Live 8

Live8 (14) Still they lead me back
Paul McCartney is kicking just about everybody’s arse with a quick run through some Beatles’ classics. Helter Skelter, The Long and Winding Road… these are the songs I listened to when I was 11, in 1974, on a summer holiday through Denmark and Sweden with my aunt and uncle. These songs were ‘oldies’ even then. All the musicians join McCartney on stage. Midge Ure steals up to a mic, being part of it too. Geldof is very hoarse. Mariah Carey has no idea what song they’re doing. George, show us the work you had done on your face. I want to see more of Velvet Revolver.

Na, na, na, nanana, na, Hey Jude.
03 Jul 2005 00:54

Live8 (13) Who are you
Never did like The Who much, or Pink Floyd. When I was living in dorms, we’d have ‘auditions’ whenever we were looking for new flat mates. Our main criterion was music. If those first year students said ‘Pink Floyd’ and ‘Dire Straits’ they didn’t stand a chance. They were, invariably, maths & science students. We wanted people that took arts and listened to R.E.M. or Joy Division.

That said… they sound solid and even if Roger Waters is bat shit crazy, he looks a fine figure on stage tonight.
00:14

Live8 (12) Let him entertain you
The less said about Sting (another medley man) and Mariah Carey, the better. I don’t care if she’s half Irish and has a choir of cute African orphans on stage with her and that children inspire her.

Robbie. RABBBIIEEEEEE is introduced by David Beckham who looks different, ordinary tonight. Should stick to kicking balls. Robbie hasn’t been on stage in three years, he says. Doesn’t matter. ‘We will rock you’, ‘Let me entertain you’… the crowd goes mental. Finally. ‘Feel’ gives me the chills. ‘Angels’, Robbie pulls a Bono, communing with the crowd, singing straight into the camera. A big banner says ‘Robbie come home’. Methinks he already is.
02 Jul 2005 22:27

Live8 (11) Rock in a hard place
I thought Scott Weiland was dead. But I was mistaking him for Lane Staley. We’re watching Velvet Revolver, who are basically most of Guns & Roses, plus Weiland (ex Stone Temple Pilots) and another bloke. And it’s loud. And it’s rock. It’s HARD rock. Metal. Whatever you want to call it. The truth is, it’s the best fucking thing we’ve seen all day in terms of abandon, danger, theater and possibly truth. So fair play to them.
22:24 | Feedback
Live8 (10) Take your old lady out tonight
Why did The Killers only play one song in their fetching white preacher suits? Mr Flowers, he pretty. Like Snow Patrol’s guitarist. Black dress shirts always look good on a man.

Joss Stone. Next!

Scissor Sisters get everybody shouting ‘Hi mum’. It’s time they brought out a new album. We’ve kind of heard these songs. […] They read my mind and play a new song: “Everybody wants the same thing.”
21:44

Live8 (9) Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow
I’ve seen Snow Patrol a few times, recently, as they are supporting U2 in some cities around Europe. They blew us away. I’d expected to be bored, but something in their sound really got to us. It was quite emotive and brought me close to tears several times. I’m not feeling it today, so maybe it was all due to The Thrills being crap opening before them.

Talking about The Thrills… all their songs are about Santa Cruz and god knows where in America and they so desperately want to be R.E.M. they’ve even got American accents. But, as my friend’s sister in Dublin said so eloquently: “They’re from fucking Blackrock!”
21:01

Live8 (8) Does your pussy do the dog
Snoop, Razorlight, Madonna. I’m trying to solve some problem at work (weekend shift) so I’m distracted. Still, it’s not hard noticing these three acts are professional, solid and very, very entertaining. Snoop is as creepy as ever, but he has the catchy rhythms. Razorlight grab their moment in the spotlight – it’s clever and a little calculating (it worked for U2 20 years ago, they must have thought), but they still make it seem genuine. Madonna and her crew get the whole place clapping. Awesome. Eat that Britney.
20:29

Live8 (7) Oh retire already

UB40 are doing a medley. I have no words. And Davina? Shut it.

I am embarrassed to say that Greenday are growing on me. But all I ever hear them play is American Idiot.
19:17

Live8 (6) Shoot the whole day down, why dontcha
I have great respect for Geldof. And it’s not Live Aid. Or Live8. Or Rat Trap. Or I don’t like Mondays. Or any of his music.

In 1996, I heard him read from poetry he had written when Paula Yates left him for Michael Hutchence. And later, when that sad, sad story ended, he took in Hutchence’s child. That’s when I thought, there’s a great man. Begorrah.
18:29

Live8 (5) Will he or won’t he…
… be a future POTUS?

