Music: Mysterious Ways

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Acceptance of that, however, ushered in a typical U2 mini-depression. The not-good-enough songs had taken a year to make, largely because the members of U2 long ago convinced themselves that they're unskilled musicians who, as the Edge says, must "wait for God to walk through the room" before they can write a good song. The humility is charming, but it also provides a convenient excuse for working slowly. "They operate in total chaos," says Lillywhite. "They work slowly, get frustrated and then hold these epic meetings to bemoan how slowly they're working and how frustrated they are. I love them, but sometimes they just need to put one foot in front of the other."

Knowing that a strong first single was U2's greatest concern, Lillywhite, 49, who has produced the band on and off since 1980, decided to re-record a promising track called Native Son. He set the group up in a Dublin warehouse to get a martial drum sound reminiscent of its early days and persuaded the Edge to "stop worrying about the fine line between White Stripes and Whitesnake"--or between art rock and arena rock--and just let loose. When the music started to smolder, Bono grabbed a microphone. "He was awful," says Lillywhite. "The song was all about gun control--an extension of his political beliefs. Bono doesn't try that kind of thing much anymore, but when he does, you can feel the ambivalence from the band, and so can he. They want the rock star." Native Son was rewritten, stripped of politics and retitled Vertigo. Gradually, it emerged as the most rousing--and ironically, seemingly effortless--opener of U2's career.

Despite Lillywhite's success with Vertigo, the process didn't get any easier. U2 continued to work in moments of epiphany followed by days of wallowing. The Edge obsessed over his guitar sound, Clayton and Mullen Jr. hung around to offer criticism, encouragement and rhythm, and Bono checked in via cell phone during breaks from his various attempts to save the world. "He really wasn't around a hell of a lot," says Lillywhite. Nevertheless, his lyrics were the only thing flowing with relative ease. "It's all done in the morning now," says Bono cheerfully. "I used to stay out late and try to walk the muse home. Now I get up fresh-faced at 7 a.m. and take advantage of her while she's passing out."

In another band, Bono's absences to lobby world leaders for African debt relief and AIDS assistance might have been corrosive, but while Mullen Jr. still refers to the singer as the "little fella" in moments of annoyance, those moments are increasingly rare. "Part of it is all of us being past 40," says Mullen Jr. "But the truth is, it's better for Bono not to be here. He gets frustrated and feels like he can be doing more important things, which I think he's proven is true." When he returns, the band is actually eager to talk politics. "I really didn't like the idea of him appearing in a photograph with George Bush," says the Edge. "Larry didn't like seeing him with [Vladimir] Putin. But Bono felt that in the end, even though he agreed on some level, the benefits [of such photo ops] far outweigh the negatives. We're always discussing it, but then we discuss everything."