From the biggest-selling single of all time, to the ninth-biggest seller of 1989: charity hit glut illustrated in a single stat. Pete Waterman – pop’s Mr. Rent-A-Conscience with three charity chart-toppers to his name – stressed at every turn that the whole thing was Bob Geldof’s idea. Perhaps he was aware of the potential for anti-climax, or perhaps just nervous of the cynicism likely to greet a record largely manned by the PWL roster. Either way this is the sound of a golden goose croaking its last (for a while).
The usual caveats apply: the record did some good, it’s churlish to assume anything less than noble intentions on the part of the participants (even those with rapidly receding careers) – oh, and it’s better than “Let’s Party”, but what isn’t? Even so, Band Aid II can’t escape comparison with the original on a number of levels – performances, participants, production, impact – and it fails on every one. Actually, no, the singing isn’t awful – Sir Cliff sounds warmer than he does on his own Christmas hits – though the most credible singer has the most horrible moment: Lisa Stansfield shuddering her way through “no ra-i-i-i-n or r-i-i-i-ver flow”. You could make a case that the 1984 version overdid the jauntiness once the drums came in, but it’s got nothing on the Hit Factory’s one-size-fits-all rhythm track bopping its way through this one. They treated the song itself, of course, as sacrosanct – but “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” gained some of its power and all of its excuses by being a rushed, passionate response to a terrible situation. Presenting it as an inviolable classic highlights its perceived weaknesses. Notably, That Line gets split between Jason Donovan and a Goss, and they overstress the “won’t be snow” bits after to draw attention away from it.
And no matter the quality of the record, it’s hard to compare the line-ups and not feel a sense of decline. The 1984 Band Aid was made by an aristocracy of stars who’d conquered America, ushered in the video age, and helped reinvent pop as a global presence. It turned out to be a last hurrah, but it didn’t feel that way. This was close to the end for the 1989 crop, too – having owned this year, the PWL brand of cheerful plastic pop fell out of favour very quickly. The difference was that their peak had only been local, and even at the time Band Aid II’s line-up seemed slight.
Of course this was a little unfair on 1989’s music. The exciting stuff was happening elsewhere – club music, hip-hop, indie, all of them enjoying surges of creativity as the pop decade staggered wheezing over the line. The constraints of the song and of Pete Waterman’s rolodex stopped Band Aid II from being more diverse. But so did the credibility of the project – Band Aid and Live Aid had given pop a brief sense of mission: now that had devolved into a kind of dull civic duty thanks to years of hopeless charity releases. Doing it all over again just underlined the fact that the original impulse had become one more fundraising tactic, as surprising as a raffle at the school fete. There was nothing special about the idea, nothing special about the record, nothing special about the performers, and – it suddenly seemed – nothing special about pop any more at all.
Score: 2
[Logged in users can award their own score]
Wikipedia claims that Technotronic were on this record but I’m not sure I believe it.
“Feed the world, let them know YA KID K IS THA ONE”
With each decade of number ones, the story seems to begin and end in the same way; opening with a blast of friendly optimism, ending with a regretful hush, or sometimes a roar, at opportunities missed and expectations wrecked. The sixties began with “What Do You Want To Make Those Eyes At Me For?” a pre-war song yanked into a hopeful future, produced by Joe Meek and sung by Emile Ford, the first black British artist to make number one, opening up all the hitherto dammed, or damned, floodgates; and they ended with “Two Little Boys,” a pre-war song escorted into a hopeless present, sung by Rolf Harris, a survivor of the 1960 charts, as though returning to the scene of the wreckage, sadly shaking his head and burying his hands in his pockets as he treads the trenches. Then the seventies started with the face-licking bubblegum puppy of “Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)” beaming its goodwill wishes to another future, and ended with the final revenge of the sixties as Pink Floyd, releasing their first single in a dozen years, growled in the faces of punk, disco and Thatcher.
This eighties tale was initiated by “Brass In Pocket,” its self-assured strut generated by confidence rather than arrogance, even if its plaintive cries of “I’m special, so special” were to be taken far too literally by those who would follow (since Chrissie Hynde was and is nobody’s idea of a Thatcherite) and ends with a make-do-and-mend school hall singalong, a wistful glance back at the decade’s defining chart topper with the inherent sad knowledge that if the original had worked as it was supposed to, there would have been no need for its existence.
