Stuck in these moments with U2

The sensory overload that was U2's 360° Tour at TCF Bank Stadium on Saturday left us with some lasting impressions of what was one of the more memorable rock concerts in Twin Cities history.

Singin' in the rain: Bono has been compared to Dylan, Springsteen, the Pope. Add Gene Kelly to the list. Toting a U.S. flag umbrella, he relished singing in the rain. He and the Edge, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen Jr. were undaunted by the downpour, which gave the nearly 60,000 soaked fans a glorious feeling.

"Hold Me" thrills: The rather forgettable song "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me" at the start of the second encore was brightened by the night's most mesmerizing visual stunt. A lit steering wheel with a microphone in the middle hung from the rafters, to which Bono attached himself for several swings over the crowd while wearing a matching, Tron-like suit adorned with red lasers.

The stars are falling from the sky: U2 is always cutting-edge with its video work. This tour's 360-degree cylindrical video screen -- which expanded and contracted like an accordion -- not only gave riveting live closeups but mesmerizing artsy visuals. The show felt like part planetarium, part space oddity, part religious experience.

"Streets" smart: Whatever the visual gimmickry, wherever the show, "Where the Streets Have No Name" is always the song that delivers on purely musical/visceral energy. That was proven again at the end of the first encore Saturday as the massive crowd was lit up singing along to every word.

A moment that sticks: The other pure-music moment was the acoustic "Stuck in a Moment That You Can't Get Out Of," which Bono dedicated to Amy Winehouse. It was just two voices and one acoustic guitar, holding the rapt attention of 60,000 in a rainy stadium.

The traffic is stuck: The roads weren't too bad before the show, but the mass exodus afterward led to major congestion. Concertgoers complained of two-hour waits for shuttle buses to the main off-site parking area (near the State Fairgrounds); one trio of fans had to walk to the West Bank to find a cab to take them to downtown Minneapolis. Those parked on campus were lucky to get out in an hour. U and city officials will have to do better next time.

• Jon Bream and Chris Riemenschneider

The case of the missing pub

In early 2010, Ahern's Irish Pub appeared to have everything going for it. Located just a block from Target Field, it would open with a built-in audience. The supersized pub had plans for a Victorian Irish interior and a rooftop garden. But as summer ended, work stopped at the 14,000-square-foot pub. Ahern's has sat half-finished ever since, and rumors of its demise persist.

Last week, Ahern's owner Kelly Jaedike said it was too soon to write off the pub. "We're closer than we've ever been," she said.

So what's the holdup? Court records indicate that Ahern's story has been littered with financial entanglements. Until recently, Jaedike was operating the Melting Pot, a downtown Minneapolis restaurant that filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy in May. Her husband, Brian Jaedike, and brother, David Ahern, are listed as the owners. On Thursday, the Melting Pot's ownership team was removed from operating the business, which is nearly $1.15 million in debt.

Kelly Jaedike said the problems at the Melting Pot have nothing to do with the roadblocks at Ahern's. But bankruptcy documents seem to draw a link between the two businesses. In a deposition, David Ahern admitted that the Melting Pot's financial resources were used to pay rent at Ahern's, as well as personal car and house payments.

Last week, Jaedike touted a new partnership with a new investor. She said her team could begin working on the space in the next month, and that her brother and husband are no longer involved. She wants to open this fall, before the holiday season. "I'm very confident," Jaedike said.

She's come this far. But time seems to be running out.

• Tom Horgen

Remembering Amy Winehouse

Like Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, Amy Winehouse died at age 27. Too young, too much substance abuse, too much talent wasted.

That she was found dead Saturday in her London home came as no surprise. She has battled drugs and alcohol for a long time in a very public way. Her hit song "Rehab" was too true.

Fans went to Winehouse's concerts partly for her soul-stirring voice and partly to watch for the potential train wreck. She'd been known to stumble, vomit and curse at the audience -- as well as cut her shows short.

Booze seemed to be as much part of her act as it was for Dean Martin or Ryan Adams, but when Winehouse came to Minneapolis in 2007, her performance at the sold-out Varsity Theater was more triumph than train wreck. Her set was too brief (45 minutes) but a curiously addicting exploration of fresh-faced retro R&B.

The tiny woman with a big black beehive hairdo and sailor-like tattoos dropped a couple of f-bombs, started, stopped and restarted "Rehab," and danced loosey-goosey but out of sync with the smooth steps of her backup singers. However, her Southern Comfort soul cut deep. You could feel the pain of the words she delivered with her lazy, often lingering, completely intoxicating voice.

I interviewed Winehouse by phone before the 2007 concert. The interview was scheduled and then canceled on four different days. On the fifth try, she was at a photo shoot for a music magazine and chatted briefly. She seemed distracted but gave thoughtful answers.

When asked about the downbeat tone of her lyrics, Winehouse said, "I'm a positive, happy person, generally. The songs I've written are about some bad times in my life. I needed to make something good out of something bad."

• Jon Bream

'Mad Men' sighting

Rich Sommer of the "Mad Men" cast spent last weekend in Minneapolis. He attended opening night of "Obama Mia!" at the Brave New Workshop, then showed up for the Gilda's Club charity golf tournament on Monday. Sommer, a Workshop alum, auctioned a pilot script from "Mad Men" signed by the entire cast. "He even offered to drive it personally to someone's home or office," said Jenni Lilledahl, a co-worker of the Workshop at a sponsor of the Gilda's Club event. It sold for $3,500. Lilledahl said that when her sister had cancer in the summer of 1998, Sommer -- then an intern -- "was very helpful." Gilda's Club is named for "Saturday Night Live" actor Gilda Radner, who died of ovarian cancer. Lilledahl said the local event -- which included many other alumni -- is aimed at establishing a Twin Cities location for Gilda's Club.

• Graydon Royce