By Alan Light
Special to MSN

It's easy to be cynical about stadium-sized benefit concerts. In fact, at this point in pop history, it's probably reasonable to be skeptical, wary or dismissive, because there have been so many all-star charity events and we still haven't actually fed the world or saved the rainforest.

But there remains some mysterious power that these shows have over our imagination. Maybe it's the sheer ability to harness so many egos and leverage so many record sales — regardless of the cause or the reason — that makes it impossible to look away. And in the end, massive benefits still raise massive amounts of cash, no matter how familiar the process becomes.

All of these issues surfaced again with the announcement of the Live Earth shows, to be held across the globe on July 7. This time, of course, environmental awareness is the catalyst for performances by the likes of the Police, Madonna, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Beastie Boys, Dave Matthews and Bon Jovi. But what lessons can be learned from the predecessors of Live Earth — the parade of rock extravaganzas that have sought to change the world during the past few decades?

Like, well, almost everything, the roots of the benefit concert go back to the Beatles. When sitar master Ravi Shankar spoke to his friend and student George Harrison about the flooding and famine that afflicted his family's home region of Bangladesh, Harrison's reaction came straight from a Hollywood musical: "Hey, let's put on a show!" The Concert for Bangladesh, held at New York's Madison Square Garden in August 1971, brought together the Beatles (well, George and Ringo, at least) and Bob Dylan onstage for the first time, with Eric Clapton, Leon Russell (who pretty much stole the show with his jacked-up "Youngblood"/"Jumpin' Jack Flash" medley) and Billy Preston to round out the bill.

The subsequent concert movie and soundtrack (produced by Phil Spector) brought in more money than the show itself — and then the dispersal of the actual funds took years to sort out. And with that, the basic format for the rock 'n' roll fundraiser was established. Other high-profile efforts, such as No Nukes, Save the Whales and even the dubious Concerts for the People of Kampuchea, followed the vogue throughout the '70s. Although these blowouts have certainly grown through the years, for better or worse, the script hasn't changed much.

The Big Kahuna, of course, was Live Aid in 1985 — the largest-scale benefit concert ever attempted and the most widely viewed television program in history, with somewhere between 1.5 and 2 billion  people watching in 22 countries. Though Live Aid, too, had its share of controversy about where, when and how the tens of millions of dollars it raised to help fight famine in Africa were distributed, it set in motion an explosion of benefits.

An off-the-cuff remark from Bob Dylan onstage at Live Aid led to the creation of Farm Aid. The next few years saw Amnesty International's Human Rights Now! Tour, the "Sun City" project helmed by Little Steven Van Zandt and numerous other charity concerts, tours and recordings. There was a sense that music had reconnected with the protest and activism that will forever be associated with the 1960s. In 1990, when Rolling Stone dedicated an issue to the just-concluded '80s as part of a "Four Decades of Rock" series, one of the stories — titled "The Revival of Conscience" — was devoted to these efforts.

It's fascinating to go back to that article now and see the notes of skepticism that had already crept into the words of those involved in the benefit community. "Live Aid made people believe in miracles, but there are no miracles," Sting said. Moving forward, he said, his hope was to involve his audience "as part of the process, to make a continuing effort."

Bob Geldof himself, who almost single-handedly made Live Aid happen through sheer force of will, expressed his own concerns five years after the historic show. "The big concert is seriously devalued currency," he said. "Pop songs change nothing. They can focus attention on a problem & but I think the big concert' should only occur once a generation."

Without question, a certain degree of benefit fatigue set in. From the series of Tibetan Freedom Concerts helmed by the Beastie Boys to the creepy-but-lucrative "Idol Gives Back" episode of "American Idol" (anyone else still recovering from the Elvis and Celine Dion duet?), there's a never-ending variety of charities to choose from.

But there are (at least) two ways to think about life in the post-Live Aid universe. On the one hand, there is unavoidably a sense of diminishing returns after so many fund-raising efforts, which are too often fronted by artists with little sense of what their show is actually benefiting. But there's also something inspiring about the ways in which benefit concerts — and songs and albums — are now woven into the fabric of pop music. So maybe it does seem rote at times, maybe some of the participants seem clueless or self-righteous; still, money and awareness are being raised, and if it's not a perfect solution to an insoluble problem, what could possibly be negative about such attempts?

Full disclosure, of a sort: I run a monthly benefit series for the Housing Works organization in New York City, which is the nation's largest minority-controlled AIDS service provider. For the last four years, more than 100 artists including Lyle Lovett, John Mayer, Bright Eyes, Tracy Chapman, Rosanne Cash and Corinne Bailey Rae have donated their time to play our beautiful little bookstore in Soho and raised hundred of thousands of dollars to help provide shelter, medical services, job training and legal advocacy for homeless people living with AIDS in New York.

The perpetual question at the bookstore (where I also serve as co-chairman of the board) is how much to push our policy agenda. Housing Works runs a variety of entrepreneurial ventures around the city — mostly thrift stores selling clothing and furniture. In general, our approach is to raise as much money as possible as painlessly as possible — if people want to come see a John Mayer show and the ticket price happens to help needy people with AIDS, we'll take it. But there is a constant sense that maybe we should use that platform to push for more awareness, more activism & or would that cut into our business?

Therein, I think, lies the confusion and frustration around these big benefit wingdings. If the idea is just to take the money and run — in the best possible sense — and give those folks buying tickets or making donations some vague sense that they're helping do good, then who could object to that? But if there's an expectation that these shows will really mobilize the public and make a genuine impact on the lives of those who watch, that's when things often fall short. How much of the audience really understood the issues of erasing global debt that drove the Live 8 concerts last year? Possibly elsewhere in the world it carried some weight, but in the United States, it was little more than a footnote to a Pink Floyd reunion.

This is probably the reason that some politically minded artists prefer to act locally and quietly, with a sharper sense of what their goals are. Bruce Springsteen is the textbook example here, working closely with local charities such as food banks and shelters while he's on tour, rather than going for the knockout punch.

And this is certainly the big challenge for Live Earth. There's no doubt these lineups can sell tickets and draw ratings. The appeal of the cause is so undeniable, and so easily grasped in its broad sense, there will certainly be a ton of money raised. But are these shows about one big, targeted grab for cash, or will they create something that stays with the audience the next day, and the next? Will the actual purpose and beneficiary of these millions of dollars be clear, and will the follow-up steps — the "continuing effort" Sting hoped for back in 1990 — be articulated and driven home? Either approach is valid, but will we know which is intended?

Let's give the last word, as usual, to Bono (with the reminder that his dive into the audience during U2's set at Live Aid was a career-defining moment). "When you sing, you make people vulnerable to change in their lives," the living embodiment of music as activism said to Time magazine a few years ago. "You make yourself vulnerable to change in your life. But in the end, you've got to become the change you want to see in the world."

Alan Light is the former editor-in-chief of Spin, Vibe and Tracks magazines and a former senior writer at Rolling Stone. His writing has also appeared in the New York Times, the New Yorker, GQ and Entertainment Weekly. His book "The Skills to Pay the Bills: The Story of the Beastie Boys" was published in 2006. Light is a two-time winner of the ASCAP-Deems Taylor Award for excellence in music writing.