I almost went to see Bob Vylan, because a friend had told me confidently that it was a secret set by Timothée Chalamet, the actor reprising his leading role as Bob Dylan from A Complete Unknown (I have no idea why he thought this). Only from looking at Twitter after the performance did I gather that this was off the mark. No one at the festival was discussing the fact that the punk-rap duo had led their assembled crowd in a chant of “Death, death to the IDF”.
You can see why Bob Vylan sought controversy. The Glastonbury crowd for Kneecap, the Irish band already being investigated for allegedly displaying the flag of proscribed terrorist group Hezbollah, was so large that the area was blocked off about an hour before they were due to perform.
Outside the festival, the condemnation of Bob Vylan was swift. The band claimed that, actually, they were not calling for the death of Jews, only the “dismantling of a violent military regime”. But they were dropped by their agents, and Avon and Somerset police launched a probe into their performance. They are also looking into Kneecap, although it’s not as clear what they did wrong.
Announcing that Bob Vylan’s visas had been revoked, US deputy secretary of state Christopher Landau wrote on X: “Foreigners who glorify violence and hatred are not welcome visitors to our country.” Bizarrely, Texas senator Ted Cruz declared that the Somerset festival was “the base of the Democrat Party”.
In the UK, the reaction has hardly been saner. Tim Davie, BBC director-general, is battling calls for him to be sacked because the BBC did not cut the livestream of the crowd chanting, and the footage remained on iPlayer for five hours.
For the right, this is the perfect chance to jump on a festival that’s always been obviously left-ish, openly grieving Brexit since the referendum and providing, in 2017, a rapt audience to Jeremy Corbyn on the main stage. “Glastonbury is a national embarrassment,” thundered Tom Slater in the Telegraph. In the Spectator, Brendan O'Neill called it “a woke Nuremberg rally” in his typically measured way.
Glastonbury distanced itself from the duo. The festival was, it said, “appalled” by Bob Vylan’s chant, which went against its ethos of “hope, unity, peace and love”. Glastonbury’s brand is hippy liberalism—a festival established “to celebrate music, culture and togetherness”, as its diversity statement says. All ticket-holders and staff agree to the “Worthy Pledge”—to “treat the fields and the people in them with kindness and respect”. Arriving or leaving by public transport, you are greeted by signs calling you a “climate hero”.
A lot of performers spoke out passionately about politics. Left-wing and pro-Palestine activists gave talks in hot tents. The Green party held a leadership hustings.
Kneecap kept it mild, encouraging pretty non-controversial chants of “Free Palestine” and “fuck Keir Starmer”. Irish singer CMAT and bands Wolf Alice and Black Country, New Road also called for a free Palestine. Wolf Alice declared: “Whilst we have the stage for just a little bit longer, we want to express our solidarity with the people of Palestine.” Ex-Little Mix performer JADE encouraged the crowd to say “fuck you” to the things she didn’t like: “low battery, smelly toilets, Reform, welfare cuts, transphobia, silencing protests, selling arms, justifying genocide.” Kate Nash had a similar list before her song “Dickhead”: “This one goes out to Keir Starmer, JK Rowling, Rod Stewart and Nigel fucking Farage.”
With the pressure to be political in front of a sea of Palestine flags, it was almost odd when some artists avoided the topic. “Use your platform, that’s what they say right?” said the 1975’s frontman Matty Healy during their headline performance. “We don’t want our legacy to be one of politics, but to be one of love and friendship… There’s loads of politics out there.” This could maybe have been heart-warming. Then they launched into “Love It If We Made It”, a pop song about societal dysfunction, with an accompanying video that was a montage of horror: the rubble of a bombed city, the KKK lighting a burning cross, a dead refugee child washed up on a beach. If the “no politics” thing was ironic, it didn’t work.
Compared to that, it was less embarrassing to be one of the few open right-wingers dotted about the festival. There was a good turnout for Rod Stewart in the “legend slot”, the day after he told the Times: “We’ve got to give Farage a chance. He’s coming across well. What options have we got? I know some of his family. I know his brother, and I quite like him.”
After all, people at Glastonbury didn’t really care that much. They might wave flags and chant when they were told, but most were far too hot, drunk and drugged-up to get properly angry about politics. At the “Left Field” tent, a man asked the audience to raise their hand if they were left wing. Nearly all raised their hands. “What about centrist?” A handful. And right wing? Dead silence. “Come on, there’s no shame in it!”, he said. Finally, one man, standing on the edge of the tent, tentatively raised his hand. “Thank you, guy at the back!” Politely, the left-wingers cheered.
