Don’t Impress Them Much, Online Rants at Glastonbury Line-Up!

Image: Czampal

I’m laughing, not at the Glasto lineup, but the incalculable comments of negativity it has encouraged in Facebookland. It should be said though, most disapproving remarks appear on shares of the post