Live Aid: then and now
Posted: Jul 14, 2025 5:08 am
40 years ago - Live Aid.
20 years ago - Live 8.
Now....?
I wrote this 3 years ago in the legacy section of the forum, which attracted no interest whatsoever but nevertheless felt it was a subject very much worth returning to. So first the original post:
==
If there is a more gripping and entertaining three hours on YouTube, I don't know what it is. Against All Odds is a 2 part BBC documentary made in 2005, on the 30th anniversary of Live Aid (stitched together into one on YouTube).
I find it hard to put into words just what an extraordinary achievement this is - both the movement, the concerts and this documentary. But hey, you know me.
I think Live Aid tapped into some deeply primal force for good in the human spirit. We're so aware of the horrors that seem to have only got more horrific of late. Somehow back then, it all distilled into something incredibly simple and powerful.
I was prime age - 18. The the show was being simulcast on BBC TV and BBC Radio 1 FM, so we could see it and hear it in glorious stereo, TV back then being strictly mono-only. (Looking back now, I can't believe it was ever in sync). Anticipation was at fever pitch. Richard Skinner announced the beginning of Live Aid, Price Charles and Lady Di took their places to fanfare - and then Status Quo started.
Status Bleedin' Quo.
I despised The Quo. Those cheeky-cheeked cartoon rogues playing the same three chords year after year, oblivious in the face of everything else happening in music, the tired old guard. The entire music press loathed them and rightly so. And here they were to kick off what would be the biggest concert of all time. And it was absolutely stupendous.
I'm getting moist-eyed again as I type. That first shot on stage from a hand held camera of Rick Parfitt playing that sodding riff, and then moving round to seeing 72,000 people completely as euphoric one, likely very few of them actual Quo fans. Unlike the Live 8 concert decades later, there was no VIP zone in front of the stage to fatally undermine the event. Everyone was the same. Everyone remembers that feeling that for that moment on that day, it was unquestionably right, the tribalism and cynicism were extinguished. I remember Melody Maker's review the following week - they hated The Quo, of course they did - saying they went nuts and bellowed along with everyone else.
Why? What had caused this tidal wave of goodwill?
An unspeakable horror. This is the contradiction at the heart of the whole movement, the absurdity - the obscenity even - of reducing human suffering to a jamboree. It was a BBC news report on the Six O Clock News that had done it, a report so utterly devastating, the camera so unflinching at things humans should never endure that it demanded a response. It's no easier to see it now than it was then. Bob Geldof, the loud-and-foulmouthed aging rock star whose career was on the wane, famously responded. He unleashed his full righteous wrath at anyone in his musical or political path, and so came Band Aid which inspired We Are The World, and then, on 13th July 1985, Live Aid. (Satirical UK puppet show Spitting Image made their own version, "We're scared of Bob" to the tune of "We Are The World").
Against All Odds, the documentary, covers the lot. Part one is the road to that day, Part two the day itself. The machinery that made this extraordinary day was ramshackle, held together with spit, sawdust, hard graft and, most of all, bullshit. At the press conference announcing the concerts, Bob ran through the acts already confirmed. In the documentary, a ticker tape runs below giving the truth about each of them, many of whom had never even been contacted. He announced The Who was reforming, which was news to them. Bob was a bully with a cause.
The human tale of bruised egos and questionable motives is supremely entertaining. As the gigs unfoldeed, the world was gripped, an estimated audience of 1.9 billon people (never mind that in the UK they were so entertained the donations were a trickle). The music itself - so many moments. U2 playing one song for 15 minutes, the band convinced their careers were now over when it made them. Queen ruling the waves. Paul McCartney playing live for the first time since John Lennon's death. David Bowie lifting the roof.
And then. Bowie introduces the now infamous "Drive" video by The Cars. "Who's gonna drive you home tonight" makes no logical sense whatsoever. But my god. Right in the middle of the chaos, the haircuts, the rock and the roll, there it was - the tiny girl who couldn't stand. The tiny boy hunched over. "You can't go on thinking's nothing wrong". It was the biggest come down in musical history, but holy shit.
