No Show For Old Crows

...But a plethora of excellent releases from solo artists make up for it.

I had been hoping to post a review of the Old Crow Medicine Show gig at Lock 17 today, but a bunch of callous terrorists have dashed that. I gather that the gig went ahead as planned (as most small venue events have despite recent events) but there was little way of us getting there. Moaning about public transport has always been a favourite pastime of Londoners, but it has reached new heights as we come to realise that the transport network is not merely unpredictable, but also easily exploited by those seeking to maim and kill. It’s not a fun time at the moment, made worse by the attempted attacks this week and the intimation that these have not been isolated one-off events. The thought that London may now be facing a sustained assault is not something anyone particularly wants to have to face.

Still, in a spirit of stoicism, life must go on – and as ever there’s a backlog of new CDs I haven’t got round to reviewing yet, not least three lovely promos I’ve picked up in the last couple of weeks.

First up is ‘Humming By The Flowered Vine’, the rather convolutedly-titled third full length from Laura Cantrell. It comes dedicated to the memory of John Peel, which endears it to me before I’ve even heard the music it contains. Cantrell’s voice is a treacly confection, lending this album a deceptively straightforward quality. Much of it is soft, delicate and understated, and it occasionally veers into whimsical terrain. Like her previous releases, there are only a handful of self-penned songs, the rest of the album being given over to interpretations of traditional material and cover versions of country standards. The covers, however, cannot be considered mere filler as they are absolutely fundamental to the shape and pacing of her collections. They also demonstrate just how comfortable Cantrell is with her material – she has a vast knowledge of country music as any listener to her radio thrift shop show will surely attest.

‘Humming…’ certainly has its moments of, ahem, hummable sweetness, most notably the lovely opener ‘14th Street’ (which somehow manages to make stalking an entirely innocent activity) and Cantrell’s own ‘California Rose’ (a wonderfully restrained country shuffle). Elsewhere, however, there are signs of burgeoning ambitions, not least on guitarist Dave Schramm’s ‘And Still’, which alternates between passages of elusive calm and more striking punctuations, characterised by some expressive fretwork. Best of all may be the traditional murder ballad ‘Poor Ellen Smith’ which Cantrell inhabits with genuine sympathy and understanding.

Throughout, Cantrell’s voice rarely veers away from the melody line – she is a rare breed of singer these days, almost entirely eschewing virtuosity. This makes her all the more adept at handling the constrained emotions of country songs. It’s particularly illuminating to hear her tackle something like Lucinda Williams’ ‘Letters’, the song sounds more vulnerable when stripped of Williams’ gutsy, guttural character.

‘Humming…’ so comfortably fits into a rich seam of tradition that it almost feels like an enticing invitation to another era. From it cover art to the photograph of Cantrell next to a piano inside the sleeve, much like The White Stripes, there seems to be a particular aesthetic at work. Whereas The White Stripes often leave a lingering, knowing smirk, there can be little doubt that Cantrell is entirely sincere. I’ve been meaning to investigate her earlier albums for some time. On hearing this, my resolve is much stronger.

However, Cantrell’s carefully constructed homage to the likes of Kitty Wells and Patsy Cline rather pales into insignificance next to ‘We Will Become Like Birds’, the third official album from the wonderful Erin McKeown. I’ve been hotly anticipating this album since seeing McKeown play an awesome solo show at the Islington Academy and I’m pleased that it does not disappoint. It also doesn’t sound anything like I was expecting it to, perhaps because the Judy Garland tinges and slightly jazzy guitar flourishes of ‘Grand’ are largely absent. In their place is a polished, focussed and immediately accessible collection of breezy pop songs, brilliantly executed and intelligently enhanced through subtle production trickery. Whereas ‘Distillation’ and parts of ‘Grand’ required several listens to reveal their full charms, ‘We Will Become Like Birds’ is immediately memorable and frequently touching. It is a ‘pop’ album in the purest sense and it deserves to achieve sales to reflect this.

It opens with ‘Aspera’, an almost Neil Young-esque slow trudge (which McKeown pulls off surprisingly well) and ends with ‘You Were Right About Everything’, a tender, subtle and affecting ballad. In between is a whole plethora of melodic invention, from the unusual intervals of ‘Air’ to the genuinely anthemic choruses of ‘To The Stars’ and ‘White City’. The latter, particularly, is unlike anything else McKeown has written – its quick tempo and rousing chants providing both immediate pleasures and a lingering impact.

There is a thematic coherence to ‘…Birds’ that reflects the overall confidence of the music and the performances. Many of the songs are songs of courage and defiance, which seem strangely appropriate to the current mood in London. What could have appeared brash and ugly in the hands of, say, Toby Keith, is delivered with grace and elegance by McKeown. Her vocals are consistently light and breezy, but she also demonstrates an inventive talent for lithe and unpredictable melodies. This is songwriting of the highest quality, unafraid of genuine sophistication. Class.

