Live Aid at 40 (BBC2)
Rating: 
Spandau Ballet flew in from Japan. David Bowie wore a Feed The World T-shirt for Top Of The Pops. Paula Yates flirted like mad with a bemused but flattered George Michael.
‘We had everyone,’ Bob Geldof declared, looking back on Live Aid At 40: When Rock ’n’ Roll Took On The World. ‘That was the Eighties.’
It’s impossible to imagine anything with the rebellious energy of Band Aid happening now.
The major stars would all be bogged down in negotiations over top billing, the minor ones would be too absorbed in videoing themselves for Instagram and TikTok, and in any case, the whole shebang would be derailed by pro-Palestinian activists.
Instead of a studio crammed with chart-toppers singing Do They Know It’s Christmas? you’d just have a posse of grime rappers chanting Death To Israel and two public schoolgirls super-gluing themselves to the microphone stands.
But in the 1980s, anything seemed possible. Geldof, who famously staged a public argument with the PM over food aid for Africa, still can’t hide his dislike of Mrs Thatcher, but she epitomised a Britain where people seized their opportunities and asked permission later.
Band Aid and Live Aid were raw Thatcherism in action, and the first two hour-long episodes of this inspirational, hugely entertaining documentary proved it repeatedly.
When Phil Collins volunteered to perform on both sides of the Atlantic in one day, music promoter Harvey Goldsmith persuaded British Airways to lay on a supersonic flight by telling them it would be a great advert for Concorde.
Martin Kemp (left), Gary Kemp (centre) and Tony Hadley (far right) of Spandau Ballet perform on stage at Live Aid, Wembley Stadium, on July 13th, 1985
Queen frontman Freddue Mercury serenades the crowd during the band’s legendary Live Aid performance in 1985
Pictured left to right: Bob Geldof, Adam Ant, Sir Elton John, Gary Kemp, Tony Hadley and Midge Ure attend a Wembley Stadium press conference ahead of Live Aid in 1985
And the whole concept of a 16-hour concert, beamed live around the planet, was seen by broadcasters as a chance to demonstrate their global satellite links.
That technology was in its infancy but the only major electronic mishap was the failure of Paul McCartney’s microphone in the middle of Let It Be.
Geldof bounded on stage, dragging Bowie and Alison Moyet, and announced gleefully, ‘If you’re going to cock it up, you may as well do it with two billion people watching you.’
As well as reminding us how all Britain and the U.S., too, were galvanised by this pop extravaganza to combat the famine in sub-Saharan Africa, this series contained some fascinating insights into how great music is made.
Rehearsing his solo lines for the Band Aid single, George Michael asked politely if he could tweak the chorus to suit his voice. As he did so, he transformed the song, creating its memorable hook.
Live Aid is still celebrated for the sheer entertainment it delivered. But the real lump-in-the-throat moment, both 40 years ago and in this documentary, came in a collage of news footage: starving children in an Ethiopian camp, set to a soundtrack by The Cars.
That day, when the broadcast cut back to the studio presenter, comedian Billy Connolly was beside him, weeping helplessly. So were millions of viewers.
