The Glastonbury Kerfuffle

Thanks to the presence of Kneecap and the British government’s open hostility towards them, this year’s Glastonbury festival was a decidedly political affair. But is it the right place for politics?

The Glastonbury Kerfuffle
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The current iteration of the British government, led by the gray, dreary figure of Keir Starmer, is not especially known for its sense of humor. It is a self-conscious, boring thing—a political entity that promises only moderate improvements to the United Kingdom’s lot by, essentially, not doing anything too crazy. Its very dullness is the point. We, the public, are meant to equate that dullness with competence, because how could a government led by such uninteresting people really be bad at governance? Starmer, we are encouraged to perceive, is a bit like a school principal: drab, strict, and a little bit cruel. The public are his troublesome students: unruly, excitable, and work-shy. They are to be disciplined, starved of anything too fun or too stimulating, and, in time, they will fall into line as pliable, grateful members of a society in the midst of reasonable GDP growth and sky-high military spending. There won’t be many laughs in Starmer’s utopia, but there’ll maybe be more jobs, more nukes, and more runways at London’s Heathrow Airport.

The irony is that, in their effort to present themselves as resolutely devoid of humor and joy, Starmer and his acolytes have inadvertently achieved one of the funniest fucking things a British government has ever done: They have helped to transform Kneecap, who rap in an Irish language that the Irish themselves tend not to speak, into one of the biggest bands in the world. They have helped to elevate the popularity of this trio of Irish republicans to such heights that crowds of English people at this year’s Glastonbury festival could be heard chanting, under their encouragement, “Tiocfaidh ár lá,” a slogan of Irish republicanism that envisions an end to British rule of Northern Ireland. It is difficult to express to anyone unfamiliar with Ireland quite how funny that is.

A quick recap for those unaware of what’s happened of late: Kneecap, during their performance at Coachella earlier this year, displayed pro-Palestine messaging on stage, as they always do. Among the messages were, “Israel is committing genocide against the Palestinian people. It is being enabled by the US government, who arm and fund Israel despite their war crimes. Fuck Israel. Free Palestine.” The backlash to this came swiftly, with, of all people, Sharon Osbourne hauling herself out of obscurity to lead the choir of condemnation, which quickly gathered energy and led to reactionary political types, who quite obviously have never listened to the band, developing very firm opinions about them. Before long, there were shadowy people trawling through the online archives, looking for dirt on Kneecap and duly finding it.

Footage from a past Kneecap gig surfaced online, and it allegedly showed Mo Chara, one of the rappers, expressing support for Hamas and Hezbollah, both of which are considered to be terrorist organizations in the UK. He now faces a terrorism-related charge in a British court—and, as a consequence of that, many of the festivals Kneecap had been due to play this summer sought to distance themselves from the group. But one that did not do that was Glastonbury. Despite immense political pressure, including comments from the gray prime minister himself, the festival’s organizers committed to allowing Kneecap their slot.

To the left, to the left

Glastonbury, unquestionably, leans leftward, and it is proud to make that clear. Woke messaging is found everywhere throughout the festival site, but more substantive are the tents and arenas explicitly built for facilitating progressive politics. The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament has long been a fixture of the festival. And, given the reemergence of nuclear war as a distinct possibility, its presence this year felt especially apt. Greenpeace runs an entire area of its own, filled with fun installations, a kids’ area complete with a skate park, bouldering wall, and a steep slide I so badly wanted to thunder myself down, and a main stage hosting talks and gigs by musicians such as Peter Doherty. And at the heart of the Glastonbury site stands the Left Field tent, run by a team including Billy Bragg, England’s answer to Woody Guthrie, his partner Juliet Wills, and Greenpeace activist Rosie Rogers.

The earlier hours at Left Field are dedicated to political panels and debates, this year on subjects including the manosphere, the far right, the environmental crisis and workers, and the British government’s ongoing attacks on disabled people’s rights. The evenings and nights, meanwhile, are for the funner stuff, with gigs this year from the likes of Lambrini Girls, Antony Szmierek, and Kate Nash—not to mention Bragg himself. Whenever I caught sight of Bragg during the festival, he was either setting up the stage, performing on it, or chatting with groups of people around it, so it is not for nothing that he calls himself “kind of like the mayor of Left Field—I go around shaking people’s hands and saying thank you very much for coming, and jumping up on stage in case anybody doesn’t turn up,” but, luckily, before Glastonbury took place, I got the chance to speak with him properly on a call.

I asked him about the role he sees Left Field as playing within the wider Glastonbury ecosystem, and his answer implied that he is attempting to keep alive a tradition of culture and politics that he would have once known himself during his younger years. “In the—I don’t want to say, ‘In the olden days,’” he explains sheepishly, “but… in the past, in the ’80s, you’d be playing on a demo somewhere, and you’d be hanging around backstage, waiting to play, and there would be [the late former Labour Party leader] Michael Foot, or [another former Labour leader] Neil Kinnock, or [the late socialist Labour MP] Tony Benn. I don’t think young bands get much opportunity to meet with those sorts of people today. So, what we’re trying to do at Left Field is make an atmosphere that’s conducive to that exchange, without grabbing people by the scruff of the neck.”