More solo artist action comes from the playful, gleefully chameleonic Jamie Liddell, whose second album ‘Multiply’ entirely forsakes the confusing glitch and stutter of his debut and instead adopts a more funky approach. My friend Alex from Club Treehouse has denounced this as ‘absolutely awful…like a digital Jamiroquai’, whilst my former co-presenter on student radio think it’s one of the best albums of the last five years. I’d probably disagree with both of these views, as they seem to be somewhat extreme. There is far more fun and panache on display here than you might reasonably expect from the twat in the hat, but there are some significant problems, particularly with track sequencing, which rather dilute its overall impact.

It starts brilliantly. ‘You Got Me Up’ is short and decidedly sweet, a lush refashioning of the spirit of Sly Stone. ‘Multiply’ sees Liddell inherit the mantle of more gritty soul singers such as Otis Redding or Joe Tex, and he does this with such natural and unforced enthusiasm that it is hard to resist, even if the song is essentially a genre pastiche. Even better is ‘When I Come Back Around’, which signifies that a more questing and original spirit is at work. There’s certainly a detectable Prince influence, but the falsetto vocals and wurlizer keyboards are filtered through a rather more modernist prism, with a more twisting and unpredictable production style. It’s also an incredibly infectious song, with an incredible energy and confidence.

Things continue to move away from the conventional as the album progresses. ‘A Little Bit More’ makes elaborate use of layered backing vocals (one of the few hints at Liddell’s more uncompromising vocal loops live show), whilst ‘The City’ is stripped right back to just a beat, skeletal bass line and expressive vocal performance. It all makes for incredibly exciting stuff.
The problems arrive because, perversely, Liddell decides to conclude the album with a series of slower, less exhuberant songs, which quickly deaden the pace. Whilst not exactly ballads as such, Liddell clearly aimed to use these as vessels through which to channel the more sultry and seductive spirit of classic soul. Of themselves, they are not entirely unsuccessful, although perhaps a little derivative for comfort. Placed together, they bring an otherwise irresistibly invigorating album to an unexpected and uncomfortably muted conclusion.

It would be easy for the success of The Pixies reunion (although I had my own reservations) to blind us into deifying Frank Black as a solo artist. Nevertheless, 'Honeycomb', his umpteenth album, does bring some surprising pleasures. For this one, Black has indulged himself by going off to Nashville and recording with the musicians largely agreed to have the best chops in the business - Dan Penn, Spooner Oldham and Steve Cropper among them. Reportedly, none of them had heard of The Pixies or even had any idea who Frank Black was. This doesn't seem to matter one jot because the record has such a gentle, easy charm that the combination of a more restrained Black with these session and songwriting legends seems entirely comfortable.

Whereas Black's last few albums with The Catholics have tended towards the conventional and uninspired, this collection offers more considered arrangements and more ingratiating tunes than Black has mustered recently. There are also some audacious covers, among them a slow, drawling and surprisingly effective rendition of Penn's legendary 'Dark End Of The Street'. OK, so this is a standard, and a song so undeniably brilliant it would seem impossible to ruin. Nevertheless we should credit Black with resisting the temptation to transform it into an angsty, primal grunge howl, and instead playing it mostly straight, whilst exaggerating its tempo and phrasing to accommodate for his vocal limitations.

Of Black's own songs, 'I Burn Today' is an effective break-up song, commendable mostly for its restrained and controlled style. Where previously, Black would have articulated his rage in rather more predictably aggressive tones, here he barely rises above a whisper. 'Lone Child' is more rhythmically dynamic than one might reasonably expect, and makes excellent use of the skills of the musicians to create an evocative atmosphere. 'Another Velvet Nightmare' is rather more sinister and despairing.

Its true that it all becomes rather homogenous towards the end, and much the same countrified soul mood is preserved throughout. Perhaps in the hands of a better vocalist this wouldn't have mattered so much (indeed, the combination of Penn and Oldham on the outstanding live reuninion 'Moments From This Theatre' largely avoided this pitfall), but it's a minor criticism of what really represents an interesting diversion for Black and proof that he isn't only now concerned with the big money promised by new Pixies material. I absolutely despise the journalistic cliche of the 'return to form' but, seriously, when was the last time Frank Black produced an album this assured? You'd have to go back to the rather more scattershot, but equally endearing 'Teenager Of The Year'. It's not really a 'return to form' as such, as this is an idiom that Black has given little hint of exploring before (and will probably abandon just as quickly for his next release). It's more of a curious aside.

