July 02, 2005
Live 8 Live
8:02 a.m. Unbelievable. Septa was 15-20 late, the R1 standing-room only with people who should have been sleeping, or were. But at Suburban Station, all is good -- fresh-faced candystripers offering free cascade-blackberry sparkling juice drinks, police cheerfully pointing lost explorers toward the Art Museum, newspaper hawkers ($1. Cheap!) water suddenly getting more expensive, from $1 to $2 and now to $3 as the music, canned Hootie?, blares. We must be in Milton Street country.

The mayor's brother has, what, a 17 percent grip on the concessions? My guess is the Kind Cafe veggie wraps are not his. Go there. Alex's Lemonade has a stand. Chicken and sausage is grilling. Pretzels. Sodas. Bean pies. There are some strong T-shirts, the iconic LOVE statue logo refigured to say Live8. An "I was there" model.

A guy with wicked spikes of gelled black hair stands in the swarm, hopefully holding up a sign: "Free hugs."

Says he's Chuck Bodner, 19, from Warminster. He's been there since 5 a.m. So far 20 hugs. Two I witness. Lotta love in the air.

We're in place. The grass is soggy from the soaking, but the sun is strong. The day is perfect, actually. I'm hearing screams, so either people have found out Milton Street's prices, or the shows abroad are about to start. I'm gonna check it out. Be back in a few.

False alarm. The stage is rotating. I'm in the front row of the VIP section until someone kicks me out. The kid next to me says he got his seat through the father of a friend of a friend. So I'm guessing I get tossed first. Someone's slapping a bass onstage. Lots of dudes moving things hanging around, broad Vs of sweat expanding from their sternums.

Now a searing church organ chord. Soon.

8:45 a.m. Still no live feed from the concerts abroad. Must be making sure the sound is right here. Right? It's 2:46 p.m. in Paris and Rome and Berlin, an hour earlier in London. Show's got to be on. If you're sitting at home in the a/c with a fridge of beer and checking it out on the computer or the home theater, you win so far.

8:50 a.m. Busted. Some guy in a yellow NES security shirt just kicked me out of the first row. Guys next to me, friends of the father of the friends, get to stay.

Will find another shell to crawl into.

8:53 a.m. Found one. Laptop on my lap, hello Philadelphia! some guy with a British accent says. In five we're to scream, and they will beam that scream to London. I'd like a little Killers/Pink Floyd/McCartney/Velvet Revolver/Coldplay in return.

9:30 a.m. No shout out to London yet. Just a lot of bass drum thumping and a couple rappers battling politely. Kaiser Chiefs equipment on stage. Looks like the band, actually, or very talented roadies. Must be them. Doing a vocal check. Guitarist dressed on wool cap, at least two layers, long sleeves. More lead vocal, please. I've been here nearly two hours. That 30 seconds was the entertainment of the day, so far.

9:49 a.m. A sighting. Crowd roars. Heads turn. Very cool man of color in a white suit and shades, walking with a little boy. Waves. Chris Tucker.

11 a.m. Battle station. A nice man from the school board named Vincent Thompson (Hello, Mrs. McCann - said I'd mention his grandma) gave Dan Deluca and me the Ok to set up at the corner of radio area, stage, right, where I've got one of those $11 camping chairs, and it's got a view of the stage. It's also got an ambulance humming about four feet from my ear and three sweaty horses behind that. This is the police staging area. Perfect. Something happened to the live feeds from across the sea, so we've been treated to shows of the crowd -- an American flag, a pair of breasts. Apple pie and motherhood.

For a second the jumbo screen next to me showed Joss Stone from London, but with no volume, so I might be best served plugging in my headphones and listening to London on AOL.com.

11:41 a.m. "Hey, hey, hey. Philadelphia, are you ready?" .... "We're a live around the world." "Please welcome, the Kaiser Chiefs.... "People of the world, are you ready? Come on, are you ready?"

Yes.

They start off with "I Predict a Riot." Lead singer's dressed for a yacht. Sunglasses. Ascot. Cracking a cowbell. The place is packed. VIP section probably has some real VIPs by now. The front pit is filled with ACTUAL YOUNG PEOPLE, most wearing One.org T-shirt, so when the cameras pan, there they are looking vibrant and into it .