Bragg’s fellow Left Field organizer, Rosie Rogers, meanwhile emphasizes the project’s effort to bolster unrepresented voices. “A big part of it,” she says, “is making sure that we’re giving a platform to groups that might not have lots of profile, or people who would never get to go to Glastonbury [because of it being] completely out of their price zone. They’re there, day in, day out, doing community organizing, doing those thankless tasks that make the world a better place. I like to make sure that we have a space for people like that to have a platform, as well as some interesting big hitters that people will recognize and who might inspire them.”

It’s also about reaching out to people who might not ordinarily get the opportunity to engage with politics in this way. “People want to hear some inspiring stuff when the world’s going to shit,” Rogers continues. “They want to hear from some cool people that are doing cool things. But sometimes people just wander in [the Left Field tent] because they’re a bit hungover and they want to sit in the shade. That’s cool, too. It’s fine if people come and eat their halloumi wrap in the shade, and listen to something that sparks a conversation, an idea. It’s nice to get random people who maybe wouldn’t usually go.”

There is critique of Glastonbury, especially online, which comes across as both reasonable and disingenuous at the same time. It asserts, in essence, that Glasto has “sold its soul”—that it has become too big and too elitist to be truly radical. It is a perspective not entirely without merit. It is true that Glastonbury is extremely expensive, so lots of poor people are priced out of pursuing a ticket—but poor people are priced out of everything in Britain these days. They’re literally priced out of food and housing, and there are very few public-facing cultural institutions left that offer the space to talk seriously about that fact. Glastonbury, for all its faults, does offer that space.

When I attended a Left Field panel about the government’s attacks on disabled people’s rights, I heard from disabled people themselves and from people with disabled loved ones. A woman in the crowd, for example, was allowed to speak during the Q&A, and she told us of how she, as a single mother to a disabled child, barely receives enough support from the government to feed herself. Her perspective—the single parent to a disabled child—is not one I had previously considered. But there are many people like her, and, usually, their voices are not heard. It is not nothing that Left Field afforded her a moment to share her story. The lesson I take from that is not that we should shit on the elitism of Glasto. It is that we need more Glastos. Cheaper Glastos. More accessible Glastos. Better Glastos. More places to establish connections, have fun, and learn from other people we don’t usually get to interact with. That is too rare a thing.

The Bob Vylan saga

Thanks, in part, to the government and the media’s months-long PR campaign drumming up interest about it, there was a great crackle on the air in the build-up to Kneecap’s set on Saturday. Talk of their gig could be heard rippling throughout the site all morning, and, well before they were due on stage, people began to flood the West Holts area where they were scheduled to play. But before them was a set by the punk-rap duo Bob Vylan—and, in the end, it was this very gig that arguably ended up eclipsing Kneecap in the controversy stakes. Funny how these things play out.

Bob Vylan’s set was very well-attended, probably because so many people—myself included—anticipated that Kneecap would reach capacity and wanted to get a spot in the crowd early. As with so many acts over the weekend, the band led the crowd in chants of “Free Palestine.” So far so normal, as this, really, was so frequently heard throughout Glastonbury this year, but where Bob Vylan went further is in what they said next: “death, death to IDF,” referring to the Israeli Defence Force that is committing alleged war crimes in Gaza.

For what it’s worth, I do not think this was a useful thing for Bob Vylan to encourage the crowd to chant. A chant like this, shouted just before Kneecap, was so obviously going to become a bigger story than it needed to be. It was so drearily predictable that it would cause a scandal that actually detracted from the message of solidarity with Palestine that it ostensibly was designed to emit. As with Kneecap, perhaps the furor surrounding what happened at Glastonbury will add to Bob Vylan’s popularity. But in the short term, they are facing negative consequences: a police investigation looking into what they said is ongoing, they have been dropped by their management, their US visas have been revoked, and the inevitable accusations of antisemitism are swirling. I do not think that what they said was antisemitic—a recent report from the Israeli newspaper Haaretz has claimed that IDF commanders are ordering their soldiers to deliberately shoot unarmed Palestinians seeking aid in Gaza; this is an organization committing war crimes, and it must be called out for it regardless of the ethnicity or religion of the bulk of its members—but it was always going to be characterized as such.

Kneecap’s turn

Kneecap were decidedly more clever during their set. The crowd was heaving, the arena being shut well before the gig started to avert the possibility of a crush. It is a rare thing to experience a cultural moment in real time with the full knowledge that it will be remembered in years to come. But that is what this was. It engendered a strange, exciting atmosphere.

The set began with a montage. People like Sharon Osbourne appeared on screen, criticizing Kneecap, and that brought a fine, gleeful set of boos. Eventually DJ Próvaí’s balaclava’d head appeared on stage, followed soon by Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap. The crowd, immediately, was with them. Móglaí Bap did, at one stage, encourage the audience to protest outside Mo Chara’s next court appearance, and to “start a riot outside the courts.” Now, then. There is no way to write those words in text and to satisfactorily convey that, yes, really, it was a joke. It was a joke, and the crowd got it. This is the thing that people willfully don’t understand about Kneecap: They are piss-takers, and they’re very funny ones. When Móglaí Bap later felt compelled to clarify that the riot thing was a joke, he said, “I don’t want anyone startin’ a riot. No riots. Just love and support, and support for Palestine.”

