ALREADY AT 10.30am "I Will Follow" was blasting front a van swathed in a white U2 banner in the Parking lot of Giants Stadium in the swamps of Jersey, not far front New York city. It was Sunday, Bloody Hot Sunday, June 15, and it was 11 hours and twenty-two acts later that U2, in the flesh, took the stage for the benefit of Amnesty International USA. Bono, head bowed at the mike, lulled the clamorous crowd momentarily with the opening lines of "MLK" before launching into "Pride" could he see the large photo of Dr. King held aloft by sonic attentive fans in the field? Next came "Bad", and "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" "Are you tired of reading the papers, and watching the news? Have had enough of Beirut? Have you had enough of Nicaragua? Have you had enough of Belfast?". Then "Maggie's Farm/Cold Turkey" - more focussed and thus more mesmerizing than it Self-Aid (and with a smaller spotlight). And to dispel that dark mood, a soothing end to tile set: a balladic version of "Help", the audience singing its help out to the mike turned towards them.

The show wasn't over vet, though the Police had yet to play.

The marathon concert was the last gig of a six-city tour by U2, Sting, Peter Gabriel, Lou Reed, Bryan Adams, Joan Baez, and the Neville Brothers, marking Amnesty International's 25th anniversary.

Dubbed a "Conspiracy of Hope", the pop caravanserai travelled across America, playing 15,000 seaters in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Denver, Atlanta (where the Police reunited), and Chicago before winding it up for the sweltering sell-out crowd of 55,000. Just in case the headliners weren't your cup of tea, Sunday's roster included Jackson Browne who played San Francisco and Los Angeles too, Miles Davis, Peter, Paul and Mary, Little Steven and Bob Geldof, Joan Armatrading, Howard Jones, The Hooters, Ruben Blades with Carlos Santana and Fela Kuti (released with help from Amnesty), Yoko Ono, Joni Mitchell, Third World, Stanley Jordan and John Eddie. Just in case you couldn't get a ticket, the entire concert, noon to 11 pm was televised on MTV, the national pay-TV music television channel, and the evening portion was on free TV channels as well. It was also simulcast on radio all day long.

To some, U2 playing for free, again, may be losing its noteworthiness, but their role in boosting a benefit tour, and Amnesty's aims for the show made the occasion not just another euphoria- in-the- service of conscience- salving one-night -stand.

In December of '84, the band had donated proceeds from a New York concert of Amnesty, and Jack Healey, ex-monk and Executive Director of' the USA branch, had seen the show and been impressed. Healey wanted 1986 to be the year that Americans learned about Amnesty. Here, in the land of the free, a country with a voting population of over 170 million people, the group had just 15O,000 members and its work was largely unfamiliar to most. Healey had a notion that music would do the trick.

His metamorphosis from obscure human rights activist to big-time rock 'n'roll impressario took all of ten minutes, and it happened - not surprisingly - in Dublin. One day last August, in the time it took to outline his idea to Paul McGuinness and Bono, Healey found himself holding a letter of intent from U2, promising Amnesty at least a week's time in the summer of 1986.

This bona-fide commitment made it much easier for Healey to convince artists, managers, and record companies that the shows would indeed take place. Even so, he didn't get everybody he wanted, some were locked into summer tours already, some, who will remain nameless, were unresponsive. (Eventually promoter Bill Graham you read about him in Geldof's book - came in to help run things). Other artists, though, were happy to juggle their schedules - Sting, who had recently come off the road was willing to go back on. "The only thing," he said, "that could possibly get me out of bed is Amnesty." Lou Reed said that he couldn't think of a better way of using his time, and Peter Gabriel wrangled his way out of a "So" promo tour in Japan.

Such commitment was essential to the success of the tour, not only in terms of drawing large audiences (demand for the $36 tickets far exceeded availability) but also because the artists were to become the primary spokespersons for the cause. For, the whole point of the tour was not simply to swell Amnesty's coffers but to enlist young Americans as, 'freedom writers', to motivate people to actively work for the release of prisoners of conscience. This time a cheque alone would not suffice. They needed to join the "Conspiracy Of Hope", a conspiracy that by its unabashed overtness a perfect counterpoint to the secretive practices of torture and imprisonment Amnesty works to eliminate.

