OMG Bob Geldof

My teenage heartthrob was Bob Geldof, for three primary reasons:

*His songwriting abilities--his lyrics were clever, political, and passionate, all a teenage girl wants.

*His sultry looks--natch.

*His efforts to save the world. Band Aid, Live Aid, Do They Know It’s Christmas--all aimed to relieve suffering during African famines.

He was the real deal, the whole package, my idol. When I moved back to America in 1980, I listened to my Boomtown Rats albums constantly. I was so homesick for Ireland and so uninterested in American rock and roll. Everyone else was listening to some guy called Bruce Springsteen. My passion was so burning that I wrote a column for the student newspaper (I had a bi-weekly column) comparing Geldof and Springsteen, juxtaposing Geldof’s lyrics on colonialism, drug abuse, and religion with Springsteen’s on making out with his baby in the back of a Chevy. This was a very bold thing to do because Springsteen was worshipped at the University of Delaware, where a lot of the students came from New Jersey and Long Island. Whatever.

So, at age 18, I saw him in concert in Philadelphia. Not only saw him but jumped up on the stage and kissed him (I believed I yelled at him “I’m from Derry!”). And I went to the tour bus after the concert and got his autograph. I had the sense that night that nothing else in my life would ever make me as happy. I think I was partly right. What else can measure up to achieving proximity, even fleeting, to someone I worshipped in the way only a hormonally dizzy teenager can worship another person.

The Rats are currently on tour so I was one of the early purchasers of a ticket to see them at Queen’s Mandela Hall. Here’s me ready to go to the concert:

Sir Bob (knighted for his charity work) is now 67 but the man can rock. He and three other original members of the group played their hearts out for 90 minutes and were just amazing. I loved every minute of it. There were only two people and a few yards between me and the stage. My adoration has matured into something more like respect and admiration. It’s really nice that someone I so loved as a teenager has stayed true to himself and to his art.
Here’s a more recent photo of him. He’s held up well. And my heart still fluttered whenever he smiles. He’s more of a snarler than a smiler, which is a shame because his smile is absolutely charming. But if he weren’t a snarler, he wouldn’t be Bob--mad at the world for not being more fair.

I also rather like this portrait:

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