We were at Wembley Stadium's first charity gig since Live Aid, and there, as if the 90s had never happened, were George Michael, David Bowie and Eurythmics. Dave Stewart even had the beard, which is no more becoming now than during Eurythmics' last incarnation 10 years ago.
Evidently, we are so bereft of young A-list talent that this lot, average age 44, were recruited to lend weight to NetAid, the sprawling event that took place in London, New York and Geneva on Saturday. Their dull-but-worthy presence ensured there was little sense of occasion, and nothing to talk about afterwards, once you'd exhausted the subject of Michael's Ali G glasses.
Some people, though, may one day tell their grandchildren about Michael being slotted under grunge nonentities Bush, and poor old Ziggy Stardust getting sandwiched between Bush and prole-rocking Bryan Adams. There was also the perplexing disunity during the "Moment of Unity", when the three venues linked up to sing. Geneva and New York duly sang, but the assembled London cast shuffled off before the tune began, apparently to allow the stage to be prepared for headliner Robbie Williams. This bowing to market forces recalled a remark made backstage by Catatonia's Cerys Matthews. Asked if Net Aid would meet its goal of eradicating extreme poverty, she said: "Of course not."
Few proselytised about why we were there, and there was no unifying Geldof figure demanding your money, now. The atmosphere was closer to that of a sleek showcase. A fishnet-encased Matthews epitomised the whole thing, perfunctorily wenching through Road Rage and leaving no aftertaste. Eurythmics were also on and off before you could say, "At least they didn't play the new album". Only the Corrs and George Michael emphasised the charity angle, with versions of REM's Everybody Hurts and the Depression standard Brother, Can You Spare A Dime? Michael, by the way, deserves commendation for turning his segment into a camp revue, complete with choir and dancers. Bowie treated the event as a promotional exercise, squandering half his six songs on dull new ones that made his set the best time to queue for a hot dog.
The best 20 minutes was turned in by a Welsh band that makes Bryan Adams sound like Eno. Appearing just before Robbie Williams, as a gentle wind stirred the red dragons on flags that suddenly popped up in the throng, Stereophonics finally made sense. The eternal question "Why them?" was answered by five examples of the genus Pubbus Rockus that spoke to the 60,000 as no one else had. Being this decade's Status Quo doesn't exactly enhance their CV but, like Quo, Stereophonics touch a nerve in the old part of the brain that makes you nod along automatically.
Which left only Robbie - so famous these days he only needs one name - who cried as he confided: "You just fulfilled a dream of mine." The dream, one assumes, was to preside over Wembley Stadium as every last soul roared, "She offers me protection, a lotta love and affection, whether I'm right or wrong". Glad to help, Rob. But, er, why were we there, again?
