LIVE AID: THE GOOD GUYS FINISH FIRST

The civic pride and good will here in the afterglow of the Live Aid concert at Wembley Stadium was reminiscent of the uplifting mood in Los Angeles during the Olympics. It might even have been stronger.

It wasn’t just rock fans who were caught up in the spirit of the benefit concert that raised an estimated $40 million for famine victims in Africa. Everywhere you went, people spoke about the concert, which--with its sister show in Philadelphia--was broadcast throughout Britain in its 16-hour entirety by the BBC.

“Wasn’t it fantastic?” a hotel porter in his 50s said to a desk clerk as he returned to work last Sunday. “It just made me feel good about people again,” a woman in her 30s said the same afternoon during a stroll in Regent’s Park. “It’s great that our (British) pop stars were responsible for this,” a rock fan in his 20s commented as he bought souvenir issues of local newspapers at a stand Monday on Kensington Street.

Richard Williams, one of England’s most perceptive pop critics, picked up on this unexpected national good feeling in his Live Aid review in Monday’s edition of the London Times. He said the concert felt like “the healing of our own nation.”

He continued, “After the weeks of troubled self-examination that followed the tragedy (of the soccer riots) in the Heysel Stadium in Brussels, here the British seem to be proving that their young people could gather peacefully in great numbers, drawn as much by a ‘good cause’ as the chance to worship the gods of popular entertainment.

“As a venerable Beach Boys appeared by satellite from Philadelphia . . . and the sound of their carefree summer pop music provoked cheers and community singing around Wembley, the irony deepened. They sang ‘Surfin’ U.S.A.,’ written and recorded in 1963. . . . Who in 1963 would have dared predict that while sport could lead young people toward violence in the guise of nationalism, pop music would present them with the opportunity of showing compassion across continents?”

Similarly, in an essay in the July 11 issue of Time Out, a weekly entertainment guide here, Julie Burchill also addressed the matter of rock ‘n’ roll’s new positivism.

The “Sleaze Age”--which is how Burchill described rock’s ‘60s and ‘70s celebration of the sordid and soiled--has given way to the “Nice Age,” the article maintained.

There’s something too timid, however, about the term “Nice Age,” but Williams’ reference to rock’s emergence as a force for good is worth considering.

There was nothing timid about Bob Geldof’s obsession in putting together the global Live Aid concerts. There was also nothing timid about the generosity of the hundreds of performers who joined together on the London and Philadelphia stages.

Rock fans are all too aware of the realities of show biz to think that career advancement didn’t play at least a part of a role in the decision of some acts to “donate” their services. But it’s too cynical to suggest that veteran superstars like Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, David Bowie and Mick Jagger were driven by any such career consideration.

Their involvement underscored one of the underlying themes of the weekend shows: After years of being identified as rebels and mavericks in the public mind, rock’s biggest figures have finally entered the Age of the Good Guy.

David Bowie--the epitome of cool cynicism during his “Thin White Duke” days a decade ago--chuckled during an interview Monday when the “good guy” reference was introduced.

“I think that a lot of the causes and things we are caring about now are the same as we cared about in the ‘60s,” he said. “It may just be that we’re better dressed now . . . and better able (to deal with them).”

About his own musical and personal transition, he added, “I think it has evolved into what one might call a brighter light. One loses a lot of the darkness (in his music) when you learn the thing you should be doing is quite simple. . . . To help is enough.”

Geldof has come out of Live Aid as such a good guy that the papers here have playfully dubbed him St. Bob. If some members of Parliament have their way, the title may officially become Sir Bob. Geldof has also been nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize by a Norwegian government official.

History has made us wary of putting faith in rock stars, but Geldof--who has had a few hits with his Boomtown Rats band and starred in the film version of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”--has lived up to that faith to a remarkable degree in recent months.

Before the Live Aid concerts, I spent parts of four days with Geldof as he went through marathon production sessions, meetings with the Live Aid board of trustees and an endless series of interviews.

At one point, while waiting in a reception hall here to do a satellite interview for “Good Morning America,” Geldof spoke to a reporter on the phone while three other writers taped his words and a half-dozen more waited to talk to him.

Masterfully, he accommodated them all in the 10 minutes before he went into the TV studio. At every turn during the four days, he kept the emphasis on the concerts. There was no trace of self-glorification.

But the most convincing sign of Geldof’s true aim in the Live Aid project was during the Wembley concert itself. Because it was his show, Geldof could have easily assumed the role of emcee, welcoming the fans and introducing each act. Yet he was just another performer on this day.

Except for the finale, the only time I saw Geldof on stage was when U2’s Bono Hewson dragged him out from the wings in an attempt to salute him.

