Glastonbury: why the old guard rocked amid the sound and fury

Raye’s powerful, positive statement came during a magnificent headline set, but one that was wholly overshadowed by two acts who left the festival mired in controversy, and the BBC in an utter mess of its own making.

There cannot be any room left on the passing bandwagon given the number of opportunistic politicians and headline-grabbing talking heads who were straight out of the starting blocks with their condemnation of Kneecap and Bobby Vylan. Their noise was enough to drown out every single band on every single stage even with the sound systems cranked up to eleven.

Naturally the Daily Mail piled in with its usual nuance, and we are now in the realms of police investigations, cancelled visas to the US, and an agency dropping their act quicker than someone trying to grab a piping hot plate of food. From medicine to poison.

Putting Kneecap on stage in light of Sir Keir Starmer’s public disapproval was always going to be incendiary, and the Irish rap band didn’t miss the opportunity to strike back.

I can only guess the BBC was so fixated on what they might say that they forgot to cast an eye on punk rap duo Bobby Vylan who went much further as singer Pascal Robinson-Foster led chants of “Death, death to the IDF”, referring to the Israel Defense Forces - all broadcast live by the BBC, bringing the broadcaster’s editorial judgement into question. How on earth a senior editor didn’t just cut the stream immediately and then worry about the reaction is simply bewildering.

The sound and fury will resonate for some time, and may even impact on future festivals at Glastonbury. Shame really - because musically, there was so much to enjoy at Worthy Farm. The sight of Lewis Capaldi back on stage after a two-year absence was as uplifting as his last visit was heartbreaking to watch, while Jarvis Cocker led Pulp through a glorious set 30 years on from their breakthrough.

But, for me, the highlights came from the old guard.

Neil Young wandered on stage looking as if he’d just repaired the tour bus, strapped on a guitar and jammed with a band that could have been playing to 40 folk in a pub backroom rather than the main stage at Glastonbury. There were no backing dancers, no flashy graphics, no grandstanding, but a powerful ‘Throw Your Hatred Down” - a message the noisemakers elsewhere would have done well to heed.

Young is a grizzled 79, is as single minded as ever, and he had a blast, as did Rod Stewart who, at 80, looked as if he might keel over in the heat, but delivered a magnificent legends’ set as he brought out Ronnie Wood and Lulu to join the party. Any duff notes were simply smothered by the layers of joy they created.

Age is withering our rock stars. They are slowly fading before our eyes - their voices are that bit more frail, their movement around the stage more measured, but they’ve still got it.

Their medicine is music, and it’s moments like these that remind you of what festivals are all about. I got almost 20 years on Rod - maybe I should get myself a tent and tick this off my bucket list.