To wit, you couldn't go to the concerts without learning about Amnesty. At every venue, there were tables set up with literature, and postcards to six governments, urging the release of the six prisoners who had been 'adopted' for special attention during the tour. Once they've sorted the tens of thousands of cards, Amnesty will hand-deliver them to the embassies of the countries in question. (Scroll-like petitions to PM. Botha protesting the state of emergency in South Africa were timely additions to the scene at the last concert).

Shown at the concerts was a clip comprising actual footage, interspersed with some of the compelling public service announcements quoting first-hand accounts of torture, and describing Amnesty's work and how anyone could participate.

Even juxtaposed with deodorants and shampoo commercials on the telecast, these memorable announcements, by Elvis Costello, Keith Richards, John Huston, Meryl Streep, John Taylor, and many others lost absolutely none of their impact. Pat Benatar made it clear that buying a t-shirt wasn't enough, prodding viewers in a very non-didactic, down-to-earth way, acknowledging the extra effort requested: "It'll involve some work on your part, that's right, work ... you still payin' attention? ... in over fifty countries, you could be arrested for listening to this message."

Comic Robin Williams did a brilliant, scathing vignette in the persona of a Central American tyrant - "I keep getting these damn letters ... OK, one letter, big deal ... I get another bag of letters ... another bag of letters. They make me feel baaad about myself! Oh, Deectatorsheep is a Becetch!" (By contrast, the on-air hosts, actor Elliot Gould, and comic Richard BeIzer, were appallingly insensitive and phony during scripted interviews with the artists, visiting politicians, etc).

Aside from the in-house publicity, once the tour was underway, the press pounced, especially TV. America started having breakfast with Bono, and Sting, and Peter - interviewed on network morning shows, each of which is seen by, oh, 7 or 8 million people every morning.

Throughout, all the artists showed unprecedented patience with the press, graciously reiterating their reasons for taking part in the tour, Sting and Bono stressing that they'd become supporters and letter writers themselves through entertainment - specifically the "Secret Policeman's Ball". Even the morning after the big bash, Sting, Peter Gabriel, Jack Healey, and Bill Graham appeared on the Today show, at 7.30am, hoarse but articulate proponents of what Gabriel termed "the politics of embarrassment."

Though the tour in itself was an innovation in the prophets to profits category, the national telethon a la Live Aid/Self Aid of the expanded Meadowlands show was as essential to the whole undertaking as a great hook is to a hit song. Transforming the final concert into an "EVENT" made the music and the message more newsworthy and fuelled the anticipation for the Sunday show - thereby increasing the potential home audience, who would then learn about Amnesty International. (The tour played live to about 150,000; 32 million households have their MTV, and the syndication of the 8-11 pm part could be seen on half the televisions in America, some 43 million. Fortunately for Amnesty and the advertisers, the US Open Golf Tournament ended before the syndication began).

The telecast wasn't only a news peg, it was a carrot to dangle in front of major advertisers. Not that it was easy to sell something called a conspiracy to squeamish corporate types, especially if the firm did business in, say, South Africa. Not only that, television station managers outside the larger cities complained that the headliners weren't "real" stars, like Madonna and Lionel Richie, meaning the kind who make the cover of People and Time. What's more, plans were finalised at the beginning of May, meaning that many advertising budgets were already set for the year.

Still, despite the 'off-putting' title and the uncompromising nature of the talent on board, corporate sponsorship and TV advertising from the likes of Seagrams, Coke and Honda Scooters added tip to big bucks - over $1 million. (Not bad at all, if you consider that Live-Aid media sales were in the area of $3 million). These monies will go towards paying tour costs, which will certainly top the $1 million mark. The artists took no fees, but running the tour, promoting it, and filming the public service announcements were all Amnesty's responsibility. Ticket revenues - in the $5 million range - will also help to defray costs.

