However, I consider my complete ignorance of the inner workings of U2 to be the biggest compliment I can give them and their music. I could truly give two shits about them as people (and this is a compliment how?), but I have seen them in concert and cried those kinds of tears that squeak out of your surprised head while you sit there wondering if you’ve recently come to a sudden stop. One takes stock of the situation…am I injured? Am I sad? Intriguing, I should really be HOLYSHIT they’re playing City of Blinding Lights and now I’ve got goosebumps and need to go cry some more.

Aaand scene.

So I did a bit of research into U2 earlier today and learned that I did know a bit about them personally. I knew I liked that little beanie-headed bastid. How did I come to separate him from the out of focus guys behind bug-eyes?

Specifically, that little shrug at 3:36 after he gets the roses thrown at him. It’s funny what the nombrain will notice. I remember this song when it came out and I remember seeing the video, but until earlier today I really couldn’t place why I remembered it. Turns out, The Edge is a bit of cutie pie. Who knew? Presumably Mrs. Edge but certainly few others would delve beyond the idiocy of that name and who could blame them.

HOWEVER.

The man can play some damn guitar. And this is what strikes me as rather curious about U2 as a whole: they don’t seem an overly or overtly sexual band. They can rock the shit, they can certainly put out the babymaking tunes, but I’ve honestly never thought nekkid thoughts of any of them. Not even beanie. Not even NOW, when TRYING. This freaks me out a little because I will crush on anyone at the drop of a hat. Or beanie. Maybe that’s it, who knows. It’s weirding me out though, and it’s making me wonder if anyone else actually sees anyone in the band as the hottest thing since sliced mancake.

For instance, I’m seeing It Might Get Loud later this afternoon. Three guitar gods in a few different rooms, doing what comes naturally to them. I’m premagining some hot Page on White licks, some bold strokes from White back to Page, and all while The Edge watches on the sidelines, fiddling with his knobs. Jack White is teh sex. Jimmy Page is TEH SEX. The Edge is an awfully cute cutie pie who doesn’t seem to mind feet in his face. Curious. Maybe I’ll come out of the film with a better and more lustful appreciation for the man. I hope so; otherwise I’ll feel bad for just liking the music.

In the meantime (and HOLYSHIT I just typo’d ‘mantime’), I offer this selection of pictures of The Edge. Also, seriously….wtf’s with that name? Do people call him Edge for short? If this film answers anything it better goddamn well answer that.