"The fuck was a slap", says Geldof in the documentary, referencing his use of the F word on daytime TV earlier when frustrated that not enough appeals were going out. "The video was a bludgeon". It worked. From that point on, the trickle of cash became a flood.
People then - and now - have plenty of valid citicisms of the whole endeavour, not least one of the hapless presenters called in to host the UK coverage, Andy Kershaw. He felt that this was all the job of governments to address their own failings. He felt the event for Africa should have African music in it, not almost-entire white preening pop stars. But in that moment everything got swept away, distilled to the simple message that this was horribly, horribly wrong and it could be made better by you - YOU - giving money.
We're tired of such simplistic messages now. I mean, where do you even start? A huge part of the power of Live Aid was the singularity of it, the simplicity in a complex world. And that wasn't based on an ideology, but a feeling, the certain knowledge that there are those in the world who are heartbreakingly worse off than you are, and that is a fundamental injustice. Look - LOOK - and act, don't blame anyone else.
All this and far, far more is brilliantly covered in Against All Odds. Contributors from Tony Blair to Billy Connolly reminisce - perhaps most powerfully the woman at the chronically under-resourced refugee camp who got to decide who would get aid and who wouldn't, knowing she was consigning those not chosen to death. It's editing is stunning - so much ground to cover, so many angles and perspectives that they somehow wrangle, it must have taken many, many months. I wish they'd talked a little more about the other world concerts besides London and Philadelphia (not even a mention of Oz for Africa that started the day off with INXS). But tiny quibbles. They use the cliche that became the 24 graphics counting down the time to the events, it works just great. Gina McKee's pitch perfect narration holding the creaking ship together as Geldof held the event.
Well excuse the emotional outburst. I found it such an overwhelming experience, a catharsis somehow given everything else in the world, a heady mix of nostalgia, music, laughter and horror. We won't see its like again - last year I was involved in a huge worldwide gig called Global Citizen, on a scale almost as big as Live Aid and carried live on BBC1 here, but it passed without comment. It's a different world now. And I think we've lost something important.
20 years ago - Live 8.
Now....?
I wrote this 3 years ago in the legacy section of the forum, which attracted no interest whatsoever but nevertheless felt it was a subject very much worth returning to. So first the original post:
==
If there is a more gripping and entertaining three hours on YouTube, I don't know what it is. Against All Odds is a 2 part BBC documentary made in 2005, on the 30th anniversary of Live Aid (stitched together into one on YouTube).
I find it hard to put into words just what an extraordinary achievement this is - both the movement, the concerts and this documentary. But hey, you know me.
I think Live Aid tapped into some deeply primal force for good in the human spirit. We're so aware of the horrors that seem to have only got more horrific of late. Somehow back then, it all distilled into something incredibly simple and powerful.
I was prime age - 18. The the show was being simulcast on BBC TV and BBC Radio 1 FM, so we could see it and hear it in glorious stereo, TV back then being strictly mono-only. (Looking back now, I can't believe it was ever in sync). Anticipation was at fever pitch. Richard Skinner announced the beginning of Live Aid, Price Charles and Lady Di took their places to fanfare - and then Status Quo started.
Status Bleedin' Quo.
I despised The Quo. Those cheeky-cheeked cartoon rogues playing the same three chords year after year, oblivious in the face of everything else happening in music, the tired old guard. The entire music press loathed them and rightly so. And here they were to kick off what would be the biggest concert of all time. And it was absolutely stupendous.
I'm getting moist-eyed again as I type. That first shot on stage from a hand held camera of Rick Parfitt playing that sodding riff, and then moving round to seeing 72,000 people completely as euphoric one, likely very few of them actual Quo fans. Unlike the Live 8 concert decades later, there was no VIP zone in front of the stage to fatally undermine the event. Everyone was the same. Everyone remembers that feeling that for that moment on that day, it was unquestionably right, the tribalism and cynicism were extinguished. I remember Melody Maker's review the following week - they hated The Quo, of course they did - saying they went nuts and bellowed along with everyone else.
