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July 13th, 1985, has gone down in history as one of music’s finest days. On two sides of the Atlantic, in two venues, the best, biggest and brightest talent in music all came together for a joint mission. The aim? To raise money to stop the famine in Ethiopia. The captains? Bob Geldof and Midge Ure. The crew? All the most famous artists around—but Keith Richards’ heart wasn’t in it.

The day of Live Aid has been unpacked over and over again. There are books, films, and even plays about it now, and still, it’s enamouring. With two huge concerts and a global satellite stream that bounced between the London and Philadelphia stages, it was billed as a ‘global jukebox’ as the entire world could see their favourite songs live.

It would probably save time to simply list who wasn’t there. Using their power and sway, Geldof and Ure brought in the ultimate all-star cast of the 1980s. Status Quo kicked things off in London, followed by the likes of Spandau Ballet, Elvis Costello, Phil Collins collaborating with Sting, Bryan Ferry collaborating with David Gilmour for a huge finale run of Queen, David Bowie, The Who, Elton John and a special appearance from Paul McCartney.

In Philadelphia, Joan Baez opened it up. Black Sabbath, Crosby, Stills, & Nash, The Beach Boys, Pretenders, and Santana were all there. The lineup kept getting crazier: Madonna, Tom Petty, Neil Young, Led Zeppelin, and finally, The Rolling Stones made an appearance.

They were part of the lineup, likely because everyone else in the music world was, but Richards later admitted that he really had mixed feelings about the day that has always been celebrated as a truly special and noble one. “I feel very ambiguous about those things,” he said, beginning to unpack his complex reasoning. 

The first comes down to the music; he wonders, what place does rebellious rock and roll have here? “For myself, first off, I don’t think that rock and roll music or popular music’s main strength or main effect is done in that way,” he said. He explained further, “I don’t think making a few big shows and making a bit of money to send to somebody and preaching to people is the strength of this music. I think the strength of this music is far more indirect, far more subtle.”

To him, rock and roll is the sound of destruction or the noise of celebration after a sort of social uprising and rebellion. “This is maybe one of the ingredients and the reason you have Glasnost in Russia now and this music actually getting through the iron curtain,” he said as an example, thinking of all the times rock and roll has been used as a hammer or an igniting spark. Instead, he saw something like the nicety of Live Aid as maybe weakening that power.

But mostly, his reasoning was more a questioning of the whole affair. “I also question the motives of some of, not necessarily the people that play on the shows, although some of them I have doubts about, but also some of the people that set them up. It’s too questionable for me to be really happy with the idea of it,” he said, perhaps as a slight shade towards Geldof and Ure as the masterminds behind it.

He offered up an example: “Some people played the Free Nelson Mandela show and couldn’t even spell his name,” he said, looking at the 1988 tribute concert that had just taken place at the time he did this interview, only adding to his cynicism. “It was an opportunity for them to get on worldwide satellite TV, and that makes me uneasy,” he stated as a damning read.

Overwhelmingly, despite taking part in Live Aid on that hallowed day, Richards clearly grew pessimistic. It’s a classic critique. Whenever celebrities or artists participate in major charitable moments, specifically ones in the public eye, the question of where the line lies between doing something good and getting good publicity is raised. From where Richards stood, he saw plenty of the people involved being more interested in the latter, concluding harshly, “I know the music business, and it isn’t that pure.”