Achtung, matey: U2's Bono and Adam Clayton buddy up in San Jose. Guardian photo by Mirissa Neff

Well, on April 9, watching Bono materialize on a neon-swept circular catwalk, moving in slow motion as a delicate shower of confetti fluttered around him to the sound of "City of Blinding Lights," I found myself believing the singer could be our next test case, up there with Brazilian minister of culture Gilberto Gil, if he becomes the head of the World Bank. Believe it or not, it's actually being considered. And why not – when you consider that the United States is pushing Duh-bya henchman Paul Wolfowitz for the job?

Well into U2's two-hour set at HP Pavilion, a.k.a. the Shark Tank, I was ready to cast my vote for Paul Hewson for any dang thing. The elder statesmen of '80s new wave came off as still conscious and thoughtful, forward-thinking yet musically very much themselves – quick with the drama, easy on the ears with their identifiable, open-ended melodies, but still fascinated with the new (on this tour, text messaging was the hook to sign up for U2's One campaign against poverty). They looked pretty electable to me.

About four or five songs into the concert, watching the Edge wail on the last few bars of "The Electric Co." and Bono execute that sturdy little football kick he uses to punctuate key rock-out passages with a convincing lack of irony, I was driven to tell my reluctant companion, "Wow, they're just such a good rock band." And about halfway through the set – listening to Bono's remembrance of Pope John Paul II, who, he said, "having a bit of a rock star complex," donned the vocalist's "fly" glasses and flashed him a "wicked little look" – my lapsed-Catholic Irish Italian pal put aside his dislike of U2, stopped making fun of the "extremely white" ass-bumping in the next row, and confessed his conversion. Miracles do happen – when the Virgin Mary isn't making cameos on toasted cheese sandwiches.

And it was good. As God is good. Though was it rock 'n' roll? These good Christian soldiers have always gotten behind the right causes, name-checking the pope and Martin Luther King Jr. as, respectively, a champion of the poor and a beacon for human rights, singing out against poverty in Africa, and generally fighting the good fight. How to convey the gospel according to Bono?

It helps that U2 – or more specifically Bono, because who remembers hearing another member ever make a peep onstage – sermonize in a slightly subtler, more politic way than, say, the Dixie Chicks. Dedicating "Running to Stand Still" to the U.S. military in what might seem like an easy appeal to feel-good patriotism, the band closed the song with a video reading of a 1948 United Nations proclamation against torture. The point was also hammered home during the previous song, "Bullet the Blue Sky," as Bono pulled a bandanna over his eyes and held his hands clasped above his head, invoking the universal image of a hostage.

In line with personal energy conservation efforts and at odds with his balcony-dangling days of yore, Bono has obviously been mediating long and hard about his onstage gestures. At one point he dramatically pulled off his bug-eyed Eurodisco-Blues Brothers shades before singing the father-son ode "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own," revealing a face that's evolved into a weathered cross between Robin Williams and Brit actor Sean Bean.

Yet the contrivances were coupled with a kind of shambling humanity. Later, during "Mysterious Ways," after Bono pulled up a hottie from the crowd for a friendly grind onstage, he asked her what her name was. Getting his wife's name, Ali, in reply, he paused, then responded, "Do I know you from somewhere?" and upon his return, the entire band looked at each other in confusion. Something was clearly off script, and the singer threw out a crack about making it through the '90s without being able to dance. Yet there was something endearing about watching megastars like U2 hit a glitch in front of some 17,000 viewers – though no one knew exactly what it was.

And it was reassuring to see that these four Dubliners are very much a band. What other arena sell-out group insists on playing all the instruments – to the point that, during "New Year's Day," the Edge had to switch so quickly between playing keyboards and picking out piercing notes on guitar that the two instruments seemed to be banging awkwardly against each other. Integrity seems so fundamental to U2 that when a thanks for texting the One campaign flashed on the video screens and names began scrolling by, I naturally assumed they were the handles of San Jose audience members who'd responded moments earlier, much to my chum's disbelief. But why would U2 start lying to us now, despite the letter-U-and-the-numeral-2's differences with Justin Herman sculpture and certain local culture-jammers? The fact that Bono has hopped aboard the rock-star clothing bandwagon with Edun, an organic line relying on third-world trade, failed to bug me as I watched the singer hype it the next day at the Union Square Saks.

So, following the strangely anticlimactic encore – ending, of course, with "40" – I trekked back to the jalopy feeling satisfied, like I'd just taken in the musical equivalent of brown rice and vegetables. I could have done with a little less concert (everyone's energy, including the band's, seemed to flag at 1 hour, 45 minutes), and – amazingly – more preaching. Say "Amen" and pass the sacramental wine, because I can listen forever to Bono, that self-described "insufferable little Jesus" of the outsize heart and extravagant rock-star gesture. For at least an hour and a half.

In the spirit Continuing on the U2 tip, the band's DJ BP Fallon – former Beatles bud, Led Zep publicist, memoirist – brings his Death Disco party, along with pics, stories, and video, to Blue Cube on April 15.... Once-devout Crystal Skulls vocalist-guitarist Christian Wargo told me he had a few things to be grateful for – he could have been named Jesus by his Pentecostal parents. Speaking from a Toronto Quality Inn, the former leader of Scientific and ex-member of Pedro the Lion and the Danielson Famile chatted up the Aztec origins of his current band's name – the product of a smoke-out revolving around "crazy shit like human rabbit embryos and biotape" – and his gratitude toward his bandmates, who include former Pedro player Casey Foubert, ex-Dance Imperative member Ryan Phillips, and onetime Seldom scenester Yuuki Matthews.

The Seattle combo recorded their buzz-able new album, Blocked Numbers (Suicide Squeeze), quickly last fall, at a very un-Scientific pace: Wargo took so long, three years, recording and re-recording that project's album that it started "to become like you're polishing a turd," he mumbled sleepily.

Wargo grew up attending Christian and military schools and loving music, though he wasn't supposed to listen to "worldly" pop. Guess he had that in common with Pedro's David Bazan, I ventured, to which he replied, "At this point I've chosen darkness over light, whereas he still holds out hope. Maybe that's why it didn't work out."

Taking a tip from Daniel Smith seven years ago, Wargo did his time toiling at a homeless and battered women's shelter at a Chicago Christian commune. "You get to be next to a lot of people who are pretty sad and hurting, which I thought was awesome," he recalled. "I think the problem for me was I just couldn't believe in Jesus. I'm kind of a sarcastic guy and a little bit cynical and can be a goofy loudmouth. And it didn't go over too well at the commune."

He shared some examples: "Whenever I'd be having a real problem, I'd go to someone and try to talk about it, and they'd say, 'What does God want?' And I'd be like, 'How the fuck should I know?' " At least Wargo is learning to live with, if not love, Blocked communication.

Crystal Skulls play with the Wedding Present Fri/15, 9 p.m., Slim's, 333 11th St., S.F. $15. (415) 522-0333. Black Mountain play with Boyjazz, Frog Eyes, and Foreign Born Sat/16, 8:30 p.m., Cafe du Nord, 2170 Market, S.F. $10. (415) 861-5016.

The letter e and the word mail...

Contact Kimberly Chun at kimberly@sfbg.com.