Why? What had caused this tidal wave of goodwill?
An unspeakable horror. This is the contradiction at the heart of the whole movement, the absurdity - the obscenity even - of reducing human suffering to a jamboree. It was a BBC news report on the Six O Clock News that had done it, a report so utterly devastating, the camera so unflinching at things humans should never endure that it demanded a response. It's no easier to see it now than it was then. Bob Geldof, the loud-and-foulmouthed aging rock star whose career was on the wane, famously responded. He unleashed his full righteous wrath at anyone in his musical or political path, and so came Band Aid which inspired We Are The World, and then, on 13th July 1985, Live Aid. (Satirical UK puppet show Spitting Image made their own version, "We're scared of Bob" to the tune of "We Are The World").
Against All Odds, the documentary, covers the lot. Part one is the road to that day, Part two the day itself. The machinery that made this extraordinary day was ramshackle, held together with spit, sawdust, hard graft and, most of all, bullshit. At the press conference announcing the concerts, Bob ran through the acts already confirmed. In the documentary, a ticker tape runs below giving the truth about each of them, many of whom had never even been contacted. He announced The Who was reforming, which was news to them. Bob was a bully with a cause.
The human tale of bruised egos and questionable motives is supremely entertaining. As the gigs unfoldeed, the world was gripped, an estimated audience of 1.9 billon people (never mind that in the UK they were so entertained the donations were a trickle). The music itself - so many moments. U2 playing one song for 15 minutes, the band convinced their careers were now over when it made them. Queen ruling the waves. Paul McCartney playing live for the first time since John Lennon's death. David Bowie lifting the roof.
And then. Bowie introduces the now infamous "Drive" video by The Cars. "Who's gonna drive you home tonight" makes no logical sense whatsoever. But my god. Right in the middle of the chaos, the haircuts, the rock and the roll, there it was - the tiny girl who couldn't stand. The tiny boy hunched over. "You can't go on thinking's nothing wrong". It was the biggest come down in musical history, but holy shit.
"The fuck was a slap", says Geldof in the documentary, referencing his use of the F word on daytime TV earlier when frustrated that not enough appeals were going out. "The video was a bludgeon". It worked. From that point on, the trickle of cash became a flood.
People then - and now - have plenty of valid citicisms of the whole endeavour, not least one of the hapless presenters called in to host the UK coverage, Andy Kershaw. He felt that this was all the job of governments to address their own failings. He felt the event for Africa should have African music in it, not almost-entire white preening pop stars. But in that moment everything got swept away, distilled to the simple message that this was horribly, horribly wrong and it could be made better by you - YOU - giving money.
We're tired of such simplistic messages now. I mean, where do you even start? A huge part of the power of Live Aid was the singularity of it, the simplicity in a complex world. And that wasn't based on an ideology, but a feeling, the certain knowledge that there are those in the world who are heartbreakingly worse off than you are, and that is a fundamental injustice. Look - LOOK - and act, don't blame anyone else.
All this and far, far more is brilliantly covered in Against All Odds. Contributors from Tony Blair to Billy Connolly reminisce - perhaps most powerfully the woman at the chronically under-resourced refugee camp who got to decide who would get aid and who wouldn't, knowing she was consigning those not chosen to death. It's editing is stunning - so much ground to cover, so many angles and perspectives that they somehow wrangle, it must have taken many, many months. I wish they'd talked a little more about the other world concerts besides London and Philadelphia (not even a mention of Oz for Africa that started the day off with INXS). But tiny quibbles. They use the cliche that became the 24 graphics counting down the time to the events, it works just great. Gina McKee's pitch perfect narration holding the creaking ship together as Geldof held the event.
Well excuse the emotional outburst. I found it such an overwhelming experience, a catharsis somehow given everything else in the world, a heady mix of nostalgia, music, laughter and horror. We won't see its like again - last year I was involved in a huge worldwide gig called Global Citizen, on a scale almost as big as Live Aid and carried live on BBC1 here, but it passed without comment. It's a different world now. And I think we've lost something important.