IN THE BELLY OF A ROBOT

First: The Sphere is stupid. It is one of the dumbest fucking things in the world. It is a colossal display of our mind-numbingly unquenchable thirst for mentally bankrupt entertainment experiences, a vulgar monument to everything that is wrong with consumerist culture, and a hulking example of Las Vegas’ infatuation with garish displays of the mediocre. It’s gross.

Second: The Sphere is amazing. I’ve seen both U2 and Dead & Co. there and I’m not even a fan of either band, yet both were incredible, mostly because of the venue. The Sphere is an astounding triumph of architecture and technology, and if you’re not absolutely flabbergasted by the experience, then you’re dead inside. Or you have a rash. Or something.

Third: The Sphere is shiny, new, and cutting edge, but the artists who are performing inside are decidedly not. They are old. Very old. U2? Dead & Co.? The Eagles? Even Phish formed in 1983 and the lead guy is 60 years old. It made us wonder if the Sphere isn’t some sort of rock ’n’ roll reliquary, a domed catacomb of cacophony, or an elaborate burial mound for the ancient gods of rock.

I have a lot of respect for both U2 and the Dead (saw them at Shoreline Amphitheatre in ’93 when Jerry was still alive), but neither are my favorites. Both are guilty of shitting the bed at least a couple times in their careers. Which is expected: Much like life, you can’t go through it without shitting the bed a couple times. But despite my tepid interest in their music, both bands put on remarkable shows.

U2’s stage was a delightfully minimal, black, circular platter in the middle of a square platform that resembled a turntable (it was modeled after Brian Eno’s Turntable). It was sparsely outfitted with a drum kit, a keyboard, a couple of microphones, and six spotlights on poles. Bono, the Edge, and Adam Clayton were out there dancing around (known as a jig in Irish) in their leather jackets and sunglasses, looking cool as shit, but in a reserved and mature manner. Their drummer, Larry Mullen Jr., was on the injured reserved list—some guy named Bram sat in for him. They played a few hits, but the majority of their set was dedicated to their 1991 album, Achtung Baby, a recording I simply don’t care about.

While U2 went with an austere, contemporary design for their stage, the Dead’s stage setup was the Dead’s traditional stage setup: a rectangle with two drummers in back flanked by keyboardists, guitarists in a line across the front, a tangle of cords and pedals, an arsenal of instruments, keyboards, amps, gongs, all operated by a small army of musicians and personnel performing on Turkish rugs. The Dead also played a set that was mostly unfamiliar to me. My wife, who is more familiar with their catalog, later said, “Some obscure songs in that set.” And those obscure songs also tended to be rather slow. That’s per Bob Weir’s direction; he likes the slow shit. The tempo under Bob’s leadership is so slow that they’ve earned the nickname Dead & Slow.

While U2 did their U2 things—the Edge palm-muted his slap-back chicka-chicka-chicka guitar and Bono spun around like a lil’ Irish rock star—the Dead were slightly more interesting, and by interesting I mean amusing. For instance, John Mayer was basically buttfucking his guitar the whole show, and always with an orgasm face—he does an excellent Jerry impersonation with his own added flair, but the orgasm face was a bit much. And old Bob was dressed just like Bilbo Baggins: He had a vest over a white tunic, knickers that went just below his knees, and action sandals that gave the impression he had fur on the top of his feet like a hobbit.

I’m exaggerating, but it doesn’t matter what artist performs, it’s the Sphere you’re there to see. I plan to put this theory to the test when I go to see the next resident, the Eagles. I have a soft spot for U2 and the Dead, but I loathe the Eagles. I suspect that I might actually be able to listen to one more rendition of “Hotel California” if it’s in the Sphere. It’s a difficult experience to describe, but it is a very weird fucking space and it feels very fucking weird to be in it. At times I couldn’t help thinking about that scene at the end of the movie Brazil when Jonathan Pryce is on a platform in the center of an immense, empty power plant and about to be tortured by Michael Palin disguised as a sinister doctor/Buddha/doll. There’s something alien and otherworldly about the Sphere—it is, after all, the largest spherical structure any human, including you, will ever enter. At least until they build a bigger one in Abu Dhabi, or South Korea (London is now off the table), or wherever.

Dead drummer Mickey Hart likened the experience of playing the Sphere to “being in the belly of a giant robot, and a very smart one.” I would also add “a very cool robot" because that robot’s stomach had some cool shit playing on the inside of it. Or perhaps a very sick robot? I’m not a mechanic or a doctor, but the psychedelic diarrhea that gurgled across its stomach walls when Dead & Co. played did not look like a healthy robot gut.

The visual components to U2’s performance were cool, aloof, and artsy. Highlights included a lot of huge panoramic desert shots (you’ve surely seen the one with the white smoke “surrender” flag). There were some hometown shout-outs to downtown Las Vegas for “Where the Streets Have No Name”; a kaleidoscopic Escher sky filled with interlocking moths, birds, snakes, etc.; and a cube with walls covered in flickering digital code—I have no idea what kind of math is required to make a concave surface appear to be the inside of a cube, but I’m guessing it’s a very difficult kind of math. I thought we were going to be crushed like Luke Skywalker in the trash compactor.

U2 have always been a very visual band, but they can’t hold a candle to the iconic psychedelic imagery that accompanied the Dead, which I’m not even going to try to describe other than to simply say: trippy, hella trippy. It was exactly what you would expect and then some. The show began at the Dead’s first house on Haight-Ashbury, then we blasted off into space, psychedelic adventures ensued, bears danced across the sky, a skeleton got surly on a chopper, and then we all returned to San Francisco at the end of the show.

