Peabody, set the Wayback machine for July 13, 1985.
I was a ripe old 21 years of age, and had more hair than I knew what to do with.
My older sister Alison and her husband, Dan, were moving into their first house on Staten Island. I can clearly remember their friend Kenny driving a rental truck, into which we would load their belongings. Kenny was an unforgettable character: a slight build, probably no more than 5-foot-5 and skinny as can be. God rest his soul, he left us at way too young an age.
Dan was the first of his group of friends to be married. I speculate that when his friends saw how my sister took care of him, they all smartened up, leaving bachelorhood in the rear-view mirror. I rarely saw a group as tight and with as much heart, and I don’t think I ever saw the ability of so few people to consume so much alcohol(!).
Anyway, as is the case when you’re young, why hire a moving company when you have a bunch of crazy friends and a brother (in law) who can help move you? It was exciting for all of us—we were as happy for Al and Dan as if it were our own house. Indeed, it later would become host to a slew of Halloween and New Year’s Eve parties that were Epic. One of Dan’s friends recently produced a photo of me at one of those Halloween parties, and suffice to say that I’d pay millions to make sure it never sees the light of day(!).
Mix Live Blog: 14 Days, 7 Countries, 10 Shows—On Tour with BÖC
We got an early start, probably around 9:00 a.m. At that time, that was practically the middle of the night for me. I had just started my first job at a small recording studio in Brooklyn called Imagination Productions, happily returning home in the quiet of the night at 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. I had great hair, played drums in a killer band, and was following in the footsteps of my mentor and friend, Tony Ungaro, who was teaching me how to be a great engineer. I had the world by the you-know-whats.
Anyway, regardless of what time I may have ended work the night prior, there was no way I’d miss out helping my sister and Dan with the move. With Kenny behind the wheel (and possibly a six-pack or three in a cooler behind the front seat), we loaded their wares into the truck and headed over to their new abode.
Inside the Live Sound of Live Aid, Part 1: London
Inside the Live Sound of Live Aid, Part 2: Philadelphia
This was a great time for music. You can go ahead and call me an old fart, but there’s a reason that people still listen to artists that dominated the charts at the time: U2, Queen, David Bowie, Phil Collins, the list goes on. And I recall Tony’s brother telling me a week before that he had tickets for a festival in Philadelphia at John F Kennedy Stadium called Live Aid. Alas, I did not join him.
The first thing we did when we got to the new house was hook up the TV. Of course, I was the “wires” guy. And as we moved boxes, furniture and doggy toys belonging to Peaches, my sister’s Cocker spaniel, we had this Live Aid thing on in the background.
It was pretty impressive to see the artists who were showing up, ultimately raising more than $140 million for famine relief: Tina Turner, Mick Jagger and members of the Stones, The Beach Boys, Madonna, Black Sabbath (with Ozzy Osbourne), Duran Duran, the surviving members of Led Zeppelin, Crosby, Stills Nash & Young…. It was a who’s who of popular music, and we reveled in the performances playing in the background while we moved and unpacked boxes.
The day grew long, and we grew tired. Time to order a bunch of pizzas and beer, take a break and recharge, right around 6:30 p.m.
At 6:41 p.m,, Freddie Mercury and Queen took the stage, and then took the entire festival to another level. We stopped what we were doing because we knew we were witnessing music history: Queen first performed a portion of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” then “Radio Gaga,” the reaction to which was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen at a concert.
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Mercury worked that audience like a sculptor, molding them in his hands, getting them to follow his gestures and clap in time, and (later in the set) singing his vocal phrases to him. He strutted and pouted, sang and shouted and crooned, ultimately leading the band into “We Are The Champions,” which is arguably one of the few songs that can be identified anywhere on the planet in a mere three notes: BOOM BOOM CLAP! By that point in their 18-minute set, Freddie Mercury had that audience exactly where he wanted them, and where they wanted to be.
The same man who was hesitant about appearing at the festival, whose doctor recommended he not perform due to issues with his voice, knocked it out of the park in front of a worldwide audience estimated at 1.9 billion people. For a few brief moments, Freddie Mercury accomplished something few performers can fathom, let alone accomplish: He held the world in the palm of his hand. It’s something I’ll never forget.