Kneecap did say stuff that will have lots of people clutching their pearls—having the crowd shout “fuck Keir Starmer” was wonderfully cathartic, and it really made me laugh when they had everyone scream “Tiocfaidh ár lá”—but their messaging about Palestine was eloquent and careful. On the court case facing him, Mo Chara said:

“This situation can be quite fucking stressful at times, but the stress that we’re feeling is minimal compared to what the Palestinian people are going through every fucking day. We’re from West Belfast [and Derry], a place still under British occupation, so we understand colonialism. We understand how important it is for solidarity internationally. The Irish suffered 800 years of colonialism at the hands of the British state… but the Irish, we were never bombed from the fucking skies with nowhere to go. The Palestinians have nowhere to fucking go. Literally. Not only are they now being bombed from the fucking skies, they’re being starved to death. Kids being starved to fucking death in this day and age. I don’t have to lecture you people. We’re all watching it. We all have a phone. There’s no fucking hiding it. Israel are war criminals. It’s a fucking genocide… I can see the amount of Palestinian flags here, and it’s fucking insane—the BBC editor is going to have some job. So sometimes we feel helpless. Sometimes we feel like we’re not doing enough. And that’s probably true sometimes. But the difference it makes to the people of Palestine when they see people from the other side of the world—this many people screaming, “Free, free Palestine!”

The crowd answered. We have watched a genocide unfold for nearly two years straight now, and no amount of protest does anything. The chants we hear at protests and at gigs of “free, free Palestine” can begin to ring hollow when nothing we do changes anything. But Mo Chara’s words—and the reaction they sparked in the crowd—injected life into that slogan again, at least temporarily.

When I was chatting to Bragg, I asked him what sort of political role a festival like Glastonbury can actually play. Can it really do anything? “That’s a big question, isn’t it?” he replied. “And one that journalists have been asking me for a long time. Can music change the world? My experience after 40 years is that it can’t. I believed it could once. The Clash told me they were going to change the world, and I believed them passionately. I think they believed it, too.”

He continued, “But my experience over time is that what it can do is it can make you feel that you’re not alone. It can bring you together with other people who feel strongly about an issue so that you are able to recharge your activism and then go away and take the actions that are needed. The music itself doesn’t have the agency, but the audience does. So in that sense, the power of music is not the power to change the world, but the power to make you believe it can be changed. That’s important.”

That says it all, really. Glastonbury isn’t going to change the world. It’s a music festival headlined by the pissing 1975, who, during their Friday night Pyramid Stage slot, with the world watching, went with this banality: “Use your platform, that’s what they say right? We don’t want our legacy to be one of politics, but to be one of love and friendship.” Like pop music itself, Glasto has limits, but what it can do is bring some people together. It can give a big stage to famous people like Kneecap who might inspire us, or a small moment in the spotlight to people like that woman who spoke about her troubles during that talk in Left Field. A festival like this can inject color into lives made so gray by our rulers. That may not be everything, but it is important.

Five of this writer’s Glastonbury highlights:

Kneecap
Good politics and good craic. It is worth emphasizing how good the bass sounded and reiterating quite how funny they are. Seriously. It cannot be understated how hilarious it is that these men have managed to get tens of thousands of ecstatic English people to chant Irish republican slogans into the sky. Amid all the controversy, always remember that Kneecap are basically just a bit of fun. They just also happen to have principles.

Goat
Absolutely no politics to be found in this set. None. Zilch. It was an absolute joy because of it. Just pure psychedelic weirdness and wild, colorful outfits. Despite the thrust of this article, Glastonbury is perfectly fun and silly, too. It is not all serious. Goat are a good example of that.

The Prodigy
A bucket list item now ticked off. It cannot ever be the same without the late Keith Flint, but it was still special to see the Prodigy do their thing. Their gig also hosted the diciest thing I’ve ever seen at a festival, though. A kid, on the shoulders of presumably his rave-loving father, set off a smoke grenade in his hand. It duly exploded and started a small fire on the bone-dry grass. Mercifully, the kid was absolutely fine—no burns, and he was soon laughing and raving again—and the fire was kicked out by everyone around it. But, fuck. That could have been bad. And, yes—there is a “Firestarter” joke in there. Grab it for yourself.

Modeselektor
I conceive of myself as a dark, cold techno and electronic music fan, yet, when I really think about it honestly, I so often find such sets really boring. It is rare I find artists who hold my interest for the duration, but Modesektor, it turns out, are one. They performed on a strange stage shaped like a giant head. Perhaps that’s part of why, in addition to how good their tunes are, it was so gripping?

Lambrini Girls
One of the night-time performers at Left Field. Very loud, very angry. Fuck the TERFs. Fuck the patriarchy. It was good fun.

 
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