If you had told me that Jason Gay and the WSJ would win who wore it better against Charlie Warzel and The Atlantic, I would never have believed you.
No matter where you sit, a walk into Sphere is a stunner: a spare stage centered at the bottom, and a screen with 16K resolution launching heavenward like the side of a reactor. It’s so vast it’s impossible to absorb all at once. New buildings often claim unprecedented features, usually nonsense, but Sphere’s Wonka interior made me giggle. I felt inside a wonder: the biggest, most immersive planetarium-slash-TV on earth. As a middle-aged male, I was immediately seized by a desire to watch “Monday Night Football” and the entire third season of “Succession.”
Instead: U2. A sturdy if careful choice, the Irish act closing in on 50 years together, its original membership uniformly sexagenarian. Not the hottest of the hot, but certainly famous. You know who they are, you know some of their names (Bono! Edge!) and you definitely know a few of their hits, which they play around a two-hour-plus set anchored by their gritty, lively 1991 album, Achtung Baby. No strangers to stadium rock, they know the assignment here, which is, in effect, opening for a waterfall of weapons-grade technology.