The young who were in nappies 20 years ago came dressed in Razorlight and The Killers. The twenty- and thirtysomethings wore U2, while the Make Poverty History shirts crossed all generations. There were obsessives - the Madonna fans with homemade 'Madonna does it better' T shirts and then the Pink Floyd fans, grizzled and greying, in tour shirts that had been returned to active service in honour of a reunion concert few believed would ever happen.
There was one T-shirt that was most prized, the one which prompted stolen second glances and envious nudges from others, and that was the one which announced that the wearer had attended Live Aid.
Live Aid, now considered one of the defining events of late 20th-century popular culture, was originally billed as a global jukebox; given the passing of the years and the rise of technology, Live8 resembled nothing so much as the live incarnation of the contents of a Mojo-reading, Radio 2 listening iPod.
The day began in earnest with Paul McCartney and U2 and a blistering 'Sergeant Pepper's'. McCartney left the stage for U2, who found themselves playing at two in the afternoon as they had to fly to Austria for their own concert the same evening.
There might be a better way to kick off an all-day music concert than with the twin salvos of 'Beautiful Day' and 'Vertigo' but standing amidst 200,000 cheering fans it was hard to imagine what that might be. As one of the prime drivers of Live8 and the Make Poverty History campaign it was inevitable that Bono would remind the crowd of the purpose of the day, and he did so before a rousing 'One'. Hearing the biggest band in the world playing their finest song in the middle of the afternoon was disconcerting and as powerful as it was it was tempting to imagine how much more moving it might have been if U2 had performed towards the end of the evening.
With each act only allocated 15 minutes this was not a day for self-indulgent forays into unfamiliar B-sides. The overwhelming dominance of white acts prompted criticism from some who argued that a concert about Africa ought to have a greater African presence or at the very least more black artists. While the line-up might have been too bland for some and not ethnically diverse for others, it does offer a fair summation of where popular music is right now.
In a concert so star-studded, isolating highlights isn't easy. Among the contenders: Elton John and an artfully dishevelled Pete Doherty singing 'Children of the Revolution', Travis' playful cover of 'Stayin Alive', the first time that Philadelphia joined in the telecast and Will Smith urged everyone watching to click their fingers to mark each needless death, Bob Geldof facing the critics who have been cynical about Live8 and bringing to the stage a woman from the 1984 news footage who was minutes from death, and the crowd sending out an SOS with Sting on 'Message in a Bottle'.
Geldof had earlier taken himself out of the line-up admitting that he did not sell enough records to qualify but he changed his mind and sought out indulgence for a revisit to 'I Don't Like Mondays'. It felt like letting the man sing was the least the rest of us could do.
After special guest appearances from Bill Gates, Kofi Annan and Brad Pitt it was Geldof himself who introduced Madonna on to the stage for a dazzling performance including a glorious 'Like a Prayer' and stunning 'Ray of Light'.
But Geldof's greatest coup was in persuading the warring Roger Waters and Dave Gilmour to set aside their differences for 15 minutes. The brevity of the set felt unnecessarily cruel seeing as the average Gilmour guitar solo lasts 15 minutes but given their propensity towards arguing perhaps it was just as well that the Pink Floyd reunion was over before it started.
It ended as it began, with Paul McCartney who concluded Live Aid. And then it was all over.
As all the artists had continued to stress throughout the day Live8 was not about raising money but raising awareness and marshalling international public opinion to put pressure on the leaders of the G8. Seen in that context the artists who appeared at Hyde Park and all the other venues were trying to channel the power of music towards change.
Given that sentiment the infamous words of Geldof - 'give us your fucking money' - felt less appropriate this time round than the words of another Bob, missing from the stage, who these days hawks Starbucks coffee but who, 40 years ago, in another context and for another cause, warned the powers that be that 'the whole wide world is watching'.