Bono (33 page)

But it's never gonna be. I do all my business one day a week. And if I can't do it in one day, I don't want to do it. That's it. I'm doing this with my wife. So Ali does this. And the same with the Elevation Partners fund. I told them I've got one day a week for this.

Sorry for the cliché, but it's not very rock 'n' roll, is it?

I think there's a lot of baggage carried over from the sixties, that says a musician shouldn't be a businessman, because—hey, man!—you're supposed to be out there, man, just smoking the weed, putting your toes in the river, surrounded by a bunch of beautiful girls combing your hair as you watch the sun come up.

Don't tell me that stuff never happened to you.

I have to say it sounds better and better now that I think about it . . .

[laughs]

You're describing that with lots of gusto.

I did a lot of things when the sun came up in the mid-nineties. I can't think of anything better right now than having my hair washed. I loved the sixties. It was the renaissance of pop. But these are different times demanding different strategies. Look at hip-hop culture, those old biases against commerce just don't apply. It's sexy that Jay-Z has his clothing line, or Sean “P. Diddy” Combs. People like it. People want to see an entrepreneurial spirit. They don't want their stars to be out of it.

It seems like there's a kind of unconscious apartheid in music. On one side, you have urban black music, which tackles materialistic concerns head-on, and on the other, white music, which is not supposed to address money and business.

That's right. There are unwritten rules about what a rock band can do. And the rules, I am breaking them. We started dismantling them from Zoo TV, right away on. We want to take some of the good ideas of the sixties, but
hopefully, we're gonna leave out some of the less rigorous ones. We're just saying: “No, not taking it.” What's wrong with wanting to play arenas instead of clubs? What's wrong with selling records? What's wrong with wanting to make music that communicates on a grand scale? What's wrong with writing operas? Operas were popular . . . At the time, they were looked down upon by serious musicians. The scene of the time was: “This is just a piece of fun. Let's not take it seriously. This is not real music.” So we've thrown out a lot of these ideas. They're antiquated. We can move into business, and let's bring our idealism into whatever piece of the world we happen to be standing in.

I'm still trying to see how it was born and fostered in your mind. Can you think of fellow musicians who did great things with their money?

Well, there are very few examples in music, that's my point. But one of the people who's had the most impact on my life is Bob Geldof. Firstly, just through Live Aid, I ended up in Africa. I have followed on his coattails through that journey. He encouraged me, being there for me all the way. But he also gave me confidence to be . . . who I am. You don't have to be a politician to hang out with them. You don't have to wear a suit to be a businessman. You can be yourself at all times. And you can be as bohemian as you want to be. It's about the quality of ideas. That's really what Bob's all about. Bob's great hero is Samuel Pepys, a seventeenth-century English naval administrator and businessman.
*
In the end, it's ideas that turn us on, whether they are philosophical, commercial, or political. What I would call them is melodies. I think we talked about this. I need to hear a great melody even if it's not in a song.

Lots of people come up with brilliant ideas. But life teaches you that most of the time many obstacles prevent those ideas from turning into

realities. I mean, we discussed the discrepancies between great ideas and not so great realities in Africa. Sometimes you can't find your way around an obstacle.

Yeah, I do have a blind spot. I mean, I have a few blind spots.
[laughs]
But one of them is: I don't sometimes see obstacles.

Sure, but you must bump into them at some point.

Yeah, I've had a few black eyes. I mean, I know I have to climb them all the time. But it's usually been very fortunate for me. If I'd seen the obstacles, I might have just left the idea lie. But fortunately, U2 has usually been able to overcome those obstacles by finding brilliant people. We always knew that if we didn't know, we'd find somebody who did. And so, in U2, we've surrounded ourselves with the best people in business. Lawyers and accountants, and record company, and people who run our companies are the best at their job, and I think that makes overcoming the obstacles a lot easier. Look, we're gonna find out. I mean, this clothing line, Edun, this is a whole new way of doing business. I'm told that the rag trade makes the music business look like a church fête.
[laughs]
And the sharks will circle, and I'm about to become shark soup. So we'll see. But I've found some people in the business at the top end who are guiding myself and Ali. I think that they'll help us negotiate these dangerous waters.

Speaking of sharks, have you ever gotten bitten in your career as a businessman? And did it leave a scar?

Yeah, we've made mistakes in our business.

What was the biggest one?

We made a lot of money from the sale of Island Records, because we owned a piece of it. And we put it in the hands of some people whom we liked personally, but weren't as expert as they thought in the areas that they were investing in. And we lost a lot of money.

What sort of business did they handle?

It was a portfolio of investments. There were some great ones, and some, they just were really not great ideas, and we gave them a lot of money. As this one particular ship started to sink, rather than us jumping out, the man in charge of the fund kept spending more of our money to keep it afloat. I know it's with hindsight, but I think anyone would have known that the ship, actually, when we bought it, had a hole in it.
[bursts out laughing]
So we learnt a lot. I don't want to be too flip here. Losing money was not a nice feeling, and you've got to be careful because nothing begins the love of money more than the loss of money. But on the positive side it made us take more charge and interest in our business. This was, I guess, very early nineties. We had to take our financial matters very seriously, which means, when you're involved with dealing this kind of money, you do need to take extra care not just that the cash can warp the people around you, but that it can get to you too.
[laughs]
Because money is a big thing, especially if you don't have it. You have to give it respect, but you don't want to give it too much of your love. So it means we have to sit the band in rooms, when we'd rather be making music, going through boring shit. But if you do it right, it means you only have to do that once a month, or, in my case, once a week.

But does plotting business strategy give you a thrill, the way it would to a chess player figuring out a couple of moves in advance?