There's a young woman on a stretcher in front of me, a cop sprinking her with water. Heat? Into the ambulance.

"Oh my God, I can't believe it, never been this far away," they sing, this break-out, bright-pop British band, playing the largest show of their lives.

11:56 a.m. Three-song set is done. Jumbo switches to London, Paulie and Bono singing Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club, while mop-topped horn players dress in those Summer of Love circus suits. Short and sweet.

Noon - Geldof on TV. "Over three billion people watching you right this minute." Will Smith introduced.

Phillllllllllyyyyyyy!

Philadelphia can you shout out to London, Hyde Park? Hyde Park, can you say top of the morning to everybody a Circus Maximus in Rome. Circus Maximus, can you say hello to the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin,? Brandenburg Gate, can you say hello to the Palace of Versailles outside Paris. and on and on.



Then he turns serious. Every three seconds a child dies in African for want of medicine. Every three seconds. Every three seconds. Snaps fingers between each count.

Three seconds.

Jumbo shows quick video. Celebrity snapping. Then shots of Rome, Berlin, Canada. All snapping fingers.

12:10 a.m. "One finger up in the air" - this time it's the Black Eyed Peas calling out, the crowd jumping, arms soaring, moving from the hips. "Where is the Love?" Right here. Crowd electric. "Let's Get it Started." They have.

"Get Up, Stand Up" -- The Marleys on stage with the Peas. Ah, yo, yo yo, the sound of Reggaedelphia.

12:40 p.m. Bon Jovi, "Living on a Prayer." Hometown welcome for a homeboy of sorts. I'm in the radio tent, having loaned the beach chair to some guy who knows Tiffany Bacon from Power99. I need juice for the laptop, so this is a pit stop. Cooler here. Three big beefy cops just escorted some poor guy past this row of reporters and shooters. A perp walk, Philadelphia style. Probably get his car towed, too.

1:10 p.m. Back in the heat for Destinys Child followed by Kanye West. Lots of lovely looking people on stage. Kanye's got a gorgeous orchestra behind him.

1:30 p.m. We interrupt this blog to bring you Annette John-Hall's sighting. My colleague was inside the media tent, when who should walk in but Anna Nicole Smith. The bombshell/pin-up/tab fodder fatale approaches the peanut gallery and rolls her butt at them. Doesn't say a word. Then she flashes the fortunate with her black pasties.

To quote Dan Deluca, "Nothing says make poverty history more than that."

Will Smith is on, and Deluca's got it covered. Thought i'd duck inside and see what people are writing.

First, an email:

Mrs. Marianne Nugent writes Blinq. Not sure from where, though it is via the AOL UK site. Hi there i think its fantastic all the hard work everyone is putting into this event, it is a well deserved cause. Me and my husband have recently experienced africa as we chose to go over and help on our HONEYMOON! some people said we were crazy but to us it was a greatest achievement of our lives and cannot explain how we feel about our experience over there. I'm 21 and my husband is 25 and not many people can even understand all we cant stop talking about. Since we have came home we are still in contact with a few african families over there and have sent packages for them, but unfortunately they need more we can offer, if only more people can contribute we really CAN make difference. While we were there i gave my poverty band to an african lady and she was so appreciative it was lovely as i explained the reason behind it. so keep up the good work everyone i could cry just at the thought of the love and support behind all this.






How does she get that cool color?

2 p.m. Waiting for Toby Keith. Meanwhile, at Technorati's Live 8 site, 10,421 blog posts about the day are logged.

Since they're playing Coldplay from London right now, thought we'd switch to The Guardian's blog:

4.20pm The Vulture pod is split in its reaction to REM's Michael Stipe, and the wide blue stripe he habitually paints around his eyes these days. One Vulture insists he "just does it to look a bit weird", while another is sure it's intended to scare children - who, in any case, will be fidgeting through REM's set as they await Snoop Dogg.

It takes a bit of life experience to appreciate the 'EM, of course, and they're acquitting themselves impressively as we speak, with Man on the Moon and Everybody Hurts. Full marks to Stipe, too, for his suit-and-tie combo, and his freaky-bar-mitzvah dancing.

