Band Aid at 40: Bob Geldof recalls the iconic charity single’s chaotic creation

Reflecting on the extraordinary story of Bob Geldof, I am awestruck by the sheer force of his indomitable spirit and unwavering commitment to making a difference. From his humble beginnings as the lead singer of the Boomtown Rats to becoming an iconic figure in the world of charity, Geldof has proven time and again that one person truly can change the world.

During the first Band Aid recording in 1984, I happened to be hosting BBC’s rock program Whistle Test. When the producer requested my presence at a Notting Hill recording studio on Sunday morning because “it seems Bob Geldof is creating some sort of charity record”, there was an expression that we now refer to as a “side-eye”. At that time, the reputation of Boomtown Rats frontman Bob Geldof wasn’t particularly favorable.

Forty years after, Geldof acknowledges that his second career may not have blossomed if his first hadn’t failed so dramatically. Their 1984 album didn’t make a mark on the charts. On a dismal October day, after hours of fruitlessly pitching their new single to record companies and feeling like his best days were behind him, he returned home early to Paula Yates and their child, feeling dejected.

He clarifies that it was through Michael Buerk’s report about the Ethiopian famine during the six o’clock news that he watched, “Instead, they were busy performing as rock stars, but I wasn’t. I was comfortably seated at home on my couch.

Inspired by what he witnessed, he thought up a plan to create a charity single. He scoured the family phone book for well-known pop stars to join him in it. “Even though they had marginalized our group, I was acquainted with all these individuals through Paula and The Tube [the Channel 4 music show she presented]. I have photographs of people like Simon Le Bon at my home, passed out on the living room floor because they were simply exhausted.

The iconic song ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ was created by combining a pre-existing melody by Midge Ure with a piece of a song that Geldof couldn’t get the Rats interested in. Midge shared his tune, and Geldof replied, ‘Dude, that sounds like Z Cars.’ To which Midge responded, ‘It’s better than anything you could write on your own.’ Midge, albeit reluctantly, acknowledges that there might also be hints of ‘The Dam Busters’ in the composition.

As a movie buff, I must say that the recently released BBC documentary about the making of that iconic song was nothing short of remarkable. The footage used, captured on the day and stored away ever since, starts off with Geldof and Ure, looking like anxious hosts at a gathering they weren’t sure would happen. Midge had asked me, “Who’s coming?”, to which I replied, “Oh, everyone,” but even then, I wasn’t entirely certain. Truth be told, I hadn’t expected Spandau Ballet to return from Japan. After all, why would they?

When I got there that day, Sting, Paul Weller, and Spandau Ballet had already arrived. By noon, so many people were streaming in that it became routine. Boy George grandly appeared later in the evening, having just flown in from New York on Concorde. Those were the days.

In the past four years, many of the individuals in that room wouldn’t have afforded a taxi fare; now, they were standing before cameras, enjoying their success, contributing, feeling elated, somewhat unsure of their location. Geldof is uncertain about the identity of the confused band member who recorded an apology to “all our Ethiopian fans” for not being able to visit there, so he remains the day’s nameless hero.

The pop historian in Geldof is captivated by the film, likening it to the Maysles brothers’ famous footage of the Beatles arriving in New York in 1964.

In a different take, I’d say: “There’s no editing or polish. What makes it special is the stark contrast compared to We Are the World [the US version recorded the following year]. In that one, you see these famous figures like Ray Charles, Tina Turner, and Willie Nelson, but in this one, we have teenagers fresh out of school from the UK. They’re endearing, naive almost, yet full of charm and innocence. Despite being rivals, they seem to be having a good time and laughing together.

After us comes another generation, similar to me, Weller, and Midge, struggling to hold things together. The studio control room fills up, quite unlike Quincy Jones’ setup I assure you. It’s amazing, it’s emotional, and none of us in that room knew what the next moment would bring.