Along the way, the "Conspiracy Of Hope" elicited lots of rate-cutting, saving hundreds of thousands of' dollars. Hotel rooms for the 180 on the tour were had for free or cheap. The Boeing 707, scene of jam sessions, general bonhomie, and at least one pillow fight (instigated by P.G.), was also had for a song, maybe a bit more. Amnesty kept a higher percentage on t-shirts etc than even Springsteen gets - they stand to net something like $300,000 from merchandise sales. (T-shirts sales at Giants Stadium were frenzied, one booth sold one thousand $15 shirts by 12.30 pm).

The final tallies aren't in for Giants Stadium, but it would be interesting to know if more t-shirts were sold than postcards signed. Events tend to attract generic event-goers, automatic souvenir buyers. To paraphrase P.T. Barnum, something of an event expert himself: You can reach some of the people some of the time, but you can't reach all of the people all of the time.

The Conspiracy Of Hope finale, with its staggering musical diversity and quality, posed the thought that America is not a big market, it is many markets, sharply segmented and defined - largely due to the way radio programming is formatted here. So while one market was into the music and dancing, the other markets were making paper airplanes out of Amnesty literature, playing beachball, throwing toilet paper rolls off the upper tiers or having noisy water pistol fights.

Many of those who fled the scorching heat into the perimeters of the stadium passed the time drawing hearts and testaments of love (Michelle 'n' David) on the Botha petitions taped to the walls. (The petitions on tables manned by A1 volunteers received more dignified treatment).

Perhaps part of the preponderance of 17 year-old Red Hot Chilli Pepper clones in the audience was due to ticket giveaways by several local radio stations. But the lacklustre response to unfamiliar artists, especially quiet ones like jazz guitarist Stanley Jordan (who came over very well on TV though) was disquieting.

Jamaica's Third World did a great job of getting the mostly white, middle-class kids on their feet, as did Little Steven, and the Neville Brothers with Joan Baez. In short, if you weren't mainstream but you were loud, you did okay. This isn't to say that they didn't play very well too, but why wasn't Geldof's raucous, on the mark version of Marley's "Redemption Song" better appreciated?

The reception for top forty acts were audibly different. When Howard Jones came out for one song, the roar was deafening. The same went for The Hooters, who got their big break last year opening Live-Aid in Philadelphia. Their set of songs especially chosen for appropriateness to the spirit of the day included " Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds". So there. This year's career-boosting slot was given to John Eddie - in unknown whose video went into heavy rotation on MTV the week preceding the concert. (He's a sort of Elvis Cougar Springsteen and he's all over the radio now).

The quality of the sound was not at all what it should have been at an event of this calibre. It was muddy, miking was bad and there was inexcusable feedback. Anyone who was at Self-Aid should consider themselves spoiled rotten, and forget what minor glitches occurred there. The sound did seem to improve somewhat, however, when the headliners, starting with Lou Reed, came on in the early evening. The tenor of the crowd was much more unified too. Peter Gabriel, in great voice, had them in the palm of' his band, opening with "Shock The Monkey", "Rain", "Shoot Into The Light"; gyrate dancing through "Sledgehammer"; then bringing things down with a riveting, mimed "San Jacinto" and closing with "Biko", dedicated that day to all those detained in the state of emergency.

Bryan Adams' rock'n'roll was not a jarring successor to Gabriel at all. Even "I Need Somebody", like several songs by other artists on the tour, took on additional meaning in the context of the show. His energy (ranked the fans up a few notches, but anticipation turned to exasperation when Joni Mitchell took the stage in the slot before U2. A victim of wildly bad pacing, somebody (Bill Graham?) had shoved her into Pete Townshend's time. (Townshend had returned to England the day before when his father fell seriously ill). Despite a bag of water exploding near her on the front of the stage, she finished her brief set of new material, subtly jamming with her husband (on bass): another performance which shone, on the tube but was lost on the arena, where the tired fans couldn't stand to wait any longer for U2 and their superb set of cover versions and originals.