4pm: Stereophonics are used to being greeted by a sea of Welsh flags whenever they play live, but were confronted here by a solitary flag and, rather poignantly, a beermat.

They rose to the occasion, though: Local Boy in the Photograph and Dakota were excellent examples of a band who make most sense on stage. If you've never grasped the point of their bluff Valleysrock, have a look at them in front of a crowd, when their sound acquires a plainspoken majesty.

The Verve's Richard Ashcroft, who has been a virtual recluse for the last few years, supplied the day's first shot of charisma when he duetted with Coldplay on Bitter Sweet Symphony. Interviewed afterwards, he conceded that it had been a "fantastic" moment - which, for Ashcroft, amounts to gushing euphoria.

His glowering presence was, inevitably, a contrast to Chris Martin's housewifely wholesomeness, but wholesomeness is what keeps Coldplay's engine stoked.

Elton John - or "Lieutenant Pigeon", as Jonathan Ross dubbed him - has still got it going on, whatever "it" might be. In this case, it was sparkly versions of Saturday Night's All Right for Fighting and The Bitch is Back. But for quite a few nubiles at the front, the big moment was his duet with Wobbling Pete Doherty, who excelled himself by remembering the words to T-Rex's Children of the Revolution.

"Here's The Boss!" said Jonathan Ross after John's set. The Boss? Was Bruce Springsteen booked? But no - said Boss turned out to be Bob Geldof, who strode on to introduce yet another guest, Bill Gates of Microsoft. Ah - there to give us his very own version of Pink Floyd's Money, no doubt. Er, no. He was there to introduce Dido, and there was a certain symmetry there: Geekguy asking us to give it up for Beigegirl.

Dido did, however, duet with Youssou N'Dour, the first black artist of the day to set foot on stage. And even she couldn't dilute the shivery impact of the beautiful Seven Seconds.





See Dave Matthews drums and Bon Jovi's guitars. I certaintly don't have time to, but this video from the Live 8 Insider blog might have something going for it other than a promising name.



Albert Yee, who is blogging the event for Philly Future is finding that the great, free Wi-Fi is a bit of a dud. Meanwhile, Philly Future honcho Karl Martino tried to watch the event on TV.

Where is the local TV coverage? he asks.

We have none. None. You would expect TV news coverage to be all over this. My bet is local TV, not being able to get rights to show video from Live 8, has opted out of covering it entirely. And what of the kids who don't have cable? What - is that blasphemy?

The only place to catch this is at AOL. So if you don't have broadband - you're shit outta luck bud. At least there you are getting this unfiltered. Including a few E-A-G-L-E-S chants I heard loud and clear. Looks like it's time for an afternoon drink. Heh.

Look, seriously, poorer kids ALL OVER PHILLY will not see Live 8.

If I was in the same situation I was as a kid - I would have missed this. It would have been an event I would have viewed as for rich people, by rich people. Even if it was free - you need some resources and time to go to a concert at a minimum.

How ironic is this?

I am not entirely sure, but it seems licensing has killed getting the message out to the largest amount of people possible.

2:35 p.m. Dave Matthews Band gets it going. Nice men from the National of Islam are watching over me as I type under a tree. This must be unity day. A breeze works its way through the crowd, which is officially on the far side of one million. The sound is surprisingly good for such a massive space. There's little echo or repeating off buildings. The bass jars fillings.

Oh great, that reporter from Fox News quoted me about Philadelphia. Payback's a bitch.

Philly Blogger The West End observes, "The crowd in London looks really white. The crowd in Philadelphia less so. Just saying. Anybody agree or disagree?"

From my perspective, right near the ambulances, the folks needing a little time out, IV line or oxygen are coming in all sizes, shapes and colors.

3:00 p.m. DMB jamming. The jumbotron by the stage, the one I can see from under my tree, shows some groovy light show, not the band. A post by Frank at PhillyFuture gets right to this point:

The place is packed and I haven't really been able to see anything. I am practically cooked...and in some places the crowd is a crush. Crazy. I'm not sure I'll be able to stay until the end...nothing to see...and I'm definitely not crawling on the Port-a-Potties. I'm just not that into a marginal view with aroma therapy.

