This September, U2 start their long-awaited residency at the MSG Sphere in Las Vegas, a fully immersive visual and sonic experience that will — yet again — move the dial on live performance. More than a decade ago they reinvented the stadium experience with their 360 tour, while this new adventure is set to rival the Abba show for ingenuity. Unlike Abba Voyage, U2 will be performing in person, although you can easily imagine that in 40 or so years’ time, they will have been replaced by such sophisticated multi-D holograms that they will seem almost real.
Almost, but not quite. Which is why it’s important to enjoy U2 now, or indeed any of the extraordinary artists who currently populate the rock and pop ecosystem — and I’m not talking about Coldplay, Beyoncé or Ed Sheeran.
Why? Because the great narrative arc of post-war pop culture is ending, that’s why. Many stars of the Fifties are dead, while many of the entertainers of the Sixties are pushing 80.
Even big stars from the Seventies and Eighties are now grandparents, while the Britpop kings and queens of the Nineties have now reached the stage where they’re realising that they can further their careers by becoming touring acts once more. They have become cornerstones of contemporary pop culture in perpetuity, enshrined in the gilded Valhalla of counter-cultural entertainment.
Soon, all these acts will be able to tour forever, as technology is making it possible to reproduce everything — from the way they look, to the way they sing, via the way in which they respond to a crowd. Nine years ago, Musion Eyeliner technology made it possible to resurrect Tupac Shakur so that he could duet with headliner Snoop Dogg at the Coachella music festival in the Colorado desert, but soon you will be able to watch anyone play with everyone in perpetuity.
Want to watch Frank Sinatra play with Wet Leg? No problem. Taylor Swift with Freddie Mercury? Easy. We will be able to experience what it was like to see The Beatles perform for the very first time, or James Brown, or indeed the Sex Pistols.
There was a time when I avoided sweaty congregations of old punks — after a while they tended to look like anyone else still tethered to the rebellion of their youth, be they hippie, goth or goggled-eyed T-shirted raver — as the regurgitation of teenage attrition simply fed into the orthodoxy of retromania. However, in this country, the Dog Day Afternoon festival in Crystal Palace next Saturday might be the last time we see the likes of Iggy Pop, Blondie, the Buzzcocks, and parts of the Sex Pistols and Generation X tread the boards (or least what passes for a floor in Crystal Palace Park). Iggy is now 76, Debbie Harry is nearly 78, while the accumulated age of supergroup Generation Sex is 270.
That’s a hell of a lot of sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll. Don’t forget that every member of the Ramones — to my mind, the very best punk band — has been dead for more than a decade.
Dog Day Afternoon won’t be a nostalgia-fest either, as everyone on the bill has spent their careers shaking fists at “the man”, sneering into any random passing camera or smartphone and holding a nicotine-stained torch for the day-glo highlighter punk spirit.
Soon all the big stars will be able to tour forever as technology makes it possible to reproduce everything
Although I’m not a great fan of celebrating someone just because they’re not dead – I didn’t really buy into the recent media-wide celebration of Joni Mitchell’s decision to croak her way through some of her greatest hits at the Newport Folk Festival, nor will I ever willingly see Bob Dylan again – I enjoy those artists who can contextualise their legacy without resorting to ham, camp or jest.
Rod Stewart still plays it straight, as do Elton John and the Rolling Stones (who, it has to be said, are better now than they’ve ever been — and no doubt Keith Richards will outlive us all).
If you’re going down to Crystal Palace next weekend, the trick, I think, is to carefully work out what you’re going to wear. What with it being summer and all that, I’d avoid any black leather, studded belts, motorcycle boots or heavy torn jeans. Dyed black hair should be a no-no for men, as peroxide should be for women.
I would opt for a pair of judiciously edited shorts, some neon camo Birkenstocks and a T-shirt emblazoned with my favourite (okay, only) punk joke:
Q: How many punks does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: One, two, three, four!