But the Ethiopian famine situation, despite Band Aid and Live Aid, had begun to worsen again at decade’s end, and Geldof approached Stock, Aitken and Waterman with a view to re-recording “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” with the popular names of the day – and it was very much of that specific day. A publicity blurb indicating that “Matt Goss belts out the line made famous by Bono” suggested that the top drawer was remaining untouched (in the event, that line was divided in half between Jimmy Somerville/Marti Pellow and Goss), and as much as I cherish his art, having Chris Rea sing the song’s second line, in the wake of Kylie, is a B-list gesture.
Then again, Kylie and Jason were the biggest names of the late 1989 day, even if Bros were already beginning their decline, and since most of 1989’s biggest hits were written and produced by SAW it therefore follows that Band Aid II would also involve the likes of Sonia, Big Fun and Bananarama. The latter act (or, at least, two-thirds of them) were the only survivors from the original record; Shakespeare’s Sister, despite a top ten single and album, were not invited. Clearly other initial participants such as Bono, George Michael and Sting were now outside this particular orbit, while yet others – Duran, Spandau, Boy George – were in abeyance, if not total commercial decline. However, Jimmy Somerville and Cliff Richard, two acts one would have thought would have been shoo-ins for the original Band Aid, do appear, as do Wet Wet Wet, Lisa Stansfield and sundry lesser others (the Technotronic involvement is questionable). As for New Pop – what was that again, dad? By the end of the eighties Fry, Gartside, Oakey and MacKenzie were practically invisible, while Simple Minds had “progressed” to bad Prince cover versions; but on the other hand Depeche Mode were by now beginning to become bigger than ever – and their absence from all Band and Live Aid activity is significant.
But it all sounds done on the cheap. SAW reconstruct the song’s elements to eliminate any drama inherent in its original build-up and try to make it vaguely danceable in a housey-Housey sort of way. Somerville is one of the few participants who comes out with his credibility intact; virtually everyone else overacts, overdoes the melisma, particularly Marti Pellow, who sounds as though he has just fed a little too well and is pining for some Gaviscon. And the final chorus, mostly due to the inane decision to mix the vocals back, sounds as though it’s being sung by three boy scouts in a draughty hall in Halifax.
The Band Aid II record has not survived, has never been compiled, is difficult to find, and its contemporary absence makes it even more of a “Two Little Boys”-style muted end to a decade which promised everything and then pulled all its weight to ensure that it delivered nothing. Perhaps if Soul II Soul had made it to the session – they were invited, but after playing a club night in Newcastle were stranded in the north-east by a snowstorm and couldn’t make it – a firmer sense of dynamic might have made itself known. Then again, at least Jive Bunny wasn’t involved – if there’s a 12-inch remix floating around, then I certainly don’t want to know, thank you very much – so even though the record doesn’t really deserve any points, it gets one from me for not being “Let’s Party.”
In Australia this spent one week at number 30 in January 1990, so I only heard it for the first time when we did the original Band Aid thread. Although I gave the original bonus points for its charitable motives and overall impact, this one can sit quite comfortably on 2.
this has some fascination as a barometer of a certain slice of UK pop culture of the time – maybe they should repeat the process every 5 years as a useful benchmark of trends in pop celebrity, style and production techniques for future cultural commentators.
I want to know why Cliff feels compelled to hang on to his headphones in the video? Does he have a small head or is it for dramatic effect (ie he has a big head)?
wiki also says Rolf Harris sings on this as well but I couldn’t spot him
…and congratulations Tom on making it through the 80s. I wonder if it has been easier, harder, or no different writing about songs that you remembered first hand?
I was mildly annoyed that Bananarama weren’t invited to perform on the 2004 version of this song, as the only act to appear on the first two.