3:10 p.m. Alicia Keys is talking. From the heart. I can't type, I can only stare. Lordy. Taking us to church for one of her favorite songs, "For All We Know."

4:16 p.m. It's been a while. Was watching Linkin Park extenda-set, four songs then Jay-Z jacked it up even more. First real surprise was that this band seemed perfect for the show. LP got my sons through the testosterone-fueled early teens, and I'd found them boring and gimmicky. I'm getting heavily tatooed as we speak.

Surprise No 2. Why is Def Leppard playing Badfinger? Never mind. Must be great playing to a million at their age.

4:19 p.m. Albert Yee is in the house and online! The Philly blogger who scored a press pass to cover the event first had to pick it up by Love Park at 11 a.m., making the move to the Art Museum steps a bit of a drudge. Then the free city Wi-Fi turned out to be unreliable. Now he's on:

Our passes, err, wrist bands, worked like the Jedi Mind Trick. We waved it to the security guards, didn't say a word, and we were in. We got more access than we were supposed to. We were in the VIP secion. We were past them. We got to the main pit. And then I was front and center. You probably saw my mug on the TV or on AOL. I was leaning over the front gate separating us from the stage about 10' from the performers. I just pushed my way through the crowd before Toby Keith came on and Dave Matthew's followed, well, they're still on right now actually. They came on to chants of "DMB! DMB! From the front row of the masses on the Parkway.

I've just stared to stream my photos, hundreds more on the way.

I've also finally found a solid internet connection as well as you can see. More to come.

4:50 p.m. Chris Bowers from MyDD has figured out how to get all his pics posted, and provides some running commentary as well. the Philly blogger is one of about 50 picked to report from the world's stages.

At BOPnews, Matt Bowers has done the same. And he's found a very useful link to what African bloggers are saying about the day's events.

4:54 p.m. Josh Groban has joined Sarah McLachlan on stage for some purdy singing. Harmonies soaring around each other, accompanied by slow releases of oooohs and We Love Yous from behaved pockets of the crowd.

Photo opp: The Philebrity hummer seems to have been parked in Milton Street's spot.

5:27 p.m. Maroon 5 played hard, but were't moving the crowd closest to me. Wonder who they're here for. They didn't even seen to know Neil Young's "Rockin' in the Free World," which the M5s rode out of town.

5:30 p.m. Excellent. Already have bittorrent versions of the shows available for download.

6:11 p.m. Rob Thomas channelling Stevie Guitar Miller. Gonna run 40 or so minutes late, the press guy tells me, and this has been some serious carpentry. There have been flubs -- the wireless that wasn't, the crooked lines of sight, the apparent lack of live television coverage of music. To watch it work, however, is something. The set is a lazy susan divided in half, allowing upcoming acts to get their gear in place while the performer before them is on stage.

I'm thinking back to Keith Urban. I helped diss him by quoting a drinking game of a clever fellow, the one that had you drink if you figured out who Keith Urban is. Well, he's a guitar-playing good ol' boy with dirty blonde hair, a body that was featured in Playgirl, says Deluca, who must know, and he was providing some anthemic guitar-driven rock.

6:16 p.m. Announcements from stage. Goodbyes, thank-yous, pleadings to sign petitions. We're wonderful, we're told.



Oddball alert. Some guy on the screen with a painted blue bad guy's mask, cartoon villain-style. Oh, boy, it's Michael Stipe of REM.

One more to go: Stevie Wonder.

6:23 Richard Gere, shaggy and white-haired, Hellos Philadelphia. Gives us a little history, talking about liberty and justice.

And now, at 6:26 p.m., Stevie. Flashing peace sign, swinging head, sitting down at the keys.

"2005. We're going change the world."

Jammin', Higher Ground, pretty unbeatable so far.

A new ballad. Then Signed Sealed Delivered. And Superstition!to close. No surprises. No cameos. No emsembles, Jacko, Dylan, Prince or any of the other rumors of pop stars. Just Stevie delivering.

6:50: Peace out, and please pick up your trash.



Posted by Daniel Rubin at 08:10 AM in Music
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