Back in 1985, at the height of celebrity sing-alongs for Africa, the world's pop/rock musical talent was summoned to an after-midnight recording session in L.A.—a session so star-studded that Paul Simon quipped, “If a bomb hits this building today, John Denver’s back on top.” More on that one later.
The fruit of that session was the single, “We Are the World,” which sold 20 million copies and stands as the eighth best-selling physical single of all time, yielding $80 million for the hungry in Ethiopia. Now, The Greatest Night In Pop, directed by Bao Nguyen, is available on Netflix as a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the making of a once-omnipresent song that hasn't aged well. Forty years removed from the celebrity gloss and we-can-save-the-world altruism that made it a novelty in its time, “We Are the World” is just left with its sappiness at this point. As I watched this film, a recurring question was how many of the participants knew how wretched the song was.
The film starts with an audio of an unidentified man—probably Lionel Richie—talking over a blank screen: “Nothing will ever be the same after tonight,” he says to an audience, rolling out the hype machine. “Nothing! Some of the artists, some of the people, some of the personalities. Tonight is going to be one of the most unreal nights we've ever experienced and I'm glad I have a good seat cuz I don't want to miss a thing.” That's deceptive and dishonest, as the speaker’s not referring to the secret after-hours recording session that's the subject of this documentary. As the viewer finds out later, the man’s addressing the audience at the American Music Awards ceremony, also in L.A., that immediately preceded the famous recording session. This sleight of hand sets the tone—one of adoration—for what's to follow.
Then there's the voice of Richie, who’s the film's narrator, as the camera pans the recording session: “The greatest artists of a generation came together with all our ego, with all our talent to save some lives. But we only had one night. They're not coming back tomorrow.” Don't forget to talk about your “talent” when you're supposed to be in the studio as part of a selfless mission to help starving kids in Ethiopia. And are we really supposed to believe that Richie, Kim Carnes, Cindy Lauper, Huey Lewis and Billy Joel are among the greatest “artists” of their generation?
Ken Kragen, top-tier Hollywood talent manager, organized the affair at the behest of Hollywood elder statesman/social activist Harry Belafonte, who possessed such moral authority that, with a snap of his fingers, he could greenlight a project involving corralling dozens of stars on such short notice. The “Day-O” singer was inspired by Band Aid’s “Do They Know It's Christmas,” an awful song that was part of an effort in the U.K., spearheaded by Boomtown Rats frontman Bob Geldof, to raise money for famine victims in Africa by getting stars to sing together. That song featured lyrics like: "Tonight, thank God, it’s them instead of you.” “Them” are those starving unfortunates in a faraway land where they don't even know about Christmas, but the message is that it's better that they suffer than the fortunate celebrating Christmas in the U.K.? There was also, “Let them know it's Christmas time this year.” Let them know, why? So they can feel even worse?
Geldof and his people have spared the world a feature film documenting their disaster, but Bao Nguyen and the producers of this film thought otherwise. They put their best spin on the evening's events, as if a hastily-organized recording of a pop-up supergroup could be the “greatest night” in all of pop history, or produce music worth listening to. And the focus, rather than the starving people of Africa, was on “we,” as in “We [the singers] are the ones who make a better world.” There's also the recurring lyric, “We are the children,” but Ray Charles, Bruce Springsteen, Paul Simon, Dionne Warwick, etc. weren’t children. Only Michael Jackson was young, but he was the songwriter so they had to sing it that way.
For some reason, Quincy Jones, L.A.’s magic-man music producer who was brought in to run the session that evening, tasked Richie with co-writing the song with Jackson, who was brought in when Stevie Wonder couldn't make it.
This film portrays the recording session, which went all night long, as a scene of chaotic creativity. There's no mention of drugs, nor any footage of furtive trips to the bathroom, so maybe some sort of “Just say no” miracle occurred that night in the coke-soaked music world of 1985 if what was shown was to be believed. Cans of Budweiser do make it into some shots, however, and Al Jarreau got singled out for getting boozed up on wine. The musicians did get tired, however, and their fatigue brought out some interesting, candid moments. Bob Dylan, for example, looks lost (and not particularly drug-free) before and during his performance. It definitely wasn't his scene, and he must’ve known how crummy the song was.
Billy Joel looks lonely, like the kid nobody would hang out with at recess. In a moment that expressed the kooky side of the “let's save the world” mentality evident in that room, Stevie Wonder suggested that some of the lyrics be sung in Swahili, even though that language isn't spoken in Ethiopia. Waylon Jennings, who was in the chorus, took that as an opportunity to get out of there, grumbling, “Well, ain’t no good ol’ boy ever sung Swahili.”
As for the Paul Simon “bomb going off in the building” quote mentioned earlier, Ken Kragen turned down John Denver’s request to be a part of the session, later saying, “Several people thought his appearance would hurt the credibility of the recording as a pop/rock anthem.” Right, but Dan Aykroyd’s appearance was fine for the “credibility” of the song? Denver had a long history of participating in charitable events, and deserved to be there. It was an act of cruelty not to at least put the “Country Roads'' singer in the chorus along with Harry Belafonte and Aykroyd. Simon showed his arrogance by flexing his ego in a cheap way like that, and it was a dick move by the director to include it in the film. Let the dead rest in peace. Ironically, Denver had fallen out of favor on the pop scene for being too cheery and naive, making “We Are the World” the perfect song for him. Years later, Denver showed he was a bigger man than Simon when asked if he was still upset about being excluded from the club. He replied that any anger he had “was overwhelmingly diminished by the size of my admiration for what they did.”
From the beginning, there's way too much of insider Lionel Richie in the inaccurately-named The Greatest Night In Pop. Greatness doesn’t emerge from a hasty project fueled mainly on good intentions. This documentary could've been saved with Bob Dylan as the narrator, but that's just dreaming. There were just too many moving parts thrown together in too little time to produce even a decent song. Giving each artist half of a line of a lyric produced an incohesive, disjointed, sappy mess. A charity concert, which Harry Belafonte was originally pondering, would've been the way to go.
Prince, who the organizers were desperate to land, knew the score. From a quality control point of view, he wanted no part. So he didn't cave to the pressure, and instead donated $1 million to a Harlem children's charity. When Prince, years later, found himself on stage with Quincy Jones and a group singing that song, he stuck a sucker in his mouth instead of singing to show what he thought of it.