I was appalled by the concert yesterday, which I was fortunate enough not to experience in person--my boss called me back inside to type up posts from Jule Banville, who was in the thick of things by one of the Jumbotrons. So I listened on NPR. The lineup was so boomer-oriented! It was creepy, like your parents offering to try pot with you your first time, because they'd been through the Summer of Love and could be good spirit guides. Gens X and Y may have been the engine of the Obama campaign, but it didn't take long for the People Who Remember Vietnam to remind us this was their dream first, even to the point of hauling out poor old Pete Seeger for one more round of "This Land Is Your Land."

I don't mind hearing about art from Ashley Judd or sacrifice from Jack Black or citizenship from Marisa Tomei. You take Hollywood money, that's the price I guess, and it's relatively innocuous. But when Bono gave a shoutout Joe Biden it was almost too perfect--a boomer rock star calling out an archetypical boomer politician. This dream, Bono announced, was the American dream. But it was also the Irish dream. And the Israeli dream. And the Palestinian dream. And so on, till the dream's significance had become so diffuse it was really more a notion, a goal, or a New Year's resolution.

After the third or fourth old white rich singer performed with gospel singers--a slam-dunk signifier of soul to boomers, who gave us gospel brunches in addition to herpes, Billy Joel, and all-star jams at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame--I just had to wonder how the music would have been different had Hillary Clinton been elected instead. Maybe Fleetwood Mac, I guess. But really the only thing missing was Sting and his fucking lute.

Photo by David Katz/Presidential Inaugural Committee

Last Friday night, after another day of bad news for the market, 580 undeterred revelers traveled to McLean, Va., to attend the $2,500 a seat YouthAIDS Gala at the Ritz Carlton Hotel. The party is one of Washington's most celebrity-obsessed events, with recent attendees like Bono, Desmond Tutu and Dave Mathews. This year's theme, "The Power of Music,"  paid tribute to three celebrities who opened the way for other service-minded celebrities: MTV CEO Judy McGrath, Annie Lennox (who couldn't attend because of a back injury) and Bob Geldof, the British Musician who raised tens of millions of dollars for AIDS, and resuscitated his foundering rock career, with Live Aid in 1985.

"The Celebrity Solution," as the New York Times recently called it, has become an industry in itself in the decades since Geldof first lambasted television viewers to "just give us the fucking money." There are more than twice as many charities today, all competing for shrinking pots of money, and desperate for ways to put their cause ahead of the rest. There are online databases of celebrities and the charities they represent, and at least one nonprofit dedicated to helping celebrities hook up with the right charity. Some groups, including YouthAIDS, have had to turn away stars calling to offer their services.

YouthAIDS's founder Kate Roberts, a British-born marketer who got her start selling cigarettes in Eastern Europe in the 1990s, has fully realized the potential of using other peoples' fame to promote a good cause. Her organization, which serves as the promotional arm of the charity Population Services International, has raised millions of dollars, generated billions of media impressions (they counted) and made Roberts into something of a celebrity herself. But her biggest accomplishment is her relationship with Ashley Judd, YouthAIDS's Global Ambassador and all around oddball.

Judd's has a reputation for her vocabulary--she reportedly learns a  new word a day--and space-cadet tangents. Her keynote address at Friday's gala did not disappoint. Judd explained how traveling with YouthAIDS changed her life (and rocked her soul). She'd made a "sacred commitment" to "speak truth to power...It is my pact with the god of my understanding." Sweet and self-deprecating, the star admitted she had worked late into the night  trying to compose her speech. Sitting in her farmhouse, "with the first autumnal fire crackling," she agonized over how to talk about her most recent travels as YouthAIDS global ambassador. Then inspiration hit. "I couldn't tell you about Rwanda or the DRC," she said. The experience was too awful. She realized she had to begin at the end, with "The Calamity of Coming Home," as she titled the entry in her diary.

It all began at JFK airport, where an attendant took issue with the way Judd handed over her baggage slip, or some such piece of paper. "Are you the Ashley Judd?" the woman sneered. Judd says she was only able to contain her fury by looking for somewhere to go lay her head and sob. The suffering in Africa was still to fresh for her to care about a rude American. Later, walking along the path to her home, Judd says the dogs greeted her one by one  because, "They knew my tender heart couldn't stand to see them all at once."

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