U2 at the Sphere

Count me among the dubious when my favorite band decided to return to the stage at a new arena called The Sphere in Las Vegas. I must confess to some personal bias here: I hate Las Vegas. I mean HATE HATE. I hate the noise, the kitsch, the casinos (and every business is, in one way or another, a casino–including the airport), and pretty much everything about it.

If you remember the Godzilla movie from 2014, starring Bryan Cranston and a bunch of other fine actors who but for the paycheck might have rather been anyone else (side note: why is it so damn hard for Hollywood to make a decent big lizard movie?), the only part of that film I enjoyed was when ‘Zilla laid waste to Sin City. But I digress. 

There was also the not so insignificant matter of U2’s drummer (Larry Mullen Jr.)—the person who actually started the band—not being able to take part due to a back injury. Then I thought about it and decided that perhaps fans who protested the idea of U2 without Larry (if only temporarily) were being far too precious by half (if not more). While U2 fans can feel so close to the band and their music, it’s important to remember that the band, their music, and their decisions do not belong to us. Not only that, if any band has earned the benefit of the doubt from their hardest of hardcore fans, it’s this one. 

Like so many artists, COVID either disappeared or greatly delayed the plans of the band. When the restrictions finally lifted, U2 decided to reintroduce themselves in a big way (such is the band’s style), by looking back. First there was a double album reimagining their earlier work that received a modest, if relatively polite, response. Then there was Bono and the Edge’s Terrific Disney special with David Letterman on Disney+, A Sort of Homecoming. 

But these two worthy endeavors were just precursors to the band opening up (and holding down a residency) in Las Vegas at the incredibly high-tech new arena The Sphere. Doubts were in abundance about the location, the venue, and that missing band member. 

Early reviews of the show (built around a full performance of their classic album, Achtung Baby) quickly dismissed those concerns. The band, with Bram van den Berg sitting in on drums, was found to be in fine form, and the visual effects produced by the Sphere were described as eye-popping to view and, perhaps more importantly, enhancing to the music. U2 has always been a band with a huge sound and has become one of the touchstones in the history of popular music. As it turns out, the pre-show critics and negative-leaning fans were swept away by those who had actually seen the show in person. 

As videos began to circulate on YouTube and other outlets, the cynics were largely quelled, if not entirely chastened. Still, there’s something about seeing a thing for yourself that hammers home reality, even when other evidence is in abundance. 

And that’s what I did on January 26, 2024–I saw for myself. To try to put into words what it was like to see U2 at the Sphere is no mean feat, but I’m going to try. 

As you arrive at the Sphere, you quickly take note of the aptly named globe-like arena. But it’s not just the unique shape that’s so eye-catching, it’s the visuals projecting out from its surface. A small child’s face moves across the orb, the band’s name follows around as the images change and make room for new eye candy. It’s more than a little impressive, and that’s before walk inside. 

Once you break the threshold of the Sphere, you see a highly-organized venue which feels a bit smaller than you’d think, but is far less confusing than so many other arenas that seem to be designed to befuddle their patrons. As you walk about, you can hear deconstructed, almost ambient versions of U2’s music—a quality and unique mood setter. I don’t know whether to give the credit to the arena or the band, but the merch was surprisingly reasonable by concert standards. After picking up a shirt (hey, gotta prove I was there), I easily made my way to my section. The seating area is set on a steepish incline that reduces your distance from the stage and the opposite side of the arena.

It was hard to grasp how the back walls and the ceiling were going to produce the images I had seen online. The industrial-looking metal panels that surround the interior of the building have a rustic, amber, almost ship’s hull look to them. As your eyes rise up, you see a massive hole (well, it looks like a hole) that is almost reminiscent of the Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre in London. 

All very striking to be sure, but how does the arena work for its intended visual extravaganza? I did not learn that answer, but I surely discovered on the quick that whatever witchcraft was involved in the Sphere’s creation works, and it works like gangbusters.

From the first moment U2 takes the stage, beginning the show with the lead track from Achtung Baby, ‘Zoo Station,’ these metal panels perform some sort of alchemy, turning the whole arena into a kaleidoscope of visual invention. The background directly behind the stage becomes a sort of cross within which the band members take turns appearing. The blue, white, and silver tones are gorgeous, and the images are shockingly clear. 

Later during ‘Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses,’ confetti that looks like burning embers seems to drop from the sky, covering the band in a fashion so striking you almost want to reach out to catch it as it descends. 

Without writing a book, it’s impossible to catalog all of the visual bounty on display, but it’s worth noting some highlights. 

Like the brownish mural of insects and animals that suddenly turn to color just as Bono sings the line, “After the flood, all the colors came out” during ‘Beautiful Day.’ I sent a photo of the image to my wife whose jaw went slack and said, “It looks like the Sistine Chapel.” She is not wrong. 

During ‘Where The Streets Have No Name,’ the wall behind the band seems to disappear, replaced by a desert scene so clear that you would swear that if the band members walked off the back of the stage, they would be among the dust and mountains that serve as a stunning backdrop. 

People will have their own favorite moments (and who would I be to argue with anyone’s choice?), but for me, it was the dark oval-shaped object that sat behind the band while they played ‘With Or Without You’ in what looked like a vast ocean. As Bono approaches the song’s climax, the moment when words can no longer express the longing found in one of their greatest tracks, and let’s out a “Hooooo-oooo-oooo,” that oval begins to move and turns towards the audience, showcasing itself to be not an oval, but a sphere. Then an opening appears in the middle, revealing silvery inner workings that expand like a flower blooming, and as Bono hits the full-throated apex of his wail, it’s as if those inner workings of the sphere open up to surround and engulf you. At that moment, I heard a noise from the crowd that to refer to it as awe would be to speak in understatement. Me and the thousands in attendance gasped and exclaimed at the same time. I even saw some in the audience take a step back as if the image might truly engulf us. To put it simply, I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. 

It’s probably worth noting that just about anything could accompany these visuals and be impressive, but it’s hard not to think they didn’t matter more because they were married to the big, sweeping music of U2. Interestingly, this may be the most straightforward performance I’ve ever seen the band give (I’m nearing 20 shows now). Bono speechified less. Mixed in fewer songs by others (although their stripped down cover of Crowded House’s ‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’ was a lovely surprise), kept their set tight, and didn’t stretch out songs as much as they usually do. I have no way of knowing if the choice was intentional to just come out and play a full set to the best of their ability and tamp down on many of the extra attributes the band is known for, but I’m guessing they knew that the Sphere was plenty extra enough. If that was their intention, it was a wisely reached decision. 

That being said, whoever performs at the Sphere in the future is going to have a hard time matching the scope of the arena. One deeply wishes David Bowie were still alive to make an abstract visual playground of the venue. The mind reels at the possibilities of what the Spaceman might have done.

But what I can speak to is what U2 accomplished. At a time when they have dipped with critics, suffered at the hands of ageism, cynicism, and overt preciousness from those that claim to love them most, they have reminded us of why they are who they are: The biggest, best, and most unique band in the world. The Sphere could have overwhelmed this group of sexagenarians, but it didn’t. They were up to the task. Mighty as ever, and once again relevant as ever too. 

U2 at the Sphere is the stuff of legend, and they already were legends. They just exist on an even higher plane now. An astonishing thought considering how assured their place in history already is. As it turns out, the band who needed the expanse of the Sphere the least is probably going to be remembered for knowing how to use it best.