Their music is entirely predictable – panoramic pomp rock – devilish disco – the odd spot of gospel.
The thrill is almost entirely in the show – a technological marvel that fills the O2 with war footage – brain scans – clacker board soundbites (‘Ambition bites the nails of art’ ‘Taste is the enemy of art’ ‘Watch more TV’) and during one interval a five-minute U2 comic book animation.
But this seems a little scattershot in the wake of Muse’s similarly arena-strafing – but far more coherent – Drones tour.
There is a loose narrative to the night: a potted history of U2.
As the band emerge from the screen onto a fixed stage Bono yells ‘we’re U2 and this is our new song!’ and they launch into 1980’s quasi-punk ‘I Will Follow’ – stripped to its raw bones and standing righteously on its own two feet.
If Bono wasn’t doing his stature enhancing leaning-into-the-wind pose like a billionaire Marcel Marceau – we could be back in a Dublin club basement in 1979.