I'm still curious about why U2 came to Baltimore. Maybe the band saw the Dublin of 20 years ago in our Baltimore. Impoverished. Religious. Washington D.C. and London, both stealing the spotlight. The struggle for identity. Our James Joyce is Cal Ripken. The Irish "r's" and the Baltimore "o's" both disrupt the English language in a charming, yet annoying way. The philosophy of procrastination - don't put off tomorrow what you can put off the day after - as the denizens of both city's streets will confirm. Our common yoke: the vulnerable and uncertain future that's left behind when the jackboot of empire is finally retreated.
Maybe that's why their hearts were so impassioned this past Friday, Oct. 19, at the Baltimore Arena. Maybe driving up South Howard Street to see fans like myself waiting outside the arena hour upon hour still made their hearts tingle. Or maybe it was that one man they saw out their window with that strange walk and interesting (to say the least) Vietnam vet glare that sent their hearts abuzz.
But what made us in attendance shudder? Had we seen a bird with a leaf in her mouth? Had we kissed honey lips? Could we believe the news that day? Maybe it was Bono's Elvis-like gyrations during "Elevation" as he called for us to yell back at him. Maybe it was the Edge's strut, his weapon, his Les Paul hanging off him like a rifle, locked, cocked and ready to fire his textured, anthem-like chords. Maybe it was the Cheshire cat smile of bassist Adam Clayton seducing us. Finally, it might have been the fact that percussionist Larry Mullen Jr. had not buttoned his shirt.
Dreams. Maybe it was about how I felt after waiting nine hours in line to be the last one allowed in the heart, allowing me to be a mere five feet away from the Irish rockers. Ask the 20-something guy from south Virginia whom Bono pulled on stage, providing an acoustic guitar and allowing to strum the legendary G, D, A minor 7th chords to "Knocking on Heaven's Door." Maybe it's how we all felt when Bono put on his youthful voice and introduced "Out of Control."
"Hi, our band is called U2, and we'd like to play our first single for you. We hope you like it."
U2 mended our hearts, lifted our dreams and highlighted our emotions. Bono's wrenching scream at the opening of "Where the Streets Have No Name" resounded in our souls. The video clip of Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. during the song "Pride" addressed the issue of unity among races, something being tried due to the recent events.
Emotion. The country, no, the world, has changed in a little more than a month. "Come September the streets capsized, the glass shards yelling through the velvet sky," Bono sang during "Please." U2 paid tribute, honor and remembrance to the victims of Sept. 11. During a beautiful, enduring version of "One," the names of the crew and passengers of the four airlines that perished on Sept. 11th were scanned on a blue screen.
During previous legs of the tour, the band performed the song "New York" while four large paper-thin screens towered from the rafters. These gray screens symbolized the skyscrapers of New York. On this third leg, only two of the four screens lowered, obviously acting as the two fallen World Trade Center towers. Yet, at the end of the song, those "towers," instead of falling, rose up to the heavens. Like Bono said, "In New York, you can forget, forget how to sit still. But in New York, you can't break the city's will." Even a simple exchange of the Islamic introduction to "Bullet the Blue Sky" with the Gospel introduction for the encore showed how U2's songs reshape their meanings throughout time and how it triggers within you without having to be told.
So, it was a beautiful day and we were all stuck in moments we wish we could experience again, and yes, our souls were elevated and our minds were educated. But U2 showed us more than a good couple hours of rock music. U2 showed how music is our hope, how rhythms and rhymes create memories that coat our hearts like icing does cake: sweetly, softly and delicately.
