The light I never knowed.
Hop Farm Festival, Kent (2nd & 3rd July 2010)
Hop Farm Festival was the best festival I’ve ever been to. But, in light of it, I never want to go to another music festival ever again.
You see, I’m not sure the whole “music festival” thing works. It’s kind of paradoxical. Especially when Van Morrison is headlining the Friday.
It was the first day of Hop Farm. The sun had finally started to set after one of the hottest days I can remember. I was surprised I had managed to stay solidified in the pizza oven that this festival was being held in. But the evening brought with it a cool breeze, and we waited patiently for Van to come on. I was burnt, dehydrated and the backs of my knees were killing me from standing, but I didn’t care because Van Morrison was going to walk on stage at any moment. Van “Moondance” Morrison - the music I had been weaned on as a kid.
But, when the time came, it was heartbreaking. I don’t think I’ve ever been that disappointed with a concert. And it wasn’t because Van was extremely grumpy and didn’t smile or say a single word to us the entire set - I was well prepared for that. I honestly didn’t mind. In fact, his legendary temper was the thing I was looking forward to most.
And his set was near perfect. Sure, there was the occasional twenty minute flute solo, but he also treated us to ‘Brown Eyed Girl’, ‘Moondance’, ‘Have I Told You Lately?’ and ‘Into The Mystic’.
What completely ruined the whole thing for me was the hundreds of teenagers that were wasted on cider, screaming and trying to build human pyramids all around me. They simply didn’t care about the music.
Why were they there?
Why did they spend over a hundred pounds to come and get drunk in a field?
That performance at Hop Farm could be the only time I ever see Van Morrison, and a large portion of it was drowned out by some half-naked, ecstacy-crazed girl covered in body paint, trying to impress five androgynous fifteen-year-old boys.
Luckily, there didn’t happen to be any of them close to me while I was watching Bob Dylan on the Saturday or I might have done something drastic.
A similar thing happened to me at Rock Werchter Festival a couple of years ago when I was watching Radiohead. The people around me were just standing there, insulting the band throughout their set. These things just wouldn’t happen at an actual Radiohead or Morrison gig.
But having said this, there are obviously exceptions. I think it all depends on the nature of the music. I’ll admit that two of the best gigs I’ve witnessed have been at festivals. Manu Chao at Exit Festival and Rage Against The Machine at Reading Festival.
But the reason these gigs were so good is because Manu Chao and Rage essentially play party music. Music to dance to. Music to drink to. Music that puts so much emphasis and importance on rhythm, that it doesn’t really matter if you can’t hear the words. Music that requires a sunset or a thunderstorm and hundreds of people dancing all around you as the stars come out. Radiohead and Van Morrison, on the other hand, play music to be watched and absorbed, whether it’s the abstract lyrics or the virtuosic saxophone solos.
And Bob Dylan on the Saturday of Hop Farm could have also been a disaster if I had once again been surrounded by goons. And his music means so much to me that it would have killed me. As it turned out, his set was astonishing, and I suspect it was astonishing precisely because he was playing at a festival instead of touring a new album. He played hit after hit after hit. Including one of my favourites, ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right’. But this was just luck. If he’d been in a slightly different mood, or I had been next to someone who hated him, it might have been a similar experience as watching Van the day before. But he seemed as though he was having a great time, striking poses, playing his Telecaster for a few songs and smiling throughout.
I also saw a superb set by my favourite band at the moment, Stornoway. But the reason I enjoyed it so much was because it wasn’t on the unforgiving main stage. It was in a tent.
Tents are like little venues of their own. They’re dark, atmospheric and small, and, chances are, all of the people in the tent are there because they know and like the band. Watching Stornoway in that tent was like watching them in a small London club or on a university campus. The sun wasn’t frying my neck, no one was building human pyramids, the sound wasn’t getting carried away by the wind, and they were able to have lights and smoke machines in the middle of the day.
I think the thing is, music festivals are just too much of a gamble when it comes to watching your heroes - if they’re on the main stage, which they probably will be. Sure, it could all work out perfectly, with the perfect setting, the perfect audience and the perfect weather, but too much could go wrong. If Van ever comes to town again, I think I’ll catch him at the Royal Albert Hall.
