Dear BaE Volume 17: Fin
Welcome to our little advice column! You really can ask us (almost) anything, but please note: Dear BaE is written by two people who wish to remain anonymous, for entertainment purposes only. Neither Bono nor Edge are involved in any way except as they exist in our tiny little brains. No Bonos or Edges were harmed during the creation of this column. Enjoy!
Dear BaE,
This question is for Fake Bono. Oi, mate: we was on our tea break at Sushi Mania in Golders Green, ‘avin’ a quick shufti at the News of the World and The Sun, when we run across several pictures of you sittin’ at a restaurant in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, tuckin’ into an absolutely towerin’ plate of seafood. Now unlike most blokes in East London, we got nuffin’ against you U2 paddies. But we’re concerned about your ‘ealth. Pop stars are meant to be fin! T-H-I-N, fin! But you’re lookin’ like 2.5 Peter Murphys stuck together (roughly the equivalent of 6.37 Richard Ashcrofts). It’s not on, mate. You’re not gettin’ any younger. Sort yourself out. Also your hair.
Derek and Clive*
Ft. Lee, East London, UK
Fake Edge: Oh dear.
Fake Bono: I am enraged.
Fake Edge: I wonder how this got past the screeners.
Fake Bono: What screeners? It’s literally just Fergus the Intern on the Dingle Peninsula! And we’ll have to have a little “touch-base” with him once McComcast fixes his internet.
Fake Edge: So are you going to—
Fake Bono: Enraged. And OUTraged! RAGE-raged!
Fake Edge: Understandably. But are you going to answer the—
Fake Bono: Answer whom? You mean these two vulgar Cockney motherfu—
Fake Edge: Bono.
Fake Bono: Yes, I’m going to answer them. Give me a minute to properly get my Irish up.
Fake Edge: Pardon me?
Fake Bono: Oh, it’s a colloquialism.
Fake Edge: Fine.
Fake Bono: Ahem.
Dear Derek and Clive:
Thank you for your nice letter. I certainly hope you enjoyed your tea break at Sushi Mania (Whadja have? California rolls, I’ll bet) and your dalliance with two venerable publications which—when not bemoaning the decline of British ethnic purity in a way that would make even Eric Clapton cringe—manage to find space amongst the bosomy barely-legals of their celeb pages to share paparazzi photos of me. Eating lunch. With my wife.
Derek and Clive, I am sixty-two years old. I have been working my superbly rounded arse off in the music industry since age sixteen. I have sustained numerous injuries and survived several surgeries, and each time managed to bounce back in a matter of months to embark on strenuous, ambitious world tours with my band. Therefore your fast-food-sushi-tea-break-tabloid assumptions about my health are spurious.
Still, I must apologize for having failed to remain 25-to-30 years younger than my current age. God knows I tried.
Regarding my hair: I’m a musician, not your mommy an accountant. And women like to touch it. Sort that.
But Derek and Clive, in the interest of fairness, I think I’d like to make an assessment of your health based on your appearance. So send candid, full-length, unretouched photos of yourselves (trousers on, please) to:
Fergus Ó Súilleabháin, The Intern
Blustering Squall Lane
Dingle, Éire
I’m not a doctor, but Fake Edge has taken a First Aid course so he can help me.
Fake Edge: It’s true; I can.
Fake Bono: The “2.5 Peter Murphys” bit was kinda funny though.
Dear BaE,
The other night it occurred to me that Kate Bush might be the female equivalent of Prince. And then I wondered: in terms of artistry, who is the female equivalent of Bono? Please advise.
Andre
Ft. Lee, NJ
Fake Bono: FINALLY. A question that does not inspire justifiable homicide. I’m tempted to simply declare my equivalent to be no less than Beyonce, call it a day, and tuck into an absolutely towering plate of seafood.
Fake Edge: Now, now. We owe Andre’s question at least a modicum of thought.
Fake Bono: Well, why not Beyonce?
Fake Edge: She is certainly on your level as a compelling performer. Great songwriter—not that Grammys are a barometer of quality, but she’s won more Grammys than we have.
Fake Bono: Six more, but who’s counting? So. Beyonce it is.
Fake Edge: Hold on.
Fake Bono: You can be Jay-Z.
Fake Edge: But, see, she’s too polished and choreographed to be the female you. We need a legend, clearly, but she has to have a little more edge, so to speak.
Fake Bono: Well, whoever it is needs to have…160 pounds of edge, is that about right? 165?
Fake Edge: My weight is nobody’s business.
Fake Bono: Bloody Derek and Clive. I’m still—
Fake Edge: I’ve got it. And you may have to use your imagination here, Bono. But what about Judy Garland?
Fake Bono: Seriously?
Fake Edge: I could make a case for Barbra Streisand, too.
Fake Bono: She’s got the nose.**
Fake Edge: Judy Garland is a legend. Utterly beloved by her fans and in the business since she was a teenager. She has your power as a vocalist but also your vulnerability. But she’s not a songwriter. Hmm.
Fake Bono: Edge, if I may?
Fake Edge: Who do you have?
Fake Bono: Ms. Tina. Turner.
Fake Edge: Ooh.
Fake Bono: Humble beginnings. Impressive career longevity. Wrote a lot of her own songs. In the 80s, her hair rivaled my own in terms of volume. She is a dynamo onstage and a little rough around the edges, so to speak.
Fake Edge: And she performs in high heels, too.
Fake Bono: Damn it. She’s better than me. They all are.
Fake Edge: Apples and oranges.
Fake Bono: Now that I think about it, this very website granted me Honorary Woman status a couple of years ago. One of the reasons? My fucking weight is monitored and judged as much as any woman’s.
Fake Edge: This is true.
Fake Bono: So, Andre, if I may be so bold, the female equivalent of Bono is Bono.
Fake Edge:
Fake Bono: Christ. Women.
Fake Edge: Women!
Fake Bono: Women are the greatest and more than worthy of our love and respect and the same rights as everyone else. If anything, they deserve more rights.
Fake Edge: Indeed.
Fake Bono: And that’s another column to wrap your leftover seafood in, U2 fans—you adorable tank of tetras! To paraphrase myself: Big persons are best. Oh yeah yeah yeah. We love you!
**
Do you have a burning question for Fake Bono and Fake Edge? Follow them on Twitter (@DearBAEatu2) and ask! They are capable of answering questions about U2, questions that are related to U2, and questions that have nothing to do with U2 at all.
Note: Fake Bono and Fake Edge are not real. They are two people pretending to be them. They cannot put you in touch with U2. They cannot help you with your music career, and they have no plans to come to Brazil anytime soon.