There’s the most fantastically surreal Swedish Europop rendition of this song which was a minor Swedish hit in 2004. The singer (Shirley Clamp, genuinely quite a star in Sweden) sounds so genuinely elated during the ‘Well tonight thank God it’s them instead of you’ line. The whole thing is hilariously inappropriate in its jollity. I kind of like to imagine that it wasn’t even for charity, and the proceeds just bought Shirley a new fur coat.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-xdpVq2ysQ
It did seem, with a few exceptions (Cliff, Jimmy Somerville, Bananarama who were on both versions) that the class of ’89 were excitedly taking their chance to emulate their 1984 predecessors, with less thought given to the meaning of the lyrics. I was always irritated that the stylish canon effect in the original where “Let them know it’s Christmas time agaaaainnn” was overlaid by the next “Feed the World”, became a banal “Let them know it’s Christmas time and Feed the World” ad nauseam.
And Tom, congratulations on reaching the end of the 80s – a great decade for Pop and for Popular.
re #5 “maybe they should repeat the process every 5 years as a useful benchmark of trends in pop celebrity, style and production techniques for future cultural commentators.”
FT exposed these attempts a fair few years ago:
https://popular-number1s.com/ft/2004/11/the-secret-history-of-band-aid/
Paul Young’s Boy George is Kylie’s Rea.
I thang you.
lonepilgrim #5 – admin should make sure that the Related Posts section on the right hand side of this page includes “The Secret History of Band Aid”. detailing the forgotten Band Aids 3 to 19 – one of the funniest things ever published on FT.
– or indeed Steve M could post it before my comment appears!
I’m no fan of the original but there’s something quite spooky and atmospheric in the arrangement, at least in the first minute or so, which this version lacks utterly.
Much better than the records that preceded and succeeded it at the top; but really rather poor all the same. Kylie sounds OK, Cliff Richard gets the quasi-religious line, and Big Fun and Sonia somehow get a look in.
Damning with faint praise: not the worst charity record to make no 1 in the 2nd half of the 80s. Nor the second-worst. (Ferry Aid and The Crowd can fight it out).
3 out of 10 for being neither the Bunny nor the Kids. (Might have got a 4 if they’d resisted the tempation to get Sonia to over-emote on it. Or maybe not)
I don’t have home web access at the moment, incidentally, so we’ll be back on Monday with a couple of polls, and then kick off the 90s with – well, see Chelovek’s post if you want spoilers…
Rub, of course, and not entertaining and heartwarming rub like the first one. Maybe if NKOTB had been on it it would have been more endearingly slapdash.
“this has some fascination as a barometer of a certain slice of UK pop culture of the time – maybe they should repeat the process every 5 years as a useful benchmark of trends in pop celebrity, style and production techniques for future cultural commentators.”
I was thinking this as I listened to the song – unforch. we have to make do with “Help”. Oh, and “Perfmmmmph
Last orders for the 80s and it is stale beer all round.
A hideous single sorely lacking in the spirit of the original which starts off slow but wins you over half way through.This one gets it wrong on so many levels its hard to know where to begin.A terrible way to finish the decade.
What is very different beteen 1984 and 1989 is that some of the 89 gang seem to treat it as a bit of a laugh.
Possibly the worst charity single at off time and it tops even the stratching nails on a blackboard like attempt by ferry aid 2 years earlier.not even the bunnys recent reign can detract from just how woeful this is.infact given jive bunnys reign if terror its suprising waterman wasnt on the blower. A low 1.
What makes me wonder about this is that its selling off the memories of the original band aid.Surely in 1989 there cant have been much nostalgia for the 1984 version as there would have been maybe in say 1994.
It’s a catalog of people who didn’t cross over to America: Bros, Kylie, Jason, Cliff Richard. When the first Band Aid record came out I thought it was the biggest thing in the world, all the big stars who’d filled my MTV screen were on that record. My reaction reading about the second Band Aid: “who?”
I agree with DietMondrian @12. Midge Ures presence on the original was significant as many of Midges biggest hits were characterised by distinct atmospherics (often making up for gibberish songwords).
Atmospherics however have never been Pete Watermans strong point
his records being more about attitude.
The line-up on Band Aid 2 is redolent of the BBCs forgotten Look-In challenger Fast Forward where in amongst interviews with Edd the Duck and comic strip versions of The House of Elliot (probably) you could find exciting features on Jase, Big Fun, Sonia and others.
A tame and unoriginal number one to end a decade characterised musically by boldness and endeavour.
By the way congratulations Tom. Popular has reached the end of the eighties with considerably more aplomb than pop did itself.
Christ, make this pain stop.