Before leaving the stage, U2 reprised "Sun City" with Little Steven, Nona Hendryx, Ruben Blades, and Lou Reed sharing vocals with Bono, and the fans, of course.

And so The Police, who, having turned down huge sums to play stadia this summer, decided they could bear each other's company for the sake of Amnesty. They sure didn't sound as if they'd been apart for two years, offering much more than rota versions of "Message In A Bottle" and "King Of Pain", Stewart on the xylophone, Sting a little raspy but completely wound up. With Kenny Kirkland backing up on keyboards, "Driven To Tears" was an interesting hybrid of the Blue Turtles' rendition punctuated by Andy's guitar. Then on to the real sentimental favourites, "Every Breath- and "Roxanne".

The denouement was "Invisible Sun", soulfully slowed so the words weren't thrown to the breeze. A reserved Bono came out with a bashful smile and duetted with Sting on the last verse, Sting's head bumping Bono's hat as they shared the mike, counting to six, a reminder of the six prisoners adopted by the tour.

For the finale Bono took the lead, and U2 became the back-up band, borrowing some instruments - Sting handing over the bass to Adam, and giving him a hug and an avuncular buss on the forehead. Eighteen special guests were introduced as everyone assembled on the stage sang Dylan's "I Shall Be Released" -eighteen former prisoners of conscience, freed thanks to the work of Amnesty International.

As they stood looking out into the multitude (having been shooed to the sides of the stage by Bill Graham), Bono kept singing the refrain as "They shall be released", ever mindful of those prisoners who have no inkling of the effort being made on their behalf on the day - yet.

For it is the conspiracy's hope that the cards and petitions gathered on the tour will indeed mean "they shall be released."

The "Conspiracy Of Hope" tour will be remembered for the artists as well as the cause, although Amnesty's message was never subsumed by the entertainment. Certainly, many will have discovered U2. The energy and the intensity of their performance and Bono's charisma were not diminished on the small screen, especially with the radio simulcast.

The tour did prompt at least one New York area record store chain to promote the entire U2 catalogue, putting all their albums on sale soon after the tour started. The week after the telecast, it had sold four or five times the usual volume of U2 records, and other branches were re-ordering. (Managers in three different chains stressed that U2 represent one of their most consistent sellers).

U2 sales were also up somewhat at Tower Records downtown, an indication of the kind of beneficial effects which can accrue to bands as a result of this kind of event. But while sales of Peter Gabriel's "So" were also given a boost - not that the album necessarily needed one, arriving as it did, on the back of "Sledgehammer" 's success - there was no real evidence of any of the lesser-known artists featured on the broadcast, achieving a breakthrough.

At the end of the day, exposure is simply not enough. The music must first capture the imagination of the public and it's precisely because of the passionate response their music and performance inspires, that U2 now rate as one of' the most popular bands in the US - and the world.

While the exact figures aren't in yet, Amnesty will probably reach its goals, which are realistic rather than greedy. They hope that through the broadcast call-in and targetted mailings tied in with the anniversary year and tour, membership will increase by 40,000. That's active members, writing 12 letters a year. This seems reasonable, since reports from the cities the tour went to were that inquiries and donations had already increased. It's important to recall that network shows with tremendous viewership featured the story more than once.

People will have heard their children, their brothers, and sisters talking about the concerts and the cause, and so the name will be perhaps more readily recognised when mentioned in the press. It's possible the press will be more conscious of the issues Amnesty addresses and find stories in them.

Amnesty can also continue to keep their work in the public eye, using some of the $3 million it should be able to raise from this year's activities. If one percent of the millions of people exposed to Amnesty's message maintain an interest in the organisation the tour will have been a success.

On a turnpike tollbooth near the arena, a scrawled sign directed concert-goers to keep left for the "Amnesia International" concert. Amnesia International? Hardly likely.

WIDE AWAKE IN AMERICA

July 1986