Uno. Dos. Tres. Catorce. That translates as one, two, three, fourteen. That is the correct math for a rock and roll band. For in art, and love, and rock and roll, the whole had better equal much more than the sum of its parts, or else you're just rubbing two sticks together in search of a fire. A great rock band searches for the same kind of combustible force that fueled the expansion of the universe after the big bang. You want the earth to shake and spit fire, you want the sky to split apart and for God to pour out. It's embarrassing to want so much and expect so much from music, except sometimes it happens. The Sun Sessions, Highway 61, Sergeant Pepper's, the Band, Robert Johnson, Exile on Main Street, Born to Run - oops, I meant to leave that one out. The Sex Pistols, Aretha Franklin, the Clash, James Brown, and the power of public enemies - it takes a nation of millions to hold us back. This was music meant to take on not only the powers that be, but on a good day, the universe and God himself, if he was listening. It demands accountability, and U2 belongs on this list. It was the early '80s. I went with Pete Townshend - always one to catch the first whiff of those about to unseat us, to a club in London. There they were: a young Bono, single-handedly pioneering the Irish mullet. The Edge - what kind of name was that? Adam and Larry. I was listening to the last band of whom I would be able to name all of its members. They had an exciting show and a big, beautiful sound. They lifted the roof. We met afterwards, and they were nice young men, and they were Irish. Irish! And this would play an enormous part in their success in the states, for while the English occasionally have their refined sensibilities to overcome, we Irish and Italians have no such problem. We come through the door fists and hearts first. U2, with the dark, chiming sound of heaven at their command, which of course is the sound of unrequited love and longing, their greatest theme, the search for God intact; this was a band that wanted to lay claim to not only this world, but had their eyes on the next one too. Now, they're a real band - each member plays a vital part, and I believe they actually practice some form of democracy. Toxic poison in a band setting. In Iraq, maybe - in rock, no. Yet, they survive. They have harnessed the time bomb that exists at the heart of every rock band, and usually explodes, as we've seen regularly from this stage. But the seem to have innately understood the primary rule of rock band job security: Hey, asshole - the other guy is more important than you think he is. They are both a step forward, and direct descendents of the great bands who believed rock music could shake things up in the world, who dared to have faith in their audience, and who believed if they played their best, it would bring out the best in you. They believed in pop-stardom and the big-time. Now, this requires foolishness and a calculating mind. It also requires a deeply-held faith in the work you're doing, and in its powers to transform. U2 hungered for it all, and built a sound, and they wrote the songs that demanded it. They're the keepers of some of the most beautiful sonic architecture in rock and roll. The Edge, the Edge, the Edge, the Edge. He is a rare and true guitar original, and one of the subtlest guitar heroes of all time. He's dedicated to ensemble playing, and he subsumes his guitar ego in the group. But do not be fooled. Think Jimi Hendrix, Chuck Berry, Neil Young, Pete Townshend - guitarists who defined the sound of their band and their times. If you play like them, you sound like them. If you are playing those rhythmic two-note sustained fourths, drenched in echo, you are going to sound like the Edge, my son. Go back to the drawing board, and chances are, you won't have much luck. There are only a handful of guitar stylists who can create a world with their instrument, and he's one of them. The Edge's guitar-playing creates enormous space and vast landscapes. It is thrilling - a heartbreaking sound that hangs over you like the unsettled sky. In the turf it stakes out, it is inherently spiritual. It is grace, and it is a gift. Now, all of this has to be held down by something. The deep sureness of Adam Clayton's bass and the elegance of Larry Mullen's drumming hold the band down while propelling it forward. It's in U2's great rhythm section that the band finds its sexuality and its dangerousness. Listen to "Desire," "She Moves in Mysterious Ways," the pulse of "With or Without You" - together, Larry and Adam create the element that suggests the ecstatic possibilities of that other kingdom - the one below the earth and below the belt, that no great rock band can lay claim to the title without. Now, Adam always strikes me as the professorial one, the sophisticated member. He creates not only the musical but the physical stability on his side of the stage. The tone and depth of his bass playing has allowed the band to move from rock to dance music and beyond. One of the first things I noticed about U2, was that underneath the guitar and the bass, they have these very modern rhythms going on, and rather than a straight two and four, Larry often plays with a lot of syncopation, and that connects the band to a lot of modern dance textures. The drums often sounded high and tight, and he was swinging down there, and this gave the band a unique profile, and allowed their rock textures to soar above on a bed of his rhythms. Now Larry, of course, besides being an incredible drummer, bears the burden of being the band's requisite "good-looking" member. Something we somehow overlooked in the