They go big, I stay home.

By all accounts, the 40 thousand people holding tickets to U2's sold out shows this weekend are the lucky ones. I even briefly considered trying to join them. As local newspapers hyped the February 5th ticket offering, I thought, "U2! In Vancouver! Why not?" and wrote the date in my calendar.

It seemed the recipe for a great concert: Bono and the boys are passionate showmen. I know all their music. And, they're one of the handful of acts to whom the overused "Biggest Band In The World" title might actually apply.

But instead, I let the 480 seconds it took for the first show to sell out just slip away. They added a second show, and I passed that one up too. But I don't regret it. In fact, I'll be happy if I never sit in a stadium again, having to alternate my gaze between an ant-sized rock star and his Jumbotron doppelganger.

From now on, when they go big, I'm staying home.

Better than the Real Thing?

I have gone to big concerts, and tried to make the best. I remember the excitement before my first -- and, I'll say, last -- U2 show. I was 18, and left my university exams behind to catch a bus to Seattle for the band's 1997 Popmart tour. It seems most people my age have a fanatical U2 disciple in their lives, and mine had scored an extra ticket. The seats weren't great -- in the stands, pretty far stage left. But moochers can't be choosers, and hey, I'd be sharing an evening's worth of oxygen with U2.

Seven years later, what I remember is expecting a burst of joy when the band stepped on stage, but getting an emotional flat-line instead. I remember borrowing my friend's binoculars to catch a better glimpse of the band -- I mean it was U! 2! Right! There! -- and then handing them back to continue squinting. I remember being struck by how, even though I'd paid for a ticket and hauled myself across an international border, the best view I had was still on a (giant) TV screen.

And when it was all over, I remember herding out of the stadium down a winding concrete ramp, hearing "Wasn't that awesome?" In the afterglow, there's only one right answer to this: "Totally…." I think I faked it.

That's problem number one with big concerts. You invest so much -- between $50 and $165 for tickets to last night and tonight's show for example, plus service charges, energy and anticipation -- that you need a big return to break even. If you don't love the show, it feels like a failure.

Some Shows are Better than Others

After a few more big shows -- most notably, the definitely-not-a-Woodstock-for-my-generation Toronto Rocks concert with the Rolling Stones -- my willingness to go through that all again started waning.

Maybe I'm just getting old. This seems a little premature -- after all, U2 has been a band longer than I've been alive. But hear my complaints: there are too many people, I get tired of standing but you can't see sitting down, the sound bounces off the walls funny, and it's so loud my head hurts. I could be channeling Grandpa Simpson.

That's certainly what I thought about the grumpy adults sitting near my friends and me at the Popmart show. Most of the crowd was up and dancing, so I could gauge the age of fellow-concert goers by which songs they sat out. Anything off the then-recent album, Pop, and twenty-somethings grumbled, "They lost it after Achtung Baby." And even songs from that album would put the 30-plus crowd in their seats, whining, "Why don't they just re-release Joshua Tree?!"

I'll admit it's possible I've become "When will they play 'Lemon'?" has-been. But maybe I just know what I like.

At 25, I'm a little less star-struck, and a lot more intolerant of big crowds and bad acoustics. I can see a shift in how my friends and I make concert plans. Before, it was who and how much: do I like the band's music, and am I willing to pay the asking? Now, the where is just as important. Is the venue big or small? How's the sound? General or assigned seating? Dance floor or chairs?

The music and money still matter, but in a different way. The best show I've been to all year cost $6, was in a small-town nightclub that only fits a few hundred people, and started two hours late. But I didn't mind missing the late set of Po' Girl, the Vancouver trio I was there to see, because I was so blown away by their opening act, a local band I'd never heard of called Panurge.

With cheap tickets, a small club and an unknown band, the night met all my new criteria for a good show. See, hearing music I know and like isn't enough anymore. I want an unusual cover song, a little striptease (à la ACDC guitarist Angus Young), or at least some banter. Even in good venues like the Commodore or Orpheum, the music won't sound better than it does in my headphones. At the risk of sounding lazy, I need some other reason to go.

Finding What I'm Looking For

And maybe that's just it -- maybe I'm looking for something in live music that a monstrous show can't deliver.

Consider the roots of the modern-day rock tour -- our ancestors singing around the fire, or a minstrel traveling from town to town. Back then, the show had an obvious utility: it let us hear music. Now, most of us can do that anytime -- with our chosen volume, location, and play-list. We can download vast folders of mp3s from free, anonymous sources. The music we have. The connection is what's missing.

That's what a good concert offers fans -- a connection to their idols, and to other people who like the same sounds. Some U2-philes might find that tonight. (Some certainly did at the video shoot Wednesday.) The concert-goers will be surrounded by tens of thousands of others who love the band. They can rest easy knowing that, for three hours, they shared a dark and cavernous space with greatness. And, as someone who's been there, I know that being able to say you've Been There does feel good.

But now, for me, I've done that. So I'll take my six bucks and seek musical fulfillment somewhere else.

Lisa Johnson would gladly reconsider upon receipt of a spare ticket to front-row centre. She currently reports for CBC Radio in Nelson.