So far, Elevation has taken stakes in five companies: videogame developer Bioware/Pandemic; Move, a network of real-estate-related websites; the dubbing and subtitling company SDI Media Group; Forbes Media, publisher of Forbes magazine and Forbes.com; and, most recently, the handheld-computer manufacturer Palm. Though it’s too early to assess Elevation’s performance—it hasn’t even invested all its money, much less realized returns—those last two plays caused some head-scratching among industry observers. Elevation paid about $250 million for 40 percent of Forbes (essentially a huge bet on Forbes.com) and $325 million (its biggest investment yet) for 25 percent of Palm. Some tech experts doubt that the embattled smartphone maker can compete with the iPhone, the BlackBerry, and the unpredictable impact of Google’s entry into the market.

McNamee, of course, believes. Staying positive—or more precisely, suspending disbelief—has been one of the defining characteristics of his professional life. He also has faith, against all odds, in his band. He likes to say that building a band is just like building a company: You need capital, ideas, the right people, and, above all, patience. “Everything has a natural rhythm,” he says, gurulike. “You cannot rush it.”

After years of playing music for fun, McNamee says he’s dead serious about making Moonalice work as a business. Until then, he’s a rock-and-roll sugar daddy. For the trip to Denver alone, he chartered a jet and paid for 10 rooms in a four-star hotel—and the tour had only just started.

But that’s not the most audacious thing McNamee has done to feed his fantasy. Concerned that his stage patter lacks verve, he has created an alter ego—dubbed Chubby Wombat—and a backstory he calls the Moonalice Legend. A hippie shaman with a self-effacing smile, Chubby Wombat always wears jeans, a purple T-shirt, and a loud party shirt, unbuttoned. And without fail, at every show, he talks about the joys of smoking dope.

Backstage, Chubby Wombat—seer-sage, strummer-stoner—stirs in his chair. If anyone can envision a crowd in an empty hall, it’s him. He opens his eyes. Showtime.

Three days earlier, at Elevation’s annual meeting in October, Bono had called Chubby Wombat out.

The setting was a Q&A session for Elevation’s limited partners, including representatives of the Ford Foundation, Hewlett-Packard, and the several state pension funds whose combined investments make up one-third of Elevation’s capital. Gathered in a vast meeting room at the posh St. Regis Resort, south of Los Angeles, this group of more than 100 men and women had already heard from the top executives of Elevation’s companies. Then McNamee summoned the general partners to the front and addressed the most famous among them.  

“Bono, do you want to say anything?” McNamee asked, kicking things off. “Any thoughts? Concerns?” All eyes shifted to the Irishman in green-tinted glasses, a black-denim shirt over a black T-shirt, black jeans, and black-suede platform shoes. “Hmm,” he said, hesitating. “Well, one big issue I’ve got to say I’m pretty concerned about is the length of Roger’s hair.”