Geldof’s Live Aid contributions have given him a sense of Springsteenian integrity here. The irony is that Springsteen--the person who has most represented the good guy image in rock in recent years--didn’t appear in Live Aid.

According to a Live Aid organizer, Springsteen had pledged to join the proceedings if “needed.” Since all the tickets were sold and TV rights placed, Springsteen apparently didn’t feel that his presence was necessary to make the event a success.

That was a rare mistake in judgment for Springsteen. As the most respected and successful rocker of recent years, he was needed as a symbol of unity and concern.

The fact that so many other performers--especially veterans like McCartney, Dylan and Bowie--recognized their roles as symbols and responded is what made them live up to the Good Guy definition.

Lionel Richie, who didn’t immediately respond to Geldof’s Live Aid invitation, recognized in time to join the Philadelphia show that he--as a co-writer of “We Are the World”--has assumed a leadership role that required him to be there. If he didn’t have time for the concert, why should anybody else sacrifice? Thus, he and USA for Africa co-organizer Harry Belafonte were essential participants. Their presence also eased lingering talks of a rift between the England-based Live Aid project and the America-based USA for Africa group.

It’s easy to miss the degree of contribution made by pop figures like McCartney and Bowie. What’s the big deal? Isn’t it just one day out of their lives?

In the reality of the competitive pop world, these artists have spent years building images and measuring the effect of every move on their careers. Before stepping on stage, they’ve been programmed to worry about everything from the billing to the condition of the sound system. In this case, they were simply forgetting all of those safeguards and putting their faith in Geldof and their support behind this cause. Bowie and McCartney aren’t bigger stars for what they did, but they are better people.

There were many, generous, warming moments during the Wembley show: Elvis Costello bypassing the chance to showcase his own gripping songs to lead the audience in a sing-along of the Beatles’ “All You Need Is Love”; U2’s inspired performance, which demonstrated that heartfelt, purposeful rock is still being made.

Plus: Bowie’s cutting short his set to allow the showing of a Canadian Broadcasting Corp. video of famine victims; Elton John debuting his new 12-piece band without so much as a sound check, and the way Bob Dylan (in Philadelphia) responded once more to an invitation to summarize social purpose by singing “Blowing in the Wind.”

Two moments, however, may have most symbolized the intent of this long day. The first was when the Who came out of retirement to perform “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” a song they wrote more than a decade ago to describe the false promise of ‘60s social movements.

And then there was McCartney. This was his first concert appearance in seven years by a man who has been dismissed by much of the contemporary pop community, and he had gone through the distraction of another barrage of Beatles reunion rumors. Still, he come on stage alone at the end of the Wembley show to sit at the piano and sing “Let It Be.” And what happened? His microphone didn’t work, so he must have been confused by all the booing and jeering from the audience. It wasn’t until the 72,600 fans began singing the verse of the Beatles song that the tension left his face.

Geldof, recognizing the size of McCartney’s contribution, lifted that singer’s hand in salute at the end of the number, like a referee raising a prize fighter’s hand in victory. But McCartney would have none of that. He and the Who’s Pete Townshend lifted Geldof on their shoulders. More than anyone, he was a good guy on this day.

The pop community lost a piece of its idealism and will the night John Lennon was murdered in 1980. In many ways, the warmth and commitment showed during the Live Aid shows made many consider the fact that the dream may not be over after all.

What about the future?

Bowie, among others, has raised the possibility of an annual Live Aid concert that would expand the famine goal to include other charitable endeavors.

But many of the key figures in Live Aid--from London concert promoter Harvey Goldsmith to associate TV producer John Uplinger--don’t see how all the forces involved in this show could be brought together again. To Uplinger, the uniqueness of the event was one of the reasons why it was able to be placed in so many countries. Goldsmith argues that it’s up to governments now to follow through on the momentum established through the telethon. Indeed, Geldof all but suggests that if there is a need for another Live Aid concert, this one was a failure.

Government officials here were quick to pick up on the strong emotional response to Live Aid. Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, in a speech Monday to an American Bar Assn. meeting here, seemed to latch on to the issue in much the same way that President Reagan latched on to Springsteen during the presidential campaign.

She expressed her gratitude to the organizers and supporters of Live Aid and contrasted the young people who had been connected with the concert with those living wasted lives hooked on drugs. But her remarks were not accompanied by any pledge of additional famine relief aid.

Reflected Bowie in the interview Monday: “The thing that is so frustrating is why we can’t get a straight answer to the mountains of food that lie unused in countries in the West. We’ve got food stored away for months and months not going to anybody. . . . Even when he (Geldof) asked the Prime Minister, she had no reply for him. The solution to this and other problems will be the day when governments can no longer evade those questions.”