“This is your Woodstock,” Joan Báez said to the crowd that filled JFK Stadium in Philadelphia on July 13, 1985. It was Live Aid, the first humanitarian mega-concert televised by a global audience: an estimated 1.5 billion viewers. The festival began at 12 noon local time in London’s Wembley Stadium: 16 hours later the curtain fell in Philadelphia. Phil Collins flew Concorde to perform at both stadiums. Live Aid was an initiative by Irish musician Bob Geldof to raise funds against the famine in Ethiopia that caused a stir in those years and has already inspired a number of songs that brought together great artists from both sides of the Atlantic: We Are The World and Do you know it’s Christmas?
It wasn’t like Woodstock, if at all for those in attendance, for the mythical 1969 festival – Báez was there – wasn’t watched on TV, but rather trampled on mud. But those of us who were young in 1985 couldn’t take our eyes off the screen (those on La 2 in Spain) on that long summer’s day. The event will be commemorated in a recent episode of SER Sound Sofa available on the podcast. The quad DVD, containing 10 hours of performances, is not offered on any television platform, however most of the content can be found in fragmentary form, in 239 videos, on the official Live Aid channel on YouTube. July 13 was declared World Rock Day at the initiative of a group of Brazilian radio stations that had success with stations in other countries.
Live Aid was held in both London and Philadelphia to raise money for famine in Ethiopia. Live Aid was broadcast in 150 countries across 13 satellites for television audiences everywhere. July 13, 1985. pic.twitter.com/V6NnJIwPsd
– Classic Rock in Pictures (@crockpics) July 13, 2023
Queen performed one of the most memorable concerts in history in just 20 minutes, which was recreated in detail in the final segment of the film Bohemian Rhapsody. U2 established themselves in even less time, playing just two songs, including a hypnotic bath that stretched the band for twelve minutes while Bono jumped into the ditch to pull a bystander out of the crowd, hug her, and dance with her .
Not all was so bright. Dylan appeared alongside Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood, but played Blowin’ in the Wind sluggishly or reluctantly; He is like that. Led Zeppelin didn’t shine either, with Traveler Collins on drums, so they took care to erase their tracks and their train doesn’t appear on the official recording (although there is a trace of it). There was a lot more: the return of the Beach Boys, McCartney (who failed the mic in Let It Be), Jagger with Tina Turner, Neil Young with Crosby, Still and Nash, The Who, Bowie, Elton John, Santana, Sting, Dire Straits…
Years of controversy ensued over the goals pursued. There were indications that the money raised was not reaching those who needed it so badly. The BBC apologized to Geldof after reporting that an Ethiopian guerrilla group had spent most of the aid money buying arms. From today’s perspective, something else was creaking. Live Aid was a constellation of stars, but all with the same profile: Anglo-Saxon white males. With few women (in addition to the aforementioned Báez and Turner, there was Madonna, Sade or Chrissie Hynde). And without a single African artist deeming it worthy of being presented there. In fact, few people of African descent have contributed so much to American music: that’s why Stevie Wonder refused to take part; Michael Jackson claimed there were scheduling issues. From Africa for Africa… but without Africa.
Three years later, on June 11, 1988, another mega-festival televised at Wembley Stadium to mark his 70th birthday called for the release of Nelson Mandela, who was imprisoned in racist South Africa. Many of Live Aid repeated themselves, but there were also those who should have done it and whom nobody had thought to invite: the African musicians. In July 2005, Bob Geldof announced a new edition of his festival, called Live 8, with more venues and a little more variety, to put pressure on the G8 summit in favor of poor countries. The formula was repeated in 2007 but without the Irish organization, this time promoted by Al Gore in support of climate action, and was called Live Earth.
In the end, Geldof confessed that he was sick of his character, that he didn’t want to be “Holy Bob”, that the pressure of this circus had ruined his life and cost him his marriage, and that nobody saw him as a musician anymore. He knows he won’t be remembered as the author of “I Don’t Like Mondays.” But at least he wrote rock history. It is more doubtful that such a festival would help to change the world. At least it helped raise awareness. Or to ease your conscience? Bowie sang it right there, “We can only be heroes for one day.”
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