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The magnificent success of Bob Geldof’s Band Aid charity had inspired a team of like-minded American artists, led by Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie, to record their own fundraising anthem, “We Are the World.” That in turn inspired Bob and promoters Harvey Goldsmith in London and Bill Graham in San Francisco to mount the greatest concert event of the twentieth century: Live Aid.

Bob announced plans for two concerts to take place simultaneously on Saturday, July 13, one at Wembley Stadium in London, the other at JFK Stadium in Philadelphia.

Duran Duran would be one of the main attractions.

Whatever infighting was going on, there was never any question that all five of us wanted to appear at Live Aid together. As a generous concession to the Power Station, Bob offered Andy and me a spot in the Philadelphia show in addition to Duran Duran. The American bill featured Madonna, Bob Dylan, a reunited Led Zeppelin, Tina Turner, and Mick and Keith.

Andy and I met up with Simon, Nick, and Roger at our hotel in Philadelphia two days before the event. We had some rehearsing to do, never having played “A View to a Kill” live onstage before. There was a nervousness in both camps; our relationships had not gotten any better since Paris. If anything, things had gotten worse. And yet, in that ugly, stinking downtown rehearsal room, away from the media and the bright lights, the girls, and all the wedges that had come between us, the tensions melted away.

Playing with Duran was fun. I had forgotten how much.

More fun than the Power Station.

Had I come to that realization too late?

On the day, there were faces everywhere. In our dressing room, Rupert Everett babysat Jade Jagger. As Led Zeppelin took the stage, with my friend Tony Thompson on drums, I made my way stage-side, passing Jack Nicholson on the way. I had never seen Zeppelin before and would never forget them. Their opening song, “Rock and Roll,” was the highlight of the event for me. Mick and Tina created showbiz magic, perhaps the glitziest ten minutes of the day, then it was Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, introduced by Jack, then Dylan, who played a seriously ramshackle set with Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood.

Following that: Duran Duran.

Before we took to the stage, we posed for one more photograph with Ken Regan, then we were rushed out onto the boards at prime time, opening our set with the number 1 song in America that week, “A View to a Kill.”

Onstage, we played as hard as we knew how, but when the curtain fell on our performance—twenty minutes and how many million TV viewers later—none of us had any idea that the curtain was falling on the first act of our careers, and our lives together.

It would be eighteen years until the five of us would take the stage together again.

On July 2, we played the Peppermint Lounge in Manhattan, and Robert Palmer came backstage to meet us. We clicked right away. I was a fan of Robert’s music, and he was known for his great style. Nick and I had seen him in concert at the Odeon in Birmingham and loved his most recent album, Clues, which was was proving to be a big success for him, particularly the single “Johnny and Mary.”

The outdoor concert was held at Villa Park football ground in Birmingham, home of Aston Villa. In a stroke of marketing genius, all of our merchandising for the event was in claret and blue—Aston Villa’s colors. We gave a press conference at the Dorchester on Park Lane with four of the five Durans wearing Villa scarves and Nick—reluctantly—holding up a Villa rosette, aware of betraying the loyalties of his dad, Roger, a serious Birmingham City fan.

Robert Palmer and his band flew in from touring the United States to open up. We partied at the Rum Runner like old times. After that, I made the cover of the Aston Villa match-day program, photographed with my bass in the Villa colors for their game against Sunderland in August. I am the only non-player or coach to have had that honor.