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Balloons, babies, Boy George, and burn President Botha. As memories of a free festival go, this was a pretty good one, but as a 70,000 strong expression of disgust at Thatcher’s humiliating opposition to sanctions, it was even better.
Organised by the British AAA movement, with the Specials’ Jerry Dammers playing a prominent part, the festival hoped to capitalise on the rising tide of opposition to apartheid created by the recent re-introduction of a State of Emergency in South Africa. Last year’s American AAA ‘Sun City’ album and single had already proved that stars like Springsteen, Dylan and Lou Reed could be put to good use after all. With twelve billion pounds of British investment still in South Africa, it was time for our own pop voices to make themselves heard.
Arriving from the speechifying of the Hyde Park rally just in time to catch a glimpse of a departing Paul Weller’s exposed festival legs, it was reassuring to see that despite the clash with Capital Radio’s Sunsplash ’86, the AAA day had drawn a fairly mixed black and white audience.
As the chairman of the Anti Apartheid movement, Bishop Trevor Huddleston, observed, this was not just a crowd with a genuine sense of purpose: to send a message to our ‘scandalous government’ that its ‘wall of arrogance and stupid obstinacy over sanctions’ was opposed by the British people.
‘Rock gig’ mannerisms of the ‘are you ‘avin a good time out there?’ variety were largely eschewed, in favour of Geldofian exhortations to ‘put your money in the buckets,’ and to ‘remember what you’re here for’, and every one of pop faces involved found pertinent songs to offer up.
Acoustic sets from Aztec Camera’s Roddy Frame and Spandau’s Gary Kemp contributed to the Woodstock atmosphere of the early part of proceedings, with Kemp showcasing a specially written South African protest song, ‘When The Monolith Cracks’.
The ubiquitous Billy Bragg left his knobbly knee contest with Weller to hush the sun-struck revellers with piercing versions of ‘Days Like These’, ‘There Is Power In A Union’, and Sweet Honey In A Rock’s ‘Chile Your Waters Run Red Through Soweto’.
The lilting, blue-skied reggae of Maxi Priest’s ‘Strollin’ On’ was perfect for the occasion. His rendition of Bob Marley’s ‘War’ reminded that the musicianly struggle against oppression and inequality is by no means a new one and, as if to prove the point, long time AA campaigner Gill Scott-Heron came on to finger the culprits with ‘Winter In America’ and ‘Johannesburg’.
Backstage, as the Bishop compared notes on his Glastonbury gig with Bill Bragg and a harassed General Jerry Dammers scuttled about organising, the assorted camera crews and Fleet Street types occupied themselves chasing the ‘stars’, like beagles after a fox.
The bigger the media star the faster it moves and Boy George moved the fastest, with Sada coming a close second. In red, green and gold wooly hat, and what looked like a peeling, white face pack (a conceptual joke on black power/white boy/black sheep, perhaps) George said all that was necessary.
Taking the stage at a canter and pausing only to have a dig at the tastelessness of those attending that night’s farewell Wham! Concert, our George launched into a duet with Helen Terry for Culture Club’s ‘Black Money’. The duo’s soaring interpretation of ‘Great Big American Pop’ sounded remarkably good.
Princess bubbled and enthused and powered her way through ‘Say I’m Your Number One’, and the less than imaginatively chosen ‘Imagine’.
In the grown-up pop section, Sade smoothed out a fitting ‘Why Can’t We Live Together’, and Sting stepped out, against his doctor’s orders, for a solo ‘Roxanne’ and ‘Message In A Bottle’.
Speeches were delivered by representatives of the African National Congress (ANC)and the South West African Peoples Organisation (SWAPO), who along with local Anti Apartheid groups are to receive any profits from the event.
With the sun going down and the litter of cans mounting up, Hugh Masakela skipped through ‘Don’t Go Lose It Baby’ and the trumpeting, choral township dance of a new song calling for Neldon Mandela’s release.
The by now traditionally shambolic cast-of-thousands festival anthem was then upon us. In true Live Aid fashion there was a frenzied jostling for microphones and Junior Giscombe had to repeat the first verse of the Specials’ ‘Free Nelson Mandela’ ‘ three times, to keep things going.
The real emotional climax of the day came afterwards, in the form of Peter Gabriel’s proud, sad lament for the death of the South African student leader ‘Biko’.
Which left only a straw-hatted Elvis Costello to predict the inevitable lack of reporting of the event (Monday’s tabloids contained pull out supplements on the Wham! concert and hardly a word about Clapham) before attempting to stir up a sing-a-long for ‘Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood’.
And so to the rock’n’roll finale of the event, which came in the form of Big Audio Dynamite’s Eighties’ pelvic thrusting. With the police threatening to turn off the power, Mick Jones et al had to hurry their set, but even after the power had gone off and the crowd dispersed, all those involved knew that enough resistance had been generated by the day to give Thatcher a shock.
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