2005-01-12

The Live Aid Recap

So, I took on the grueling task of watching almost the entire "LIVE AID" DVD this weekend; this was the first time I'd seen this concert in its entirety since the summer of '85, when my sister and I held a vigil in front of the family Betamax, recording it all on this archaic medium. I think it yielded somewhere in the neighborhood of 4 - 5 tapes, and these are probably still at my parents' house, in a box along with my dupes of "Friday Night Videos" and my high school productions of "The Music Man" and "West Side Story."

Some thoughts:

I had heard tell that Power Station's set did not make the final cut, and this has proven terribly, egregiously true: NO Power Station. Those bitches! Granted, this was the Power Station fronted by that leathery, groupie-shagging Michael DesBarres, but STILL. Did they figure that since Duran Duran's set was already on there, including Power Station would mean too much John Taylor? Pish! You can NEVER have too much John Taylor. EVER.

Nick Rhodes was so magnificently haughty and fey. Now he's looking more and more like Quentin Crisp.

How did I NOT know that Thomas Dolby played keys for David Bowie back then? How did this flit under my radar? I'm ashamed of myself. Really.

The Cars' set was, for the most part, awesome, but it reminded me of two things: 1) I really miss Ben Orr, and 2) "Heartbeat City" was a TRAVESTY. Mutt Lange sucked whatever "organic" sound there was out of that band, with all those goddamn compressed backing vocals. That entire record sounds like a beer commercial. I hate Mutt Lange.

Howard Jones should have been allowed to play more than one song, and Bryan Ferry absolutely decimated Lennon's "Jealous Guy." I've said it before, I'll say it again - I do NOT GET the Bryan Ferry thing. I just don't.

Almost every female backup singer was sporting one of those shirts that were so popular among the Duranie set: you know - they were cropped in the front, and had almost tuxedo-tails in the back? You wore 'em with leggings, or those big-assed drawstring linen pants. I had a bunch of those. I miss those shirts.

Okay, I reserved the bulk of my Pop Culture Gadfly Ire for Bono. Bonobonobono. Bono with the spectacular Rock Mullet, the leather pants that made his ass look huge, and those awful Nu-Ro pirate boots. He looked more like Adam Ant than Adam Ant did. Then there was the business of Big Butt Magnanimous Bono leaping dramatically from the stage and pulling some sobbing lass from the crowd, and slow dancing with her while the rest of the band kept vamping on "Bad." Now, I confess that when I was 15 and watching this whole sad sorry spectacle, I definitely wished that I had been that girl, and I would've wept, yea, wept copious tears, indeed. Now, nearly 20 years later, I watched that and thought: "Christ, he's a fucking tool."

(That said, I still really love "The Unforgettable Fire.")

All told, I am not at all sorry that I own this. It definitely brought me back to a more innocent time, where my budding sense of activism and social responsibility was almost entirely informed by British pop stars. You're ALL welcome to come over to my house and watch. Bring your sleeping bag, and cereal.

POST SCRIPT: Declan also notes that this was the day that Phil Collins became the "most hated man in pop music." Ad Frank informs me that Michael DesBarres was awesome in "To Sir, With Love," AND wrote the Animotion hit, "Obsession." The latter point I did not know. Pffff. I still think Robert Palmer was the better frontman. Finally, a certain member of a certain collective, who now has a reputation for poking fun at me (or, rather, certain belongings of mine) has reminded me that the "80's HAD NO ASS," whatever that means. Any other thoughts?

lisamcc at 8:22 a.m.

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