During that particular day, there were details Geldof may have overlooked or forgotten. When Paul Weller appeared with a walking cane, as part of his Style Council period, it was thought they didn’t get along. However, upon watching the footage now, I notice him seated behind Midge, contributing to the conversation.

He’s forgotten that he phoned Frankie Goes to Hollywood, who were overseas, to beg even the tiniest contribution from the year’s hot property. The sequence where he’s heard introducing a visibly nervous Bono (“He wasn’t sure U2 should be there at all, and he was iffy about Le Bon’s bouffant”) to a clearly shy George Michael (who says, “I get nervous around pop stars,” before transforming his vocal line with an artful tweak) has a touch of Stella Street. “It’s mad in retrospect. Two years later these people were the determinants of pop music all over the world.”

In the vicinity of Sarm Studios, the world appears strikingly reminiscent of 1984. Holland Park seems run-down, journalists use notepads, people smoke, calls are made using rotary dial phones, and no one questions why only four women make up the chorus. “It needs to be understood within its timeframe,” he explains. “Band Aid wouldn’t have existed without Loadsamoney [a character from Harry Enfield’s 80s comedy].” The soloists gather to record their parts, each one in front of the others. These parts are recorded “dry”, meaning they sing without the backing track being played. In such circumstances, even Pavarotti would sound intoxicated.

The atmosphere was reminiscent of a classroom. Someone asked, “Who’s taking the lead first?” To which another responded, “Not me, go bother someone else.” Midge acted as the understanding teacher, while I found myself tapping my fingers in anticipation. Eventually, Paul Young bravely stepped forward and offered to start off with the initial verse.

“Bono pulled me aside and asked if I was certain about him singing this line ‘Tonight, thank God it’s them instead of you.’ I confirmed that it wasn’t just a soft political stance but a hidden frustration, similar to Michael Buerk’s news report. And since he sings with a voice that seems divine and can grasp the essence of a song better than many others, he delivered it perfectly.

Over time, Bono’s bold delivery of that catchy line captivated a loyal fan base. When a new group of pop artists reunited to record the song on its 20th anniversary, both Robbie Williams and Justin Hawkins attempted to claim the line for themselves. The debate persisted until Bono himself walked in and asked, “Are we using my line yet?” He reprised his role in 2014 during our collaboration for the Ebola crisis.

The movie doesn’t show the intense negotiations behind the scenes during the week leading up to the release of the film, where Bob Geldof learned to assert his authority. “I made a deal with the Daily Mirror by calling Robert Maxwell. The crafty fellow called me at 3am, saying he was going to charge for the Band Aid poster. I told him he couldn’t. When Top of the Pops said they couldn’t play our record because it wasn’t in the charts yet, I went to Michael Grade [BBC1 controller]. He suggested giving us five minutes before Top of the Pops, asking if I could find someone to introduce it. I said I could, but he suggested someone else, Bob.” Eventually, David Bowie agreed to do it. I asked him to wear the Feed the World T-shirt, based on Katharine Hamnett’s design. Of course, it didn’t look good on me, but it looked amazing on him.

In my predicament, I encountered resistance from the Musicians’ Union when trying to get them to approve so many individuals being present. I felt utterly drained and at the end of my rope. To ensure our music reached Radio 1, the only viable solution seemed to be parting ways with the MU and founding a new union – the Pop Music Union. By doing so, we threatened the BBC, saying they couldn’t play any records from these artists without the PMU’s approval. This ultimatum would have potentially led to Radio 1 going off-air. In that moment, I fully grasped the immense power at play in that room. Ultimately, the union agreed; the Geldof MO was born.

As our conversation comes to a close, I bring up a memory from 40 years ago when I inquired about his future with charitable work – he confirmed it then. He chuckles. His day has started, much like any other, with ten emails concerning the Band Aid Trust. “However, if you asked me the same question today, my response would remain unchanged.

2024-11-19 14:06

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