks of 'City of Blinding Lights'. The halo descends in a honeycomb of colourful strobes as Bono yowls 'Oh! You! Look! So! Beautiful!' This sublime moment is matched only by an ethereal rendition of 'Ultraviolet'; Bono, like some repentant demon pincushioned by red lasers and wispy smoke, implores: 'Baby, baby, baby, light my way!'
I have written before about the moment in music when God shows up. Arguably, U2 fans know that moment better than anyone.
Tim Kroenert is Assistant Editor of Eureka Street. He is a contributor to Inside Film and The Big Issue magazines, and his articles and reviews have appeared in Melbourne's The Age and Brisbane's Courier-Mail.