FARM AID’S CORNUCOPIA OF MUSIC

John Fogerty had just given his first formal concert performance in 13 years and it was every bit as captivating as his recent comeback album “Centerfield.”

But the former leader of Creedence Clearwater Revival didn’t want to talk about his music as he stood backstage at Farm Aid. He was excited about hearing ‘50s rock pioneer Roy Orbison and hard-core country star John Conlee.

Lone Justice’s Maria McKee may be one of the most acclaimed young rock singers in years, but she was so into celebrity-gazing backstage that she put her glasses on to get a better view of her country heroes like Merle Haggard.

Bob Dylan and Tom Petty sat on the steps of Dylan’s trailer and talked about the healthiness of this diverse--even revolutionary--lineup of country and rock performers.

“This is really nice,” Petty said. “You never see a show with country acts and rock acts, but there’s not all that much difference between the two. The thing that interests me is how easily the audience accepts it. I’m thrilled to be here . . . I got to meet Loretta Lynn.”

Dylan nodded.

“Yeah, I agree with that,” he said. “Music shouldn’t be put into (categories). I’ve always loved people like Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings.”

Then he paused and smiled as he looked at Petty.

“The only thing I want to know,” he said, “is why I didn’t get a chance to meet Loretta Lynn, too.”

In an era where radio’s narrow musical formats have conditioned listeners to appreciate only country or only rock or only soul, Farm Aid was an exhilarating reminder that heartfelt, purposeful music isn’t limited to a single category.

Though the failure to include more black acts kept the show from being a true celebration of contemporary American music, the concert reunited country and rock in a way that we haven’t seen since the ‘50s when Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison and Jerry Lee Lewis pioneered rockabilly.

From the opening duet of Willie Nelson and Neil Young, the Farm Aid bill exhibited an experimentation and a sense of freedom by musicians released from the straitjacket of commercial pop and rock.

Farm Aid wasn’t an epic event a la “We Are the World” or Live Aid. The “We Are the World” recording session last January introduced us to the age of Pop as Benefactor. Beyond the music, the session touched us emotionally because we weren’t used to that many superstars lending their voices in such ego-less fashion to help save lives a continent away.

Live Aid represented the same urgency of purpose and spirit, but on an even grander scale. Part of the excitement of the summer concerts in London and Philadelphia was being part of a true global village--a worldwide TV audience of more than 1.5 billion that responded with more than $50 million in donations to aid famine victims in Africa.

At Farm Aid, there wasn’t the international TV audience or the same sense of unity among the 78,000 persons in the University of Illinois Memorial Stadium that there was at Wembley Stadium, the London home of Live Aid.

Musicians spoke eloquently here about the need to rally behind financially troubled U.S. farmers. But the mostly college-age crowd had mixed feelings. While generally sympathetic to people in trouble, many of the students here are from farming communities and they recounted wryly their memories of farmers always being the “richest people” in town.

Even those who agreed that many farmers need government support disagreed over the complex issue of how to provide that help. One farmer, who did not attend the concert, told me, “This thing is so screwed up that no one knows the answer to the problem, and if any politician tells you he does, he’s a damned liar.”

It was perhaps inevitable, then, that the squabbling would begin almost as soon as the concert ended. The issue: a controversial farm reform bill sponsored by Sen. Thomas Harkin (D-Iowa). Several artists, either on stage or backstage at a press conferences, urged support of Harkin’s bill, and the senator himself showed up in the press tent.

The problem is some agriculture officials believe that production controls such as those called for in Harkin’s bill would drive many farmers out of business. The day after Farm Aid, Larry Werries, head of the Illinois agriculture department, was quoted jabbing at the musicians by saying, “I’ll promise not to sing if they promise not to continue developing agricultural policy.”

But Farm Aid was infinitely more memorable than Live Aid in one area: the music.

The lineup was staggering: more than 50 acts ranging from organizers Willie Nelson, Neil Young and John Cougar Mellencamp to country stars Waylon Jennings and Emmylou Harris to rock legends Bob Dylan and the Beach Boys to contemporary hotshots Tom Petty and Eddie Van Halen to acclaimed pop craftsmen Randy Newman and Rickie Lee Jones to highly regarded maverick rock acts X and the Blasters.

Unlike Live Aid, not all the acts were invited simply because they were big sellers. In setting that requirement for Live Aid, organizer Bob Geldof quite correctly attracted the widest possible audience and, presumably, the most donations. But he also ended up with hollow moments that are inevitable when you present the likes of Spandau Ballet and Power Station. At Farm Aid, Nelson and company put the emphasis on quality.

Backstage, X’s singer Exene Cervenka said, “I like the idea of this event so much better than Live Aid because we don’t have to be millionaires to be on the stage. That was like a club or something. This seems more grass roots and spontaneous.”

Her singing partner in X, John Doe, added, “Yeah, this was the first time we got a chance to be part of something we would normally watch on TV. I don’t find the mix (of country and rock) strange at all. It has always made sense to me: Merle Haggard and X . . . George Jones and the Blasters.

Our music is just louder and faster, but otherwise it’s the same damn stuff.”

Some Farm Aid artists merely walked through their sets, serving up two or three of their best-known tunes. But most contributed to the spirit of surprise and invention that characterized the affair. Many of them, both country and rock, reached into their repertoires for songs that commented directly on the plight of farmers or on shattered aspirations. X’s “New World” spoke of “the tears (that) have been falling all over this country’s face.” Merle Haggard wondered whether the “amber waves of grain” are going to disappear.

Of all the artists, John Cougar Mellencamp may have demonstrated the most growth. His performance wasn’t as intimate as Rickie Lee Jones’ or as determined as Dylan’s or as historic as Fogerty’s, but it was still a dramatic advance for someone whose music and manner once seemed so arrogant and cliched.

Mellencamp, whose writing began to show more maturity in tunes like “Pink Houses” two years ago, has continued that advance in portions of his new “Scarecrow” LP, and he was responsible for putting the Blasters, X and Lone Justice--three acclaimed L.A. rock bands--on the bill.

In the cool Illinois night, Mellencamp--once so derivative and artificial--seemed completely sincere and natural as he sang a song, “Rain on the Scarecrow,” that spoke about the despair of losing your farm:

“Rain on the scarecrow / Blood on the plow / This land fed a nation / This land made me proud / And son, I’m just sorry / They’re just memories for you now.”

But this wasn’t a contest of individuals. Farm Aid, quite by accident, served as a challenge to the American pop music industry to stop thinking of music in terms of formats and formulas and open the doors once more to the best that is available.

The big story in rock for most of the year has been the resurgence of heartfelt young American rock bands, which generally show more independence and comment than their British counterparts. But Farm Aid, with musicians ranging in age from their early 20s to their late 50s, showed that the revival goes much deeper. This show demonstrated just how bountiful our pop music crop is.