As moments within popular culture go, you can’t get much more impactful than Live Aid. The personalities, the music, the use of technology and of course the fundraising. It was a first by so many measures that, regardless of your views on overseas aid or representations of Africa, it’s impossible not to be impressed by the scale and passion. It did change the world. But as the show insistently reminds us, although that famine might be in the past, the issues surrounding it have not been consigned to history.
And this is where audiences will find themselves divided. To position the message as a current one, the events leading up to Live Aid are recalled by mum Suzanne (an earnest Melissa Jacques) who is explaining to Jemma (a cocky but likeable Fayth Ifil), her 18-year-old daughter, how being a teenager that summer changed the course of her life, and, for reasons not made entirely clear, by Bob Geldof (a pitch-perfect Craig Els).
This device largely works well, allowing Gemma to question the narrative and make several cutting remarks about the lyrics of Band Aid and the whiteness of the line-up. By doing so, the show attempts to overlay the celebratory nostalgia with a contemporary lens and also allows for flashbacks of a young Suzanne (a very sweet Hope Kenna). For some, this will be a crucial factor in the storytelling; for others, it will only highlight the limitations of a two-hour musical that is trying to be all things to all people.
However, narrative structure aside, the show does cover a lot of ground, with act one mainly focussing on the path towards the Band Aid single and the aftermath of its success. There is, of course, great focus on the music, but through the character of aid worker Amara (Rhianna-Louise Mccaulsky), Geldof’s eyes are opened to the real scale of the tragedy and the practicalities and logistics of delivering on his promise to feed the world. This is sensitive territory to portray, but Mccaulsky radiates an inner steel and repeatedly brings Geldof back to reality. It would have been so easy to make this character a cliché, but she instead grounds the piece as well as opening it.
Act two, as you might expect, is all about Live Aid the event: the nerves, the highs, Paul McCartney’s mic issues and reflections from the crowd about what it was like to be in the stadium where it happened. It wisely keeps away from a Joseph megamix approach, and instead this meta-concert is a genuinely enjoyable segment that had audience members visibly stopping themselves from joining in. Jukebox musical? Of course it is, but what a jukebox they have to play with.
The multitalented ensemble cast are astonishing, managing to capture the essence of the event without attempting impersonation—bar a wonderful turn from Julie Atherton as Margaret Thatcher. Their voices blend beautifully, but there is no doubt this is a rock musical, and all get a chance to showcase their vocal power as well as range. The score features every track you’d expect, but not necessarily arranged how you’d imagine, which gives an immediate feel to the production; it is certainly not a reproduction.
The costumes are relatively muted in colour but cleverly blend '80s and current fashion, which allows the cast to move flexibly between time, place and ‘character’. The sense of spectacle is also elevated through complementary design, which incorporates a stadium lighting and soundscape as well as grainy footage of the cast echoing 1980s TV broadcasts and live-mixing at events. The decision to have the band on rostra centre-stage also plays into the rock 'n’ roll nature of the production, lending a gig feel at the appropriate moments.
A show like this was always going to be a tricky proposition, and, despite best efforts to balance the score and the book, there will always be people who claim it does too much or too little—but that’s perhaps missing the point that it is trying. Many people today are feeling as helpless as Bob Geldof did in 1984, and the overarching message here is that the individual can make a difference. Action is better than inaction; empathy is better than ambivalence.
No, it’s not a forensic examination of the Live Aid legacy, but for those who want to hear it, it’s a rallying call to continue. And for those who don’t want to hear the message, or are simply too cynical 40 years on, it’s still worth buying a ticket for the irresistible arrangements and electric staging.
With 10% of ticket sales going to the charity, you’re making a difference before you’ve even stepped into the auditorium.