“Wait,” I laughed, “the Grateful Dead have to choreograph their diarrhea-finger jams?” when I realized that the music was timed to the video. Grateful Dead songs are notorious for being borderless, so it was interesting to see how they dealt with “the end of a song,” an aspect of music they seem entirely unfamiliar with.

Here’s a tip on where to sit: Traditionally you want to be closer to the stage, right? Not at the Sphere. The farther away the better. When we were on the lower deck, the upper deck cut off our view of a lot of the screen. I recommend the middle of the second or third balconies. The sound is great, it’s aimed at every seat, and you don’t need to see those old geezers doing their silly old geezer dances.

One thing I found refreshing about the venue were the refreshments. I don’t know if I just lucked out, but over the course of two sold-out shows getting drinks was never a problem. No lines.

“Which fans are worse to serve,” I asked a bartender in the middle of the Dead show, “Deadheads or U2 fans?”

“Oh, you guys are way better," the bartender said, laughing.

“I’m not a Deadhead,” I said, correcting him.

“The U2 fans were cool for the most part,” he continued, “but you guys are way more fun.”

“I’m not one of ‘you guys,”' I repeated. I was starting to get offended. I wasn’t even wearing a tie-dye.

“It’s been great serving you guys.” Grrrr.

I was surprised because I thought the U2 fans were slightly “better" if only because they weren’t all wearing tie-dyes. I had considered wearing a Dead shirt to the show, you know, to get in the spirit of it and everything, but I’m glad I didn’t because I’m pretty sure I was the only person not wearing one. I thought one tie-dye shirt was okay, but after seeing 18,000 people wearing them I’m reassessing my position.

Another tip: Before the show go enjoy drinks and dinner at Bouchon, Thomas Keller’s French bistro at the Venetian. It’s just a “short” walk through the air-conditioned Venetian to the Sphere’s underground entrance, and no reservations are required at the bar. During our visits to Bouchon, U2 fans were the better behaved; the Deadheads who descended on the bar possessed a peculiar privileged and entitled disposition. A curious posture to assume when dressed in tie-dye.

There were, for instance, a pair of seats at the bar that the staff had reserved for an unknown VIP couple soon to arrive, but nothing could deter every Deadhead who walked in to try and sit in them. The bartenders had to continually shoo them away. “Sorry, those seats are reserved.” They eventually put “RESERVED" signs on them. Apparently Deadheads can't read because they still took the seats. The bartenders tried putting silverware and drinks out as if to say, “OCCUPIED.” Nope, apparently Deadheads don’t give a shit if a seat is occupied (share the wine, share the women?). As a last resort a bartender turned the chairs upside down on the bar and even then a female member of the species boldly took them down and had a seat. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but those seats are reserved." She wasn’t having it and it took a few minutes to convince her she couldn’t sit there.

The Dead & Co. experience was even more surreal due to all the hippies lining the Venetian’s air-conditioned corridors leaning against conference rooms pleading for a miracle. I asked every resident of Shakedown Street I encountered if I could take their picture and they all cheerfully acquiesced. “Thank you,” I’d say, “hope you find your way into the show.” They all had the same response: “I’ll see you in there, brother.”

I thought Deadheads were peace-loving hippies, but I think as they grow older they devolve into something similar to a Bible-thumping Christian: a person who likes to pretend they’re nice, but is really horrible on the inside. Maybe they had robot tummy aches?

Who’s next? Before you answer, first consider that all the major artists thus far—U2, Dead, Eagles—are represented by the same manager: longtime music industry insider and former Ticketmaster CEO Irving Azoff. He’s had a relationship with the Sphere’s owners, MSG Entertainment, for many years, so it wouldn’t be surprising if it’s one of his acts. In fact, our waiter at the Golden Steer Steakhouse told us that Bon Jovi, an Azoff client, were going to be the next act, but the Jersey hair bears ultimately refused the gig.

“I heard they’s also been talkin’ to Beyoncé,” our reliable waiter said with a thick Mafia accent as he prepared our bananas Foster tableside. Beyoncé is not repped by Azoff, but it’s not a bad bet otherwise.

It's a fun question because there are a lot of factors involved. Filling 18,000 seats for a residency requires an artist with a significant following. There’s also the matter of, does the band have enough visual history to fill that space for a whole show? Pink Floyd and Radiohead would be obvious choices, but they’re no longer together. Then again, the Sphere is nothing if not a giant cash grab, and I’m sure any of these cocksuckers would abandon their principles and get back together if the price is right.

RACE#5 The 2025 Sphere Residency Cup

Who's going to win the race to the next Sphere residency in 2025? The CREEM bookies are showing Beyoncé as the current favorite, but we could easily see Journey, or even a long shot like Steely Dan (both Azoff clients), coming in first.

1 Beyoncé 7-5

2 Metallica 2-1

3 Rolling Stones 5-2

4 Bruce Springsteen 4-1

5 Madonna 9-2

6 Guns N’ Roses 5-1

7 Green Day 6-1

8 Red Hot Chili Peppers 9-1

9 AC/DC 10-1

10 Journey 12-1

11 Bon Jovi 15-1

12 Aerosmith 20-1

13 Coldplay 25-1

14 Iron Maiden 30-1

15 Foo Fighters 33-1

16 Depeche Mode 40-1

17 Slayer 50-1

18 Steely Dan 80-1

19 Neil Diamond 100-1

20 Insane Clown Posse 200-1