Here comes Lyie Lovett, the great Texas singer/songwriter who I

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have not seen since he made headlines earlier this summer by running off and marrying movie star Julia Roberts. He says his life has turned pretty strange: paparazzi now camp out outside motels where he stays on tour in case she shows up. While we're talking an MTV associate producer comes up to Lyie's manager—ignoring Lyie himself who is standing right there—and says, "Listen, I know Lyie doesn't want to do this, but if when he goes up to the podium he could say, Whew, a nipht without the old ball and chain, it'd get such a laugh!" The producer smiles anxiously and nods his head vigorously. " 'Cause it's an industry crowd. A nipht without the old ball and chain!" Lyle stares away tight-lipped while his manager says he'll think about it.

There is a great rustling in the hall as security guards start hustling out the riffraff (meaning people like Lovett and Buck) because Ma­donna is about to rehearse her number and she must have privacy. She pulled the same sort of peer-offending stunt at Live Aid, demanding that all the other artists turn their backs when she walked through. For a famous exhibitionist, she picks funny times to be shy. Anyhow, once the other musicians have been shooed out, Madonna and her female dancers come onto the stage to rehearse their number and they are—for all intents and purposes—naked. I mean, I guess if you got close enough there might be some sort of pasties on some of those nipples, and I suppose a gynecologist could detect a slip of fabric between those butt cheeks, but it would be a purely technical distinction. They are not half-naked or semi-nude. They are, save for a thread here and a feather there, bare. When the music starts they all jump around like Madonna does and Madonna struts around like Madonna struts, and lip-synchs to a prerecorded track and then stalks off back to her trailer like the bare-assed reincarnation of Leona Helmsley.

Ol' Tom Freston had to do the dirty duty with Don Henley at the inaugural: he ain't going near this one! It falls on MTV president Judy McGrath to go to Madonna's trailer and broach the delicate subject of the network's uneasiness with nude dancers on television. Judy is stopped in the first room of the trailer by Madonna's brother, who says she should talk to him. Sure, Judy says, calm as a judge, here's the question: we need to know if Madonna and her dancers are planning to dress like that during the performance tonight, because if they are we need to let the cameramen know to shoot only Madonna's face. That gets a rise out of the Isadora Duncan of Danceteria! Madonna's voice

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Comes from the back room like Medea with a rash saying she KNEW that would be MTV's reaction and YES they will wear clothes on the air. Judy says thank you to the disembodied voice and backs out of the trailer like Dorothy leaving the throne room of the great and powerful Oz.

The broadcast begins with Madonna and her dancers, dressed in modified tuxedos, doing their "Girlie Show" routine, which stripped of its nudity feels like the sort of Vegas number that used to open the Jackie Cleason Show. For all the credit she is given for being a step ahead of the trends, Madonna is starting to take on the aspect of a one-trick pony. When she appeared ten years ago, doing disco with provocative lyrics and great videos, Madonna seemed new and all the long-haired guitar bands seemed old. Now the wheel has spun the other way. If Madonna had come out tonight singing in front of a grunge band she might have stolen the show. But doing her variety number she just seems out-of-date, like one of those cabaret acts you used to have to sit through on TV before the Rolling Stones came on. One woman in the audience cries to her date, "She's still living in the 80s!"

Edge, by contrast, comes out looking like he's living in the 90s—the 2090s. He walks onstage in a blue military uniform, black shades, and beret. The whole band got these dress blues for the "Lemon" video; in fact, there are three little lemon insignias that declare Edge's high rank. He sits down in a chair facing the audience and intones "Numb" while TVs around him crackle with images and sound effects—including Bono's smirking face, which seems to be subliminally saying, "I'm watching this at home with my shoes off and you're stuck in Los Angeles, you sucker!" Edge finishes the song, the TVs go off, and he stands, turns, and walks offstage. It is a deliberately weird performance that goes over quite well. It is one more example of U2 distancing themselves from what the other bands are doing, and from what U2 is expected to do.

Neil Young joins Pearl Jam for a version of "Rockin' in the Free World" that runs overtime, wins the night's only standing ovation from the jaded industry crowd, and is—by wide acclaim—the high point of the show. (It is also the low point of the TV ratings.) Pearl Jam cleans up the awards portion of the evening, winning four trophies, including Video of the Year for "Jeremy." Eddie is not joking when he tells the audience that without music, he might have ended up like Jeremy in the

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video, shooting himself in front of the classroom. On a lighter note, he weighs MTV's moon-man trophy in his hand and observes, "It looks like Bono."

Bono is watching on his TV in Dublin, talking to Edge on the trailer phone. "What do you make of that?" he asks. Eddie is suddenly won­dering the same thing. Coming backstage Eddie worries that he might have hurt Bono's feelings. He finds Edge and apologizes, asking if he can have Bono's phone number so he can call and make amends and telling Edge to look into his eyes and know how sincere he is.

"I just hung up with Bono," Edge replies, deadpan. "And, Eddie, he was crying."

Eddie and Edge stare intently into each other's eyes for a few mo­ments—then they both start laughing.

MTV has hired out a big chunk of the Universal Studios lot for a postshow party. We go up there for a while, but it's too much. There are thousands of people and there are tents of food and a Roman circus atmosphere and ordinary people peering through the fences and legions of the famous and well-built pouring through the gates. Suzanne sum­mons a limo and Edge and his entourage fall in and head across town to a restaurant where R.E.M. (who were great on the show in their first public performance in a couple of years) is hosting a small party. It is much more pleasant. In the outer room there's Natalie Merchant, T-Bone Burnett and Sam Phillips, Lindsey Buckingham, and—here's a funny scene—Roseanna Arquette is intensely comparing notes with Sinead O'Connor while Peter Gabriel, who has dated both women, looks on nervously.

In the next room Edge secures a table at one side with some of the R.E.M. guys and such U2 familiars as Anton Corbijn (who is about to direct a Nirvana video) and Mark Pellington (one of the architects of Zoo TV, who won a video award tonight for directing Pearl Jam's Jeremy"). Across the room is a table that includes Krist and Dave from Nirvana, Tanya Donelly of Belly, and Kim Deal—now of the Breeders since the Pixies broke up in acrimony and recriminations after their stint opening for U2 on the first American leg of Zoo TV, a year and a half ago. Courtney Love comes in wearing a big smile and the same white Marilyn dress she had on this afternoon. She looks like a million bucks. She is leading by the hand her husband, Kurt Cobain, who looks like about a dollar and a half. He is staring at nothing with glassy eyes. He

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