There’s surprise in certain circles that Bono hasn’t intervened in the controversy over Paul Wolfowitz.

At the time of writing, Wolfowitz continues to hold onto his job as head of the World Bank. The position is in the gift of the US president, and Bush is standing by his man.
Following his appointment to the bank in March 2005, Wolfowitz’s first call was to Bono. CNN reported the pair having an “enthusiastic and detailed” conversation about “third world debt relief and the fight against corruption.”
Wolfowitz’s previous job had been as number two to Donald Rumsfeld at the Pentagon. He had emerged as America’s top Iraq strategist. Many commentators, including conservatives who had initially supported the invasion, expressed unease at the man mainly responsible for an unfolding catastrophe being put in charge of policy towards global underdevelopment. But Bono brushed all doubt aside. Wolfowitz was “a good guy.”
The endorsement from the glamorous pop celebrity helped significantly to still criticism of the appointment. Wolfowitz publicly thanked Bono for his “valuable” support.
It has since emerged that one of Wolfowitz’s first moves was to secure a $200,000 a year position for his girlfriend, World Bank employee Shaha Riza, as “policy coordinator” at the Foundation For the Future (FFF), run by vice-president Dick Cheney’s daughter, Liz. Under World Bank rules, Riza couldn’t remain in her old job. But US newspapers trying to discover the purpose of FFF and the nature of Ms. Riza’s job within it have come up with explanations so vague as to be virtually meaningless.
It also turns out that, weeks before the invasion of Iraq in 2003, Wolfowitz had set up another, similarly lucrative arrangement for Riza: she’d been hired on a salary of $17,000 a month by the Office of Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance (ORHA) – an ad hoc task force set up to oversee the “reorganisation” of the Iraqi economy once the US and its allies were in control. ORHA was answerable to Undersecretary of Defence Douglas Feith, who was answerable to Paul Wolfowitz.
Again, journalists have been frustrated in efforts to discover what it was that Riza was tasked or qualified to do at OHRA. What is known is that US firms closely connected to members of the administration made fabulous profits as the Iraqi economy was fragmented and sold off without tendering or scrutiny and with no involvement by representatives of the Iraqi people.
Now we learn that Wolfowitz is as sordid in his private relationships as in his discharge of public duty.
It is this, I suppose, which has led commentators on US websites and in soft-radical publications to express hopes that the U2 singer might break silence and withdraw his endorsement of Wolfowitz.
Maybe. But Bono didn’t seem at all embarrassed when he chaperoned Bush’s Treasury chief Paul O’Neill on a “goodwill tour” of Africa in 2002. Nor when he serenaded (literally sang him a song) the far-Right despoiler of the environment, shipping magnate Paul Martin, at his inauguration as Canadian Prime Minister in 2003. Nor when he publicly embraced (again, literally) the notorious North Carolina racist Jesse Helms. And there’s no evidence he’s ever felt even a frisson of unease when fawning on the war criminal Blair.
Bono seems ever available for hire to representatives of the rich and powerful who feel a need to camouflage evil in rock-star charisma. It’s hardly likely he’ll wash his hands of Wolfowitz now.

I’m not sure that wah-wah is the right name for the gizmo with the pedal that guitarists press down on to make that sound like a modulated goose-quack, but it’s what Henry McCullough calls it, and that’s good enough for me.
Henry was talking on-stage at Derry’s Waterside Theatre to Paul Moore of the BBC in the first half of one of those An Evening With... events. For the second half, he summoned a band, featuring the unflappable Percy Robinson on steel guitar, Roe Butcher, on bass, who manages to be venerable and cool at one and the same time (which is obviously impossible), Adi McElduff on thunderous drums and louche Tippster James Delaney on keyboards. Havn’t heard Henry this good since Sunday afternoon Lower Deck jams with the Fleadhs way back when. Ended with a super-sensational 10-minute version of ‘See You Later, Alligator’. Then we all went home, cleansed of evil, tired but happy.
Anyway, Moore had asked Henry how he’d happened on his guitar sound and Henry talked in his laconic north Derry way about hearing a noise that you liked and holding on to it. Never liked accoutrements, he explained, push-buttons, echo-boxes, pedals and the like. Had always been very sparing with the wah-wah, because there is so little you can do individually with the wah-wah.
“One of the things I’ve learnt as I’ve gone through life,” he mused, “is that everybody’s wah-wah sounds the same,” which struck me as, possibly, one of the most profound statements I have heard in a long time. Or maybe it was the good dope.

I saw a Twang on the stairs as I came out from the Nerve Centre and knowingly remarked, “Twang’s the Thang, eh?” He looked at me like I was daft.
In fairness, he couldn’t have been more than 19. Or maybe 24. Either way, the blank stare was a disappointment. The possibility that the name had been lifted from The Twang’s The Thang was one of the reasons I’d come.
Another was they’ve won the NME’s Philip Hall Radar Award for 2007, which for all I know is very significant altogether.
The third reason was, I’d heard ‘Wide Awake’ on MySpace and thought them worth checking out, which they were.
They are five Stone Roseat baggie-boys from Brum, singer, guitar, bass, drums and a loose-limbed chap who may be the co-vocalist but who Tina McLaughlin, who should know because she’s a Bluebelle, says is more likely the drugs supplier. They are so uncomplicated it’s tempting to call them endearing – not the sort of accolade a band with ambitions to swagger on upwards would necessarily welcome.
Decent songs, too – ‘Shoot To Kill’ is a cracker – with occasionally Street-smart lyrics and big spacey choruses. And they look and prance the part, walking the fine line between presumptuous arrogance and winsome humility. I’d say that the audience reckoned by the end that the band really liked them, which for any early-days outfit is a result.
The other reason I reckon they might go a long way is that they are not about anything much. Neither sensitively sincere nor showily cynical. The songs are bursting with energy that’s not looking for an outlet because it’s enough that it just is. This is music for young men harmlessly playing at being football hooligans.
I hope they do well, because why not? But there’s no reason for anyone other than close friends and blood relatives to invest hope in the likelihood of it happening.
Most new bands I listen to these days are like that.
The Twang’s The Thang by Duane Eddy, 50th anniversary coming up, big influence on the Shadows, Beach Boys, George Harrison, Henry McCullough...
Bono kisses corruption. The Twang never heard of Duane Eddy. But the Reverend McCullough saves souls.