E-Street Band. We have to settle for "charismatic." The girls love on Larry Mullen. I have a female assistant that would like to sit on Larry's drum stool. A male one, too. We all have our crosses to bear. Bono - where do I begin? Jeans designer, soon to be World Bank operator, just plain operator, seller of the Brooklyn Bridge, oh no, he played under the Brooklyn Bridge, right. Soon to be mastermind of the Bono Burger franchise, where more than one billion stories will be told by a crazy Irishman. I realize it's a dirty job, and somebody has to do it - but don't quit your day-job yet, my friend. You're pretty good at it, and a sound this big needs somebody to ride herd over it. And ride herd over it he does. He has a voice bighearted and open, thoroughly decent, no matter how hard he tries, and he's a great front-man - against the odds. He is not your mom's standard skinny, ex-junkie archetype. He has the physique of a rugby player - well, an ex-rugby player. Shaman, shyster; one of the greatest and most endearingly naked messianic complexes in rock and roll. God bless you, man. It takes one to know one, of course. You see, every good Irish and Italian-Irish front-man knows that before James Brown, there was Jesus. So hold the McDonald arches on the stage-set, boys. We are not ironists. We are creations of the heart, and of the earth, and of the stations of the cross. There's no getting out of it. He is gifted with an operatic voice and a beautiful falsetto, rare among strong rock singers. But most important, his is a voice shot through with self-doubt, that's what makes that big sound work. It is this element of Bono's talent, along with his beautiful lyric-writing, that gives the often celestial music of U2 its fragility and its realness. It is the questioning, the constant questioning in Bono's voice, where the band stakes its claim to its humanity, and declares its commonality with us. Now, Bono's voice often sounds like it's shouting not overtop the band, but from deep within it: "Here we are, Lord, this mess, in your image." He delivers all of this with great drama, and an occasional smirk that says, "Kiss me, I'm Irish." He's one of the great frontmen of the past 20 years. He's also one of the few musicians who's brought his personal faith and the ideals of his band into the real world, in a way that remains true to rock's earliest implications of freedom, and connection, and the possibility of something better. Now the band's beautiful songwriting, "Pride in the Name of Love," "Sunday Bloody Sunday," "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," "One," "Where the Streets Have No Name," "Beautiful Day," reminds us of the stakes that the band always plays for. It's an incredible songbook. In their music, you hear the spirituality as home and as quest. How do you find God unless he's in your heart, in your desire, in your feet? I believe this is a big part of what has kept the band together all these years. You see, bands get formed by accident, but they don't survive by accident. It takes will, intent, a sense of shared purpose, and a tolerance for your friends' fallibilities, and they of yours. And that only evens the odds. U2's not only evened the odds, but they've beaten them, by continuing to do their finest work, and remaining at the top of their game and the charts for 25 years. I feel a great affinity for these guys as people as well as musicians. Well, there I was, sitting on my couch, in my pajamas, with my eldest son. He was watching TV. I was doing one of my favorite things. I was tallying up all the money I passed up in endorsements over the years, and thinking of all the fun I could have had with it. Suddenly, I hear, "Uno, dos, tres, catorce." I look up - but instead of the silhouettes of the hippie wannabees bouncing around in the iPod commercial, I see my boys. Oh my God! They've sold out! Now, what I know about the iPod is this: it is a device that plays music. Of course, the new song sounded great, my pals were doing great, but methinks I hear the footsteps of my old tape operator Jimmy Iovene somewhere. Wiley. Smart. Now, personally, I live an insanely expensive lifestyle that my wife barely tolerates. I burn money, and that calls for huge amounts of cashflow. But, I also have a ludicrous image of myself that keeps me from truly cashing in. You can see my problem. Woe is me. So the next morning, I call John Landau, or as I refer to him, the American Paul McGuinness, and I say, "Did you see that iPod thing?" And he says, "Yes," and he says, "And I hear they didn't take any money." And I say, "They didn't take any money?" And he says, "No." And I think, "Smart. Wiley Irish guys. Anybody can do an ad and take the money. But to do the ad and not take the money - that's smart. That's wiley." I tell John, I say, "Hey John, I want you to call up Bill Gates, or whoever is behind this thing, and float this: a red, white, and blue iPod, signed by Bruce 'the Boss' Springsteen. And remember - no matter how much money he offers, don't take it." At any rate, after that evening, for the next month or so, I hear emanating from my lovely 14-year-old son's room, day after day, down the hall, calling out in a voice that has recently dropped very low, "Uno, dos, tres, catorce." The correct math for rock and roll. Thank you boys. This band has carried their faith in the great inspirational and resurrective power of rock and roll with them. They've never faltered, only a little bit. They've believed in themselves, but more importantly, they've believed in you too. Thank you Bono, Edge, Adam, and Larry. Please welcome U2 to the rock and roll hall of fame.