June 2- 8, 2005

slant

Live (H)8

With a boneheaded lineup, is Live 8 gonna be a bust for anyone with a sense of irony?

by Joey Sweeney

I know, I know: When you look into the eyes of Bob Geldof — or for that matter, John Street — all you can see is a deep, abiding love for the common man. Well, just try to put that aside for a second, because I am writing from the past. Tuesday morning, in fact.

By now, Philadelphians being Philadelphian and all, the prospect of our city's involvement with Live 8, Geldof's revisitation of the Live Aid formula that in one stroke got Africa out of trouble for good in the 1980s, is either one of two things: Boner City for Dave Matthews fans or a giant joke for the rest of us. Here in the past, we just got hipped to the lineup this morning, and what I want to tell you is that back here, we got the reaction only half right. To some of us, it seemed right off the bat like the giant joke it still is. Those people are still awake, and they can tell you all about it. Throw a rock in any room, and you'll hit one. But I want to write today for the other half of us, who will surely be obscured from the discussion of Live 8 once Action News hightails it out to Delco to interview orgasmically psyched DMB fans for laffs and fluffs.

I write from the perspective of those of us that are just plain embarassed for our fair city. This embarassment is kind of hard to explain, so please stick with me.

First things first: Live 8 is a concert event, brought to you from the same well-intentioned minds that brought you Live Aid. You remember Live Aid. That was the time the Hooters didn't headline. Anyhoo, Geldof and Midge Ure (from... Ultravox!), to their credit, are still very concerned about what's going on down in Africa. So, on the eve of the G8 summit, where world leaders will vote on a proposal to cancel debt for poor African nations (when they're not staring at George W. Bush in abject horror, that is) Live 8 is here to be a giant chant-down to Babylon, to raise awareness and to make not forgiving Africa's debt seem, well, unforgivable. It's a protest. And it is of good heart. It's just the execution that has some of us rolling in the aisles, or shamefaced with how dopey it is.

I won't spend time making fun of the groups in the lineup. That is the province of fools, for Maroon 5 laughs all the way to the bank every time a girl jumps up on the bar at Glam and brings "em out to "This Love," their blockbuster debut single. Likewise the other groups on the Philly stage: Among them, Bon Jovi, Will Smith, Rob Thomas, P. Diddy, and the Kaiser Chiefs, for whom Live 8 will make an utterly fantastic 14th minute.

But I will say this. Live 8 feels like The Death Of Activism. Most of the artists contained within its roster (and especially those on the Philly stage) operate at a level of blandness that belies any political or humanitarian conviction whatsoever. Rather than an affront to anyone's precious musical sensibilities (yours truly included), it feels more like an affront to the cause. Meaning: How much awareness of what is really going on with the G8 can you truly raise when one of your mouthpieces stumps for ProActive and another is casting off rock 'n' roll for arena football? Girl, you know it's true: The Live 8 lineup almost negates any "protest" value Geldof's mission statement might have included. And, given that Live Aid's historical legacy has more to do with hairs sprayed than mouths fed, we were on shaky ground to begin with. If there is protest at heart here, why not split the difference between crowd-pleasing and cred? Where are the Roots? Where is The Boss?

Rather, in its near-tidal blandness, Live 8 dovetails perfectly with Welcome America, the lie Philadelphia tells the world every summer. For years, this Fourth of July festival has been one of our more shining annual WTF moments. We're the city of The Roots, of Gamble & Huff, of The Hooters, Todd Rundgren and Mikey Wild — so we get Peter Frampton to headline? Jesus. (Okay, so one year we had Jill Scott: One smooth jazz songstress does not amends make.) Instead, by often simply refusing to let a civic identity be stamped on its stage, Welcome America is an open ploy for tourist dollars (piggybacked this year, no doubt, by Live 8), which is fine. But just let it be that. Welcome America, but disinvite the rest of us. Because any Philadelphian will tell you: In our hearts and minds, we seceded from this unholy union a long time ago.

Joey Sweeney is a City Paper contributor. If you would like to respond to this Slant or submit one of your own (750 words), contact Duane Swierczynski, editor in chief, City Paper, 123 Chestnut St., third floor, Phila., PA 19106 or e-mail Duane Swierczynski.