Nationwide Mercury Music Prize

The nominations were announced this morning:

Bloc Party – 'Silent Alarm'
Hard-Fi –'Stars Of CCTV'
Kaiser Chiefs – 'Employment'
MIA – 'Arular'
The Magic Numbers – 'The Magic Numbers'
Coldplay – 'X&Y'
The Go! Team – 'Thunder, Lightning Strike'
Antony And The Johnsons – 'I Am A Bird Now'
KT Tunstall – 'Eye To The Telescope'
Maximo Park – 'A Certain Trigger'
Seth Lakeman – 'Kitty Jay'
Polar Bear – 'Held On The Tips Of Fingers'



As ever, many of these options seem safe and predictable (the bland Coldplay, the twee Magic Numbers and the Blur-lite Kaiser Chiefs particularly spring to mind). The Kaiser Chiefs have immediately been elevated to the status of favourites - but surely MIA is exactly the kind of here-today-gone-tomorrow hip production tosh the Mercury judges tend to admire (Roni Size, Talvin Singh etc).

Its interesting that Antony and the Johsons were eligible - born in Chichester but now firmly based in New York. This is by some considerable distance the best album in the list.

It's also pleasing to see Seb Rochford's Polar Bear receive a nomination, although very surprising that it did so over Acoustic Ladyland's more heavily publicised 'Last Chance Disco'. I'd have been tempted to nominate both!

This looks like a very media/corporate list - more so than usual. The rise of Hard-Fi is somewhat baffling to me, and whilst I enjoyed the Magic Numbers live - on record they seem to be insufferably twee and prissy. Bloc Party's nomination is less objectionable but they are hardly musical pioneers. At least they haven't nominated the truly ghastly James Blunt (currently topping both the UK singles and albums charts) and the absence of the overrated Tom Vek is also somewhat surprising. I must confess that I know absolutely nothing about Seth Lakeman.

As ever, most of the key British albums of the last twelve months are notable by their absence.
Where are:

Patrick Wolf - Wind In The Wires
British Sea Power - Open Season
Jamie Lidell - Multiply
Roots Manuva - Awfully Deep
Four Tet - Everything Ecstatic
Brooks - Red Tape
Teenage Fanclub - Man-made (I don't think this was eligible)
Doves - Some Cities
King Creosote - Rocket DIY

Sadly Matthew Herbert's essential Plat du Jour and the Clor album seem to have been released too late (25th July) to be eligible this year. That means they will no doubt miss out on next year's award as well.

Polar Bear and Antony and the Johnsons are the only nominated albums of sufficient quality to merit receiving an award. Will the judges show that they have sense and taste this year?

Music Will Provide The Light You Cannot Resist

R.E.M. wow Hyde Park 16/7/05

R.E.M.'s massive Hyde Park gig may have been postponed due to the tragic events of last week, but the impact of the band's performance was certainly not diminished. In fact, despite Michael Stipe not making any specific references to the events as he had at the band's other UK concerts last week, some moments here resonated with increased poignancy, particularly a hypnotic version of 'The Outsiders' (which ends with the words 'I am not afraid') and the strident 'Walk Unafraid'. As it was now the final date of the band's gargantuan world tour, it was a night of many surprises.

First, a few words about the support acts. We arrived a little later than planned, so only heard Jonathan Rice whining from outside the park. It sounded more than a little earnest and worthy from a distance.

Idlewild were up next, and gave us a generous ten-song set. Here is a band that continues to mature and develop with every album, and with material from excellent new set 'Warnings/Promises' sitting comfortably alongside older gems, this was a remarkably confident performance, especially given that they were using a dep drummer. Highlights were 'El Capitan' and 'I Understand It', which are their most structurally ambitious songs to date, as well as improved versions of 'Little Discourage' and 'A Modern Way Of Letting Go'. This band seem to have polarised their fanbase by moving in a more melodic direction, abandoning some of their uncontrolled aggression along the way. The comments that they now sound rather like R.E.M. are not too wide of the mark, although they've yet to incorporate anything resembling Peter Buck's Byrdsian twang. Roddy Woomble certainly makes for an intriguing frontman, and he remains one of the most intelligent and literate lyricists around in British music at the moment. He is showing no signs of being short of ideas.

Sadly, we had to do without Scouse revivalists The Zutons, so we leapt straight to the crushingly uninteresting Feeder who blustered their way through several hit singles. They appear to be one of those bands who remain completely off my radar, yet I seem to recognise a baffling number of their songs. Their older material is punky, but uninspired (see the horrendously simplistic 'Buck Rogers'), whilst the material from the last couple of hours drifts towards plodding tempos and clunky arrangements. All the lyrics and titles seem worthy and dull, lacking any engaging imagery ('feeling a moment', 'just the way I'm feeling', 'we tumble and fall' etc), whilst the melodies never rise beyond the merely conventional.

Bursting on to the stage with little fanfare, R.E.M. break straight into 'Bad Day', a thrilling and effective opener (although they had recently been opening with less predictable 'I Took Your Name'), then moved swiftly on through 'What's The Frequency, Kenneth' and 'The One I Love'. This made for a robust and exciting trio with which to begin proceedings, and it effectively allowed them some freedom for more unusual choices later in the set.