Perhaps in some sort of odd way. I do love watching people work together, and build something together. When we're making music, I'd say
it's like making a chair. Björk used to say that to me
[impersonates accent]:
“I'm a ploom-errrr . . . and we make ploo-ming.”
[laughs]
The idea that artists are different from everybody else is a dangerous idea, an arrogant one.

I also feel like you're a manipulator sometimes. There's a part of you that might be called . . . I don't know, “perverse” might be going a little too far . . .

[interrupting]
No, not a lot.
[laughs]

But it's something that I find really funny about you. Lots of people perceive you as very candid, full of Irish exaltation . . .

Irish whiskey, more like.

Probably. But, I feel, at the same time, you're a gambler, or a chess player . . .

I really don't feel like a gambler. And the reason I like the game of chess is because each move has countless repercussions, but you're in charge of them. And it's your ability to see into the future and the effects of the decisions you've made that makes you either a good or not a good chess player. It's not luck. By the way, I'm no longer a good chess player, as it happens. But I think . . . gambling, you don't know what's going to happen. And I never want to be in that situation. I think in business, you have to rule out as much accident as possible.

Have you ever gambled in Vegas or Monte Carlo, just for the adrenaline rush?

Very occasionally.

Did you win or lose?

I've been very lucky, and very unlucky. Funny, that. But I don't do it very often. I'm fascinated by casinos for other reasons. Faith versus Luck. It's a favorite subject.

Funny. I thought you were one hundred percent on the side of Faith.

Yeah, but I like to know what I'm up against. Luck is the opposite, if not opponent, of Faith. But let me illustrate by a complete contradiction. I had a very strange experience many years ago. A friend of mine was getting married, and he was broke. So was I. And I knew somewhere that somehow, some way, I was going to be able to help pay for his wedding. I didn't know how, but I knew I would be. I was like a child that believed that every prayer would be answered. I haven't really changed in that. I think every prayer is answered, but unfortunately, “No” happens much more than we'd like.
[laughs]
I didn't know that then. So I thought to myself in my naiveté, in my childish way: “Oh, you know, at the back of a corn flakes box, they have these competitions and you can win a car. Maybe I should send away one of those. I bet I will win and I'll give him the car.” Anyway, I never did send the back of the corn flakes box, and his wedding was getting closer and closer. I thought in my daftness: “I'll win it on a horse . . .” So the Grand National, which is the biggest race in Ireland, was coming up on the weekend. I said: “That's it. OK, I just need to get a tip.” Anyway, I'm just getting to know Ali's parents. We were still kids, we were like eighteen or nineteen, actually. So when they asked us to go away for the weekend with them to County Cork, it was a big deal. Ali was excited; I was nervous: one, because they were sussing me out, and two, because we might miss the race. So we were both nervous. I was thinking: “Oh, damn! The Grand National. I won't be able to go.” But on the afternoon of the race, we found ourselves in a pub called the Swan and Signet, in Cork. So I was sitting there, thinking: “What am I to do? There's only fifteen
minutes to go. I haven't a clue about horses,” when—I'm not kidding—this kind of tramp, some odd character, walked out of the gents with a dog, and gave me a tip. I can't remember, unfortunately, the name of the horse. Something like Rolled Gold: “Rolled Gold for the National!” he whispered under his breath. So I went: “There it is. OK, I've got the tip.” I turned around, swallowed hard, and said to Ali, her father and mother: “Look, I know this sounds mad, but I'd really like to make a bet in the Grand National.” And they said: “Really? But aren't you broke?” I said: “I'd just like to put a pound on it.”—“All right, OK. If you really want to.” They were kind of disapproving, but we went to the bookies, and I sneakily put twenty pounds on Rolled Gold. So we went in, and I had twenty pounds. There was, I think, two pounds tax. I put eighteen on the horse. It was ten to one, this horse. After we left the bookies, I told them the story: I have a friend, he's getting married, he's broke. I want to give him the money, and I've had this feeling I'd be able to help him. I was so sure of the tip. And they said: “What?” And I said: “Yeah.” And they just looked at me with the kind of half smile parents have when their daughter brings home the wrong boyfriend. I told them I didn't even want to watch the race. I was so sure of myself. Is this Faith? I don't know. You tell me. Then we went off for a walk. Two hours later, Ali's father, Terry, said: “Do you want to go back and see who won the National?” I said: “No, I'm not in any rush. I know who's going to win.” And so, three hours later, we went back. I can't remember how much it was—nearly five hundred pounds. I gave it to my friend, and he got married. It was a funny one. Ali's father gets a laugh out of telling that story. I'm not sure what to make of it myself. Proof God has a sense of humor . . . A fluke? A cautionary tale about blind faith? Or, if you do—somewhere in the back of your subconsciousness—know some funny stuff . . .

So was it Faith or Luck?

I like to think Faith.

So, back to the Elevation Fund. I'm really curious to learn about your strategy with the music industry. There is a part of the
Wall Street Journal
piece that really puzzled me: “Elevation's expected to look for investment opportunities in media and entertainment companies disrupted by the advent of the Internet and other digital technologies. Music, movies, publishing, and other traditional media industries are grappling with how to exploit new distribution means—including the Internet and cellular phones—while stemming piracy that such technologies enable.” Stemming piracy? How will you pull that off?

[laughs in slow motion like a Frenchman]
Just for once, Michka, could you not ask the hard question? The “how” is not clear, but I can answer the “why.” Look, there's a moment when you can feel a tremor in the ground underneath your feet. And then there's another moment when there is no ground underneath your feet. We are about to enter a phase with music and film, where everything is changing, where things like the way music is bought and sold will change the kind of music that is bought and sold. As an example, in the downloading of music, pop kids are not buying the whole album. They're just cherry-picking the best songs off the Internet. With pop music, they made the money on the album, not on the single. The single just lured the young kids to buy the album, half of which would be of no interest.