Will Smith commands a global audience, clicking his finger and speaking slowly and clearly about poverty, for the masses. This is the most impressive performance I’ve seen so far. You can take Dido (She must be tonedeaf), Stereophonics (Monosyllabic), Keane (With a face like that, he COULD be the next Bono), Ms Dynamite (Miss Dissapointeeheee), Travis (Oh god, shoot me NOW) and stuff ’em. Forget Philadelphia. Mr Smith goes to Washington.
18:16

Live8 (4) Do the dance
Ricky Gervais, on the verge of DYING on stage doing his meagre stand up routine, saves himself by doing the dance from The Office. Then the BBC disgrace themselves by showing an interview with some nobodies while R.E.M. are on stage. Gah!

R.E.M. are well rehearsed since they’ve been touring. It shows. Stipe, looking like a twat with his usual stripey make-up, has everything under control. Kew-eeeeel!
17:20

Live8 (3) It was 20 years ago today
McCartney. U2. Underwhelmed. Starts getting better but then I’m too busy blogging it over at U2log.com. Feel like I missed the whole thing. Crowd seemed flacid.
14:48

Live8 (2) It’s Christmas time… oh no it’s not!
Aaand, we’re off. Jonathan Ross in fetching egg-yellow sitting in a pod. Judging from the couches in it, I’m dead fashionable in my new pink and azure shirts.

Meg’s somewhere in that crowd.

Ah, the first innuendo of the day. Ross tells Elton John it’s lovely to have him in his pod. Ooh-er.
Jo Whiley talks to U2. Bono’s feeling sick as usual. Larry mentions going down on Noel Edmunds chopper. There you go now, that’s number 2.

Do I need to add this technorati tag to all the posts I make? (live8)
13:59

Live8 (1) World, are you ready to rock…
… the G8 leaders out of their stupor?

While I’m not overly enamoured with Live8’s line up and am a little cynical in nature, these big events always manage to get to me somewhat. Who will be the first to mention Luther Vandross (R.I.P.)? Where the fuck is Springsteen? Will U2 be donning the original Sgt Pepper outfits? As Frank Sinatra once said ‘they sure don’t spend a dime on clothing’… it’s bound to look better than their usual drab garb.
13:18

Unforgettable Fire

It was October 6, 1986. I think. I’m not sure of the exact date. I don’t remember things like that. I never had to. I had Pimm Jal for that.

I saw him in the Melkweg venue, recognized his face from interviews. He was starting a U2 magazine and I wanted to contribute.

In January ’87 I we met again at the U2 fan club day in the Paradiso. Sandra was there as well. Something clicked, we became inseparable. For days they would stay with me in my flat in Utrecht, until my flat mates despaired. Or we’d look him up in Osdorp, played table football and enjoyed his mother Lies’s food. We were children still. Children with great plans.

Pimm Jal and I disagreed often and were almost opposite personalities. But we agreed on one thing. We shared an almost irrational passion to document that which cannot be put in words. The magic of music, the heartbeat of the live concert, those moments of ecstasy. They had to be captured. I embraced lyricism, Pimm Jal the facts and figures, and thus together we described the indescribable.

Collectormania. An obsessive fan’s dream of a magazine. A world wide institution. Pimm Jal, driven, charismatic, took me and many others along on a journey. He could talk about his plans for hours. He wanted an office, a news room, rows of typing machines, just like on TV. Just like in ‘Lou Grant’. Pimm Jal’s thinking was unDutch. It had to be big and all-embracing. PJ Publishing. Today Amsterdam, tomorrow the rest of the world.

But most of the time we were just talking bollocks in the pub.

We traveled through Ireland, the three of us, for three weeks. Hitch hiking from village to village. PJ and two girls, we attracted a lot of attention. We played silly games on the bus, shrieking with laughter, drunk on joy and many pints of Guinness. Unforgettable days, an unforgettable journey.

Our little group grew. Pimm Jal had an unquenchable thirst for people and he always managed to find the finest, sweetest of all. Pimm Jal brought us together. He shared all his friends and his amazing family. We were all U2 fans, but it wasn’t about the band anymore. It was about us. Dinner at Bojo’s, tea at Pimm Jal’s, fireworks on Nassaukade. The rest was background music.

Ten years ago, I really don’t remember the date, after an evening of drinks in Reijnders and dancing in Mazzo’s, Pimm Jal, Sandra and I stood on Bloemgracht at seven in the morning, watching the sun rise. Tired, but happy. “Amsterdam,” Pimm Jal said, “Amsterdam is the most beautiful city in the world.”

{ as spoken today at PJ’s memorial service }