Those choices began relatively early on with a faithful rendition of 'Sitting Still' from their debut album from 1983, with new drummer Bill Rieflin doing an excellent job of imitating Bill Berry's direct and propulsive backbeat. It was a genuine surprise and one of the highlights of the set.

Even more surprising was how well material from 'Around The Sun' sat with their established classics. Even though the album has sold far less respectably than even 'Reveal' or 'Up', it was refreshing to hear so many in the crowd singing along with 'Leaving New York' and 'Electron Blue'. 'Final Straw' sounded fleshed out and less tentative than it had sounded when first performed back on the 2003 tour - it actually worked more convincingly as a protest song this time around. Best of all was a stunning rendition of 'The Outsiders', with Michael Stipe surprisingly convincing when taking on Q-Tip's rap. Peter Buck seemed to be a much more significant presence in these live versions, producing a whole gamut of strange and wonderful sounds from his electric guitar, occasionally even hitting and shaking it for unusual effect. Sadly, not even the extra energy afforded by live performance could rescue the unspeakable 'Wanderlust' - currently my least favourite R.E.M. song by some distance. Why was this chosen as a single for heaven's sake?

The band have worked hard on expanding their arrangements. Whilst the Monster tour was characterised by deliberately straightforward, heavier interpretations of songs, and the Up tour was striking for the integration of keyboards and electronics, recent tours have tried to reconcile these two trends with the countrified sound which might be more familiar to fans of 'Out Of Time' or the southern gothic of 'Automatic For The People'. The presence of multi-instrumentalists Ken Stringfellow and Scott McCaughey remains fundamental to this approach, and the careful orchestration of vocal parts at the close of 'Leaving New York' proved particularly striking. Their keyboards, organ and extra guitar also help to flesh out the sound.

Recent REM gigs have tended to focus on a particular album or period. The 2003 Brixton Academy show focussed heavily on 'Fables Of The Reconstruction' as it had been recorded nearby, and tonight's show had a little subsection devoted to 'New Adventures In Hi Fi', one of the band's most impressive and underrated recordings. 'Electrolite' clearly remains a band favourite, and it seemed wonderfully aposite for such a beautiful, summery day. More unpredictable was a fiery, vitriolic take on 'So Fast So Numb', during which Stipe seemed particularly energised, adopting ever more unusual postures. Then, amazingly, the band were joined on stage by Patti Smith for a devastating 'E-bow The Letter'. Smith's failing microphone undoubtedly muted the initial impact and, clearly unable to hear herself, she looked increasingly tentative and uncomfortable. Having been comforted by Stipe, she shared his microphone. Finally audible, her voice sounded rich and mesmeric. The two together on stage provided a quite extraordinary spectacle, and their relationship is clearly one of genuine intimacy.

All the usual suspects were here of course, with a dependably touching 'Everybody Hurts', a haunting version of 'Drive' and a closing mass singalong of 'Losing My Religion', still one of the most emotionally complex lyrics ever to have struck such a unified chord. It was great to hear 'Me In Honey', one of the less frequently performed songs from 'Out Of Time' and another surprising selection. It's easy to quibble about setlists, and I'm still slightly frustrated that 'Up' and 'Reveal' now seem to be rather neglected (only one song from each), but this was still a well-judged set, carefully constructed to appeal to all setions of the band's remarkably wide audience.

The encore was generous, including 'Imitation Of Life' and an endearing 'Nightswimming' with Michael Stipe sitting on Mike Mills' piano before collapsing on to the keys and planting an unexpected kiss on Mills' cheek. It was a little marred by some unnecessary synth strings - it would surely have been better to leave it as just piano and voice rather than attempt to mimic the John Paul Jones arrangement from the album version. The final run of a truncated 'It's The End Of The World...' running straight into the charmingly silly 'I'm Gonna DJ' ('Death is pretty final/I'm collecting vinyl/I'm gonna DJ at the end of the wooooooorld!') and then the now established finale of 'Man On The Moon' worked particularly well. The band then seemed reluctant to leave the stage, lining up at the front to milk the applause and sing a quick burst of 'it's the end of the tour as we know it'. Mills and Buck then proceeded to carry Stipe off stage.

R.E.M. have clearly put aside the differences that emerged during the protracted process of recording 'Up' and have re-established themselves as a touring act par excellence. Even if their albums have (at least partially unfairly) been viewed as delivering diminishing returns, they still seem able to sell vast numbers of concert tickets on every tour they do. Perhaps this is because of their real quality as entertainers - Stipe remains a charismatic and imposing presence, dancing in a uniquely strange fashion and completely unafraid of the performance aspect of his role as singer. The band also play close attention to the wider dynamics necessary to make huge concerts of this nature successful - they use a mind-boggling array of flashy cinematic techniques to make the big screen footage interesting (perhaps even diverting), including colour filters, grainy textures and quick edits to pre-recorded video footage (particularly effective during 'Leaving New York'). They also make good use of house lights shining on to the audience, a similar trick used by Bruce Springsteen during his marathon shows. Another outstanding performance - until next time then....

