U2's Elevation tour, which played in excess of 100 sold-out nights to more than 2 million people in 2001, also took on a completely different feel after Sept. 11. "There was anger, rage, patriotism, sadness," says Mullen Jr. "Everything became frighteningly extreme." In recognition of the tragedy, U2 began projecting the names of fallen members of the New York City police and fire departments and the victims of the four fatal flights on screens and arena walls while they played One. "I have to say I wasn't sure about it at first," says bassist Adam Clayton. "It seemed like we were really pushing a button. But Bono is a pretty unique individual, and he's got great judgment. He's able to perform open-heart surgery and zap people with a bit of brain surgery at the same time."

U2 incorporated the names into their half-time set at the Super Bowl (projecting them during the songs MLK and Where the Streets Have No Name). It was not a political statement, just an emotional one. By design, it said nothing in particular and yet somehow conveyed something profound. It was exactly the kind of soaring, impossible moment Bono believes U2 exists to achieve. Wandering around New Orleans after the game, Bono relived each of the set's 11 minutes in something close to real time. "I hope it played well on television, because it felt—ah!—it felt just amazing."

The buzz of impossible moments is what rock stars live for, but it's impractical for a political advocate. Two weeks after the Super Bowl performance, Bono is in Los Angeles to accept a $100,000 donation from the Entertainment Industry Foundation for DATA. He calls a meeting on the porch of his suite at the Chateau Marmont with Michael Stipe, Quincy Jones, Bobby Shriver (the record-producing and fund-raising son of Sargent and Eunice Kennedy Shriver) and Jamie Drummond, DATA's director. It's a new-ideas meeting, and Bono hopes to tap some of the music industry's sharpest philanthropic minds to raise public awareness for DATA's core issues. "Don't send money. You already have," announces Stipe, trying out copy for a debt-relief mass-mailing postcard. The room loves it.

While Stipe scribbles away, Jones wonders aloud which part of the DATA Agenda—dropping the debt, making trade rules more advantageous for poor countries or getting more funding for AIDS drugs and health care—Bono wants the world to focus on. "I think you've got too many issues. That's how we blew it before," says Jones, who raised money for famine relief in 1985 as part of USA for Africa. "Americans don't know about f___ing Philadelphia, let alone Africa. Trade is some very sophisticated politics. You have to particularize the drama for them. You've got to have a melody line."

Bono's not so sure.

The meeting breaks up when Bono leaves for a photo shoot. Driving across Los Angeles, he discusses Jones' notion of a melody line. "What we're all on about is: Africa. Seventy percent of the problem of HIV/AIDS is in Africa. We're talking about the continent bursting into flames while we stand around with watering cans. That's our one idea. But the closer you get to the policymakers, you need specificity, and you need to know what you're talking about. I'd go in and talk about debt relief, debt relief, debt relief, and people would say, 'But that's only part of the picture here.'"

At 41, Bono says, he has given up on music as a political force. He believes his work negotiating in political back rooms is more vital and effective than singing in sold-out stadiums. "Poetry makes nothing happen," the poet W.H. Auden once wrote, and Bono wistfully agrees. "I'm tired of dreaming. I'm into doing at the moment. It's, like, let's only have goals that we can go after. U2 is about the impossible. Politics is the art of the possible. They're very different, and I'm resigned to that now. Music's the thing that stopped me from falling asleep in the comfort of my freedom. I learned about South America from listening to the Clash. I learned about Situationism from the Sex Pistols. But that's a long way from budget caps and dealing with a Congress that is suspicious of aid because it has been so misused."

Music does make a difference in one way; it sways people emotionally. But for Bono that is no longer enough: "When you sing, you make people vulnerable to change in their lives. You make yourself vulnerable to change in your life. But in the end, you've got to become the change you want to see in the world. I'm actually not a very good example of that—I'm too selfish, and the right to be ridiculous is something I hold too dear—but still, I know it's true."

With Reporting by Benjamin Nugent/New York

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