I’m amazed I didn’t spent New Year’s Eve 1989 swinging from a light fitting.
The last rasping death rattle of the most remarkable decade in Pop? Well from my own perspective, the ’80s were the most remarkable as it was my rite of passage, boy to man (or manchild) decade. Starting with the mish-mash of synth-pop, post-punk, coming to terms with prog rock not being the be-all and end-all, reggae, ska in rude health and discovering the fun you could have with eyeliner pencil and hairspray. The decade of firsts: first kiss, first cigarette, first proper beating (there is always someone harder than you), first proper girlfriend, first holiday abroad, first job, first party, first gig, first hangover, and my first car. By the end of the decade, I had seen my life take a less assured path and a number of factors would reach a point of catharsis by early spring of 1990. But that’s another story.
All of this soundtracked by some of the greatest music to have graced me lug’oles, and some of the worst.
There’s no doubting the good intentions behind Band Aid II, but what a road to Hell it was. I never really liked the first one. I had the utmost respect for what Geldof had achieved, but that collective gnashing of teeth by Pop’s glitterati just left me cold. No surprise then, that the next generation just made me feel ill. Yes, indeed SAW’s game was truly up. The last rasping death rattle indeed. Call T.O.D.
Bring on the ’90s.
Re:3 Band Aid II “has never been compiled” Punctum is in error here – It appears on Telstar’s indispensable “Greatest Hits of 1990”, where it indeed forms the culminating climax of the celebration of the year (following on from Bros’ heartrending ‘Sister’), with royalties for this performance reassuringly being donated to the Band Aid trust.
Its certainly been written out of history in the ensuing 20 years though. Has Bob Geldof’s opinion on the recording ever been recorded? Nobody mentioned it at the time of Band Aid 20, like some terrible family incident which everybody had agreed to never speak of again.
Hearing it now, I feel a more extensive version of what was already a bit of my reaction in 1989 – a baffled “Hang on – Who ON EARTH is singing this bit then?”. No trouble in recognising Marti Pellow then or now, however – a voice that carries an audible smirk.
The “most remarkable decade in Pop” must be at best a subjective judgement. And of course, because my own Pop consciousness began with the 1960s, I would say that was the most remarkable decade. But I do have to ask how the 1980s compares with a Pop decade that kicked off with the Twist and the Beatles playing basic rock ‘n roll in Hamburg, and ended with Woodstock and Abbey Road.
In fairness to cliff ( re not crossing over to the US), he has had 3 top 10 hits in America
Of course it’s subjective Rosie, but I counter with Ian Curtis’ suicide, Adam Ant’s “Prince Charming” dance and the visual impact of the music video. U2 at Red Rock, Michael Jackson moonwalking at Motown 25, Wham!, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Live Aid, The Jesus And Mary Chain, The Smiths, Run DMC, Metallica and lots more. We didn’t have a Woodstock, but we had Glasto in it’s uncommercial, right-on pomp, and Monsters Of Rock at Donington. All in all, the ’80s stack up quite well.
@punctum #3 – While I hate to be a pedant, Shirley Bassey had a #1 hit before Emile Ford…but I know what you mean.
Decadal thinking does do your head in. I recently heard Mark Kermode suggest that the 70s ended and the 80s began in 1977 with the release of Star Wars; Season 3 of Mad Men pretty much showed the 50s giving way finally only at the end of 1963; and a number of people have argued that regardless of what was going on at #1 the 90’s were well underway in the body of music in 1989 (and probably since Surfer Rosa and It takes a Nation of Millions in 1988).
Anyhoo, Flashback (1990) attempted to make light of this sort of thinking. Its key line was Dennis Hopper’s crazed old druggie Hippie counseling uptight FBI agent Keifer Sutherland:
Once we get out of the 80s, the 90s are going to make the 60s look like the 50s.
Great essay by Tom and comment by Punctum of course.
#3 and #25 More pedantry regarding Britain’s first black artist at number one in these charts – Winifred Atwell had number ones in 1954 and 1956. Winifred wasn’t born in the UK but she lived here a long time, although eventually settling in Australia.
Even more pedantry – in the listing of all the number ones by date her name is spelt both as Attwell and Atwell. I believe that the latter is the correct spelling.
“And there WON’T be SNOW in AFriCA THIS CHRISTMAS TIIIMEEE!”
“THE GREATEST GIFT THEEEEEY’LL GET THIS YEAR IS LOOOVVVVVE!”
…oh yikes.
At times this sounds like a parody of the original – hey, imagine Band Aid if it was made in the *late* 80s, LOLZ! You can imagine how Stock/Aitken/Waterman were feeling, from their humble beginnings with the likes of Dead or Alive, they’ve steadily grown in popularity over the decade until almost completely taking over the chart this year. Their hopes must have been high for 1990 – how on earth can they fall from this high? Simon Cowell right now is in exactly the same situation of chart dominance, and I’m just waiting for the inevitable fall that I predict sometime around 2012.
Yeah, it’s bad, but there’s an odd charm to it. What would have been even worse had they done it, say, fifteen years later, in a really awful time for pop music. They’d probably have the likes of Coldplay and The Darkness in it and a rap break from Dizzee Rascal, but thankfully Geldof saw sense. Erm, didn’t he?
Mutley @ 27:
Quite right for calling Marcello on that one. Winifred was originally from Trinidad, Emile from St Lucia, and in both cases that would make them British at the time. Winifred didn’t sing, of course; the first black vocalist to top the British chart would be Frankie Lymon by my reckoning but others may know different. The most that could be said of Emile Ford is that he was the first Black British Singer to top the British chart. An uncharacteristic lapse on Marcello’s part.
MAJOR: We called her Winnie ’cause she looked like Winnie!
FAWLTY: She wasn’t black!
MAJOR: Black? Churchill wasn’t black!
Perfectly valid points from all, and yes, a sad way to say goodbye to an incredible decade, but….I really like it. I like the song anyway, I like the jaunty Soul II Soul-type rhythm track and the SAW production, I like that it’s not in thrall to the original. One thing it does feel like for me is a goodbye. With Black Box, Soul II Soul, and Madchester over the last few months, pop, and the way I related to pop, was changing incredibly quickly, and while it was fun for me as a young kid, it needed to change the same way I was. So that’s probably why I have a soft spot for it. Also the last single I would buy on seven inch for over 10 years.
@1: Technotronic are credited on the sleeve, albeit as ‘Technotronics’. As well as Glen Goldsmith!
thefatgit @ 24:
Michael Holliday’s suicide might not be in the same league as Ian Curtis’s (although the demise of a shy Liverpool schoolteacher under pressure to be a star does provide a sinister foreshadowing of the celebrity cult of the Noughties) but would there have been a Glasto in its pomp without Woodstock? Did the 80s music video not have its roots in A Hard Day’s Night? Did House not begin with Tomorrow Never Knows? SynthPop with Good Vibrations? What did Stock Aitken Waterman not owe to Holland-Dozier-Holland? How many big 80s names would not cheerfully acknowledge the influence of (any permutation of) the Beatles, the Stones, the Kinks, the Who, the Beach Boys, the Doors, Bob Dylan, Cream and the Yardbirds?
I rest my case, m’lud!
You’ve trumped me there, Rosie! We’re into the territory of “if it wasn’t for this, there wouldn’t be that” which is an ongoing narrative, as Punctum’s posts on Popular have often demonstrated. I was a mere babe in the ’60s, but so much of that decade has been digested and appreciated as great music by me and anyone who has an interest in Pop. And maybe there are precedents from the ’40s and ’50s which shaped the Dylans and Jaggers and Lennons. It’s not necessarily a case of “my decade is better than your decade”, but when my grandkids ask me about the music I grew up with, I’ll be talking about the day I brought home “Blue Monday” and played it over and over. It’s not better than “Good Vibrations” for example, but it’s mine.
…and, in the end, the greatest decade for pop is always going to be the one where you were a teenager. So fair dos all round!
Of course, there’d have been no Beatles, Stones etc without Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Carl Perkins, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, or the Brill Building.
And there’s have been none of those without traditional West African music, Cajun music, Irish and Scottish folk music and so on to cross-breed.
I’ve often said in these pages that there’s nothing new under the sun.
Some of my favourite years for pop are 1989, 1999 and 2009, weirdly. 1989 because it’s the peak of high-energy 80s brilliance. 1999 because I was the perfect age for the Steps/S Club 7 manufactured group era (and then later to discover the incredible trance music around that year), and last year was simply the soundtrack to the best year of my life, turning 21 and a whole world opening up to me. In contrast, 1990, 2000 and 2010 just seem like inferior copies of the previous year.
Needless to say, I’m eagerly awaiting Popular getting to ’99 and ’09 as the nostalgia factor will be at its extreme.
This all-but passed me by at the time, and it didn’t trouble the Number One slot here in NZ. My main association seems to be Clive James’ yearly once-over on TV getting great mileage out of Jason Donovan in the interviews: “If we only save ONE child, then it will have all been worthwhile…” etc.
@Billy Hicks. Yes, that 1998/1999 trancey dance is really great isn’t it? Strange how something that, on the face of it, should be quite repeatable and extendible in fact turned out to be just a season (albeit one that we all get to revisit). Can I tempt you to share with us what grabbed you in your world-opening-up year about 2009? [disclosure: Gaga, Glee, the brooklyn crowd (Dirty Projectors esp.), and some UK gal pop (Bat for Lashes esp.) were the new stuff that jumped out for me in 2009.]
Well, we can be thankful there wasn’t a USA For Africa II
#29: argh, what I meant was “first British black male singer to get to number one” but the fine detail got lost. This is what happens when I post comments without proper sub-editing/fact-checking first (MC indulges in self-spank; don’t worry readers, I’m the one who’s going to hell, you are only watching).
@39
Nice one Marcello!
Shirley Bassey is the first British-born black vocalist to top the charts but amazingly, and unless anybody knows different, we have to wait until 1974, and Marcel King of Sweet Sensation, for the the first British-born black male vocalist to reach the summit.
This is assuming that Marcel King was black (sadly I see he is no longer with us). It was only this weekend, and after forty-five years of assuming he was black, that the purveyor of 60s soul hits 1-2-3 and Like a Baby, Len Barry, was white! Doh!
The most that could be said of Emile Ford: Synesthesia!
@40 – I genuinely never realised that Shirley Bassey was black before.
She just always looked like, well, like Shirley Bassey.
In the overview of black British-based or born early chart-toppers, let us not forget Danny Williams (born in S. Africa but lived in the UK for much of his life) who was number one with Moon River in December 1961.
# 3 Dep Mod’s absence is significant of nothing more than Geldof’s antipathy towards synth acts (turning a blind eye to his collaborator’s day job of course). OMD were told they weren’t wanted for Live Aid. Possibly this was down to the New Romantic thing happening at the same time as the Rats’ fall from grace ?
I remember Matt Aitken complaining in 2004 that this record had been airbrushed from history in all the news coverage that year but I think what’s in the grooves accomplishes that task by itself.
Re 40: Anglo-Indian male singers to hit number one before Marcel King: Cliff, Engelbert, Peter Sarstedt. Sadly, Boris Karloff never made a record. As far as I know.
Re 44: I really don’t think this is at all bad. It lacks the 1984 version’s hideous Olympic fanfare before the “feed the world” refrain, and – I have to disagree with Tom for once – I don’t think SAW “treated the song itself, of course, as sacrosanct”; they toy with it and erase or mute the more embarrassing and pompous aspects of the original. The next version consciously magnified them.
“”Sadly, Boris Karloff never made a record. As far as I know.”
Unless you count Bobby “Boris” Pickett 🙂
One of my more risible habits is spending large chunks of December with music channels on in the background, with “Magic’s Christmas Cracker Top 50” inevitably introduced by a reluctant Ricky Tomlinson or confused Tony Christie.
You can imagine that away from the established festive Canon there are some rum selections; singles that weren’t hits even at the time, long forgotten attempts by Cliff to recreate Mistletoe And Wine, dubious comedy/celebrity cash- ins, and the like.
I’ve not seen Band Aid II once. It’s been removed from history. Could there be a boring legal reason for this, its broadcast being prevented by the same limitations that led to Live Aid being unavailable on VHS or DVD for years?
Or do broadcasters genuinely think it’s shite? Band Aid 20 makes it in every time.
Very true, you have the ‘latest’, the ‘original’, this is the third choice out of two
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Plenty of melodramatic vocals here! 3/10 from me.