London

After several days of immense positivity now this. A horrific, scary day during which my thoughts are with friends and families of those affected.

It feels inappropriate to attempt any kind of analysis of this right now. On a personal level, I would simply add that, whilst stranded in Kings Cross unable to get any form of transport, I was horrified and disgusted to be kicked out of The Pakenham Arms pub for not spending enough money on drinks, even after I had offered to buy not just more drink but also food. This was so far from the kind of attitude that would have been appropriate on such an unpleasant day. Given the advice of the Metropolitan Police at that stage, it was irresponsible. All I wanted to do was watch the news until further advice was available. It was certainly not necessary for the landlord to be verbally abusive when I'd caused no trouble whatsoever.

Outside, there was an eerily calm atmosphere by this stage, and plenty of people helped out to point me in the right direction home. This openness and friendliness made me feel more comfortable and secure.

It would only have taken some minor differences in timings for me to be caught up at the scene in Kings Cross, which is a deeply terrifying thought. This evening, whilst by no means surprised, I am stunned, numb and concerned for the future.

A Gr8 Event?

DISCLAIMER: The views expressed here are entirely my own and are written with my work hat firmly off.

For better or for worse, I felt a part of something at the Live 8 concert in Hyde Park last weekend. I've never seen such a huge crowd of people - it stretched as long and wide as the eye could see. The event seemed to be a protest against cynicism and apathy as much as anything, and as such it may have just convinced me that it was greatly positive. The message was loud and clear - gathering people together can and must effect change. The unsurprising warning from George Bush that Tony Blair can expect little in return for his commitment in Iraq may suggest otherwise, but it will be interesting to see what impact, if any, these international concerts have at the G8 summit.

I have no problem whatsoever with the notion that musicians can have a political voice. There are many who think that musicians should stick to writing songs and entertaining people. This is a profoundly dangerous and anti-democratic sentiment. As Michael Stipe said recently - in campaigning on issues such as the US election and global poverty, he is exercising his right as a private citizen to voice opinions. He also happens to be a public figure and, as such, can disseminate his message to greater effect. All well and good.

Still, I have some reservations I need to get out of the way at the outset. There were times, when performances were juxtaposed with emotive images of starving children, that it felt as if a giant pop concert may not have been the most appropriate way of focussing the world's attention on these significant issues, especially as the event appears to have generated little attention in Africa itself. This was not its aim of course. The focus has been on the G8 summit and what it could achieve, rather than the countries that are themselves in need of debt relief and much more. This is why the criticism over the lack of African artists on the bill rather missed the point.*

My second reservation is that this campaign may sweep broader, more complicated issues under the carpet. Whilst the view that African poverty can only be solved by Africa itself is grossly offensive, even complete debt cancellation is unlikely to resolve the problem. Only a handful of artists involved made any reference to the real problem - the need for a system of fair trade that does not systematically exploit African producers. Even more ignored were the troublesome conditions which will be imposed on countries before they can receive any kind of debt relief: the elimination of corruption (fair enough, but difficult to achieve), but worse, enforced privatisation and free market liberalisation. There is no evidence that this will actually be of benefit. It has certainly created problems in South America. I fear that, should any postive developments come from this, the result may be the creation of elites in Africa, and a massive gulf between the extremely rich and the extremely poor. We must guard against this if real progress is to be made. It's worth remembering that many African countries have repaid most if not all of what they borrowed, but thanks to the wonders of compound interest, now find themselves in debt to the tune of billions.

Thirdly, why has the focus solely been on Africa? Extreme poverty exists elsewhere in the world, and there are vast areas of real suffering that never receive any media attention. Are we simply to ignore humanitarian disasters elsewhere?

Nevertheless, to raise awareness has to be a good thing. I can't help but feel that there is a whole generation (post-the original Live Aid) who know very little about these issues. We can be cynical about the motives of the artists involved (and the likes of Robbie Williams and Pink Floyd have unsurprisingly experienced a massive surge in their album sales over the weekend), but their presence can only help rather than hinder any action. Some artists may have become involved with the Make Poverty History campaign as a result of record company manoevres, but acts like McFly appear to have genuinely had their eyes opened to problems they simply were not aware of beforehand. We should not dismiss their voices. As blandly emotive and cliched as they may sometimes appear, Bob Geldof and Bono do have genuine concerns. It's easy to forget that the former has worked tirelessly for the Commission for Africa, and has at least done some research. Their weaknesses come with their unwillingness to challenge some of the least attractive elements of power politics - will they achieve more by being photographed in friendly poses with Blair and Bush? The message of hope certainly rang loudly through Hyde Park - will it transcend its gates?

Did it work as an event and as a concert? There were certainly problems. The stewarding at the start was hopeless - as huge crowds of people were herded like sheep into one giant mass across three lanes of entrances, rather than into any kind of fair and organised queue. Whilst the concert overran by hours, the onstage and backstage organisation must have been superb - it's almost unfathomable to think how they managed to engineer so many performances by so many acts at one single event. The sound did not carry well across the park, however. As a result, the effect was rather like watching a dodgy, slipping VHS tape on giant screens (the stage being barely visible). The cordoning off of the 'gold circle' seemed completely against the spirit of the event, creating a privileged elite at the front of the crowd.

It was also frustrating that it was so flagrantly hijacked by rampant commercialism (look- there are thousands of free copies of the Daily Mirror strewn all over Hyde Park!). The presence of other, completely inappropriate campaigns also proved frustrating - some I support (No 2 ID has their giant balloons - but this was hardly the time or the place), and the usual suspects who attempt to take over every protest going (hello Socialist Worker). Luckily, many audience members I observed in the queue seemed engaged with the issues (some were openly discussing them), and only a small number of morons laughing through the films of starving children spoiled the mood during the concert itself.

I therefore couldn't help by submitting to the feeling that this was a brilliant, major event. There is always something thrilling about being part of a large, united crowd, and even when I disliked the music, the whole experience still felt uniquely positive. Standing for several hours was something of an endurance test - but a number of remarkable performances made it all worth it on a musical level alone.

The show kicked off on time with a bizarrely inaudible fanfare before U2 took to the stage with Paul McCartney to perform what was apparently the first live performance of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (McCartney had performed the reprise on his recent tours, but not the full version). It felt a little flat, but U2 were clearly awed to be sharing the stage with the former Beatle. Before ushering in their own 'Beautiful Day', Bono asked the crowd 'did that really just happen?' At any other event, U2's three song set (with Bono's overt preaching and the release of a flock of white doves into the air) may well have felt uncomfortably mawkish. Here, something resolutely cheesy and sentimental felt like the perfect opening to the event. 'Beautiful Day' was appropriately anthemic, 'Vertigo' confident and strident, despite its obvious limitations as a song, and 'One' was particularly touching. Bono still has a commanding presence on stage that is impossible to ignore.

Next up were Coldplay - a decidedly mixed blessing. 'In My Place' remains one of their best songs, but Chris Martin's flat intoning of Status Quo's 'Rocking All Over The World' was criminally unfunny. Richard Ashcroft took to the stage for a faithful run through of 'Bittersweet Symphony'. Whilst hardly earth shattering as a performance in its own right, it reminded me what a good song it is, and how Richard Ashcroft appears to have left his talents somewhere in Wigan ever since. Still, even the most ardent of Verve fans must have choked at Martin's ardent flattery - 'this is probably the best song in the world sung by the greatest singer in the world'. Ashcorft could not even be considered the greatest living singer singer in the world, let alone the best ever. Such overstatement may go some way in explaining Martin's own considerable limitations. Someone should introduce him to Roy Orbison and Sam Cooke. They closed with 'Fix You', an earnest ballad that shamelessly references Elbow and, perhaps precisely because of this, may well come to be their best song. Its carefully controlled crescendos linger in the mind.

After a brilliant introduction from Little Britain's Lou and Andy, Elton John provided the day's first genuine surprise. He was superb - a top notch showman wisely opting to perform two of his very best and most rousing songs ('The Bitch Is Back' and 'Saturday Night's All Right For Fighting'). It was a timely reminder that he can be a great songwriter when he puts his mind to it - it's such a pity he's been churning out middle of the road pap for the last 25 years. It was also a shame that his set was soured by an embarassingly, ahem, shambolic Pete Doherty, who teamed up with Elton to perform 'Children Of The Revolution' with committed swagger, but sadly he hadn't bothered to learn the tune. The bizarre pairing was certainly unexpected but in the event, not all that satisfying.

The less said about Dido the better. She is profoundly dull in every conceivable way, from the bland synth pad stylings of her tepid band to her weak and irresolute singing voice. She was completely upstaged by the arrival of guest Yossou N'Dour who demonstrated his talent even whilst duetting on the awful 'Thank You' and his sole UK megahit 'Seven Seconds'. How does Dido manage to communicate to so many people with no stage presence and no charisma? You're in front of 200,000 people woman! Do something!

The Stereophonics strangely started to engage the crowd a little more, despite turning in a perfunctory set with little subtlety. Still, at least they played 'Local Boy In the Photograph', the lyrics of which I still find moving. It's the one indication that Kelly Jones may possess some talent somewhere, even though with bluster like 'The Bartender and The Thief', and plodding tosh like 'Maybe Tomorrow', he keeps it well hidden.

Ricky Gervais bowed to pressure from the crowd and dutifully performed the infamous David Brent dance from The Office for 'one last time', before REM provided a welcome burst of quality. Hard to believe that The Stereophonics were gifted with four songs, whilst one of the world's most significant bands were restricted to just three, but their performance came with their usual verve and vigour as well as an unusual and endearing timing slip during 'Everybody Hurts'. Shame they played three big hits rather than testing the crowd with some of their more overtly political material. Even one of the better, more engaged selections from 'Around The Sun' might have seemed more appropriate to the event. At least 'Everybody Hurts' provided an obligatory lighters aloft moment, hampered by the fact that it was still broad daylight in mid-afternoon. With extraordinary strip make-up across his eyes, Michael Stipe begins to look less endearingly charismatic and more sinister. He remains one of the best stage performers in the business. 'We are REM and this is what we do', he said with customary self-deprecation. What they do is to be consistently the best live act in the world year after year. Long may it continue.

Ms Dynamite proved, aside from Kofi Annan and Nelson Mandela (speaking in Johannesberg), to be the most articulate political voice of the day, arriving at the point crisply and persuasuvely. Her message that 'the debt is surely ours' was warmly received. Whilst many attempt Bob Marley's 'Redemption Song', her remarkable rendition had real character and pathos. She shows every sign of maturing into a major, distinctive British soul voice.

Keane and Travis then also did what they do, but with less overwhelming impacts. Keane do nothing for me whatsover. What some find anthemic, I find turgid and lacking in ambition. Watching their keyboard player's violent and exaggerated motions also induced a slight feeling of nausea. At least they appear to be down-to-earth, genuinely decent people, surprised by their perplexing commercial success. Travis were dependably inoffensive, and despite the recent dip in their profile, monosyllabic titles like 'Sing' and 'Side' obviously still carry memories for many people. Nobody could object to a run through of 'Why Does It Always Rain On Me' either.

Neither could anyone really object to Bob Geldof indulging in a quick rendition of 'I Don't Like Mondays'. The moronic chavs next to us secured their one vaguely funny moment with their chorus chant of 'Tell Me Why! I only have one song...' (it's not true of course - The Boomtown Rats had several hits in their day). It's actually an enduringly good song too, its theme of high-school massacre now genuinely prescient, even though its stylings are entirely copied from Born To Run-era Springsteen.

Revelation of the day was Annie Lennox. As good a pop band as The Eurythmics were, Lennox's solo career has been faltering, and she has shown little sign of the true artistry she is capable of. That artistry was present in bucketloads today - her solo piano rendition of 'Why' proving quietly devastating. 'Little Bird' and an energised version of 'Sweet Dreams' provided more upbeat balance. Her voice was controlled but extremely powerful, demonstrating that she is indeed a tremendously talented vocalist who prefers distinctive, emotive delivery over blandly virtuosic extemporising (others on the bill could learn from this, but more of that later).

Things then started to get more bizarre, and the quality more variable. I went to get Falafel during UB40, but their medley sadly seemed to drift more in favour of their successful cover versions than their earlier politicised material. Why not play 'One In Ten' or 'King' instead?

Snoop Dogg may well have been the source of most of the BBC's complaits, liberal as he was with his language still relatively early in the evening. As others have noted, his exortation to 'put your hands in the air like you just don't care' seemed ill-advised - we're supposed to be here because we do care aren't we? Still, it's difficult to resist the wickedly brilliant 'Drop It Like It's Hot', or indeed some of the earlier Funkadelic-inspired material aired in truncated versions. His laconic drawl remains one of hip-hop's most distinctive voices, even if he is now more cuddly poodle than savage terrier.

I almost warmed to Razorlight during their short set, specifically during a genuinely excellent rendition of 'Golden Touch' with some gospel backing vocalists. Unfortunately, Johnny Borrell's extreme self-confidence (he clearly sees his band performing to audiences of this size in their own right in the not-too-distant future) remains a distraction. Why can't the man keep his clothes on for even a 15 minute set? Still, their energy and boisterous enthusiasm may prove infectious, especially for those who know nothing of their thinly veiled New York punk influences.

Next came what everyone were all waiting for - the 'queen bee of Rock and Roll', Madonna. I'm genuinely glad to have seen her without paying £150 for the privilege, even though the juxtaposition of her jewellery encrusted fingers gripping the hand of an Ethiopian famine survivor provided one of the most uncomfortable big screen images of the evening. Her performance was simply fantastic - she commanded both the stage and the audience and her voice has clearly grown in stature and power over the years. She may now deserve the title of artist as well as star, so convincing were her performances of 'Like A Prayer' and the triumphant 'Ray Of Light'. 'Music' seemed the most appropriate song of the whole event - 'music makes the people come together' runs the chorus, and today it clearly did. The first act to really integrate performance into her act - her dancers and choir making her diva-ish demands for increased rehearsal time seem necessary rather than frustrating. Her cry of 'Are you fucking ready? Are you ready to start a revolution?' may have been the least convincing political rallying cry of all time - but we'll forgive her all that.

Snow Patrol played 'Chocolate' and 'Run', two exhuberant choruses in search of decent verses, or even a middle eight. Hardly a highlight. All the more disappointing then that The Killers, in spite of having delivered a chart-topping debut album, were restricted to just one song, a rousing 'All These Things I've Done'. No doubt the crowd would have appreciated 'Somebody Told Me' and 'Mr. Brightside' as well. They may not be particularly original but they look set to become festival favourites over the next few years.

Joss Stone performed customarily barefoot renditions of classic soul material including 'Supa Dupa Love' and 'Some Kind Of Wonderful'. How has she managed to convince the likes of James Brown, Willie Mitchell and Betty Wright that she is a genuine soul talent when she is evidently a diluted, pure commodity-pop repackaging of musical history? I do wish she'd stick to the melody line too. Despite her constant giggling in interviews, she may be starting to take herself a little too seriously.

Scissor Sisters remain a camp pop phenomenon, and at Live 8 they pulled off a neat trick by being the only act daring enough to perform previously unheard material. Their new song 'Everyone Wants The Same Thing' may well be their best yet, immediately infectious and engaging. 'Laura' and 'Take Your Mama' provided wholesome, light-hearted entertainment too. Too many artists on the bill didn't quite have the shameless energy and enthusiasm needed to reach such a large crowd but the Scissor Sisters had the necessary effervesence.

Velvet Revolver were a baffling selection, and were totally awful. This kind of sludgy, corporate rock felt horribly out of place in this line-up, and the band seemed somewhat confused by the whole occasion. They tried their best - but this crowd would obviously much rather see Slash patch things up with Axl Rose and deliver a quick blast of 'Paradise City' and 'Sweet Child O Mine'. Not likely, but we can continue dreaming.

I've never been a fan of Sting but something about his performance here carried substantial weight. Perhaps it was the explicit refashioning of 'Every Breath You Take' into a pointed attack on Blair and Bush, which seemed dignified and intelligent. It was also there in the renewed energy in his performance of 'Message In A Bottle', in which he avoided nostalgia and breathed new life into the material.

Mariah Carey provided the day's real nadir (sorry Adrian!). Her upbeat material is relatively inoffensive, and during 'Make It Happen' she paced the stage energtically and with authority. Unfortunately, she is such a hopeless diva, with backstage crew bringing her water to sip through a straw between every song and performing a horrible version of 'Hero', already one of the very worst songs of all time, with an African Childrens' Choir. She was the first artist of the night whose motivations I genuinely doubted - something about the set seemed insincere, particularly when she closed with a screechy and perfunctory promotional rendition of her latest single, which added nothing to the recorded version.

Thank goodness then for Robbie Williams (did I just say that?) who did his peerless showman act with renewed charisma. As promised, he included Queen's 'We Will Rock You' in his brief set, in reference to the first Live Aid event. He was also the only person to thank Midge Ure, who whilst still involved in the trust in some capacity, appears to have been sidelined from its public front. Williams' material may be cringe-inducing at times, but at least he made up for the crowd's notable antipathy to Mariah's self-indulgence with an inevitable singalong-an-'Angels'. He flew over from LA, where he has clearly been residing for several months, and many seem to think he has used Live 8 as a means to relaunch his career in the UK. He hardly needs to though - he could record himself pissing in a pot and it would still sell by the truckload.

Then came the elder statesmen of the rock establishment. Both The Who and Pink Floyd were spectacular. The former played 'Won't Get Fooled Again', a song that still burns with righteous fury, even though its composers now look more like University lecturers than rock stars. Pete Townsend is actually a supremely talented and intuitive guitarist, not just for the whilrling arm pyrotechnics, but for some inventive and subtle mid-song finger picking too. I've always found Pink Floyd to be on the dull side of worthy, but they performed four of their most enduring songs and seemed genuinely pleased to have patched up their differences. Even Roger Waters, notorious for his diffidence and arrogance, radiated newfound warmth on stage, dedicating the poignant and endearing 'Wish You Were Here' to the reclusive, troubled Syd Barrett. They even reclaimed 'Comfortably Numb' from the Scissor Sisters, making rich and inventive use of visuals on the big screen as they performed. Dave Gilour's fretwork was thrillingly skilled, and the sound quality was at its fullest and most convincing during their set. They may be chief executives in the business of denial at the moment - but surely a full reunion tour beckons?

Paul McCartney closed things off with brio, duetting with George Michael (who still shies from ever performing his own work live) on 'Drive My Car', delivering a surprise, highly kinetic version of 'Helter Skelter' before launching into a rather icky 'Long and Winding Road' (never his best song) and the previously announced all-star chorus of 'Hey Jude'. Cheesy in the extreme, but a necessarily unified and uniting conclusion to a quite remarkable mass gathering. Whether na na nas can change the world though may be more doubtful.











*The curious paucity of black artists on the bill in London appeared to have a wider implication - the crowd was shockingly, overwhelmingly white. This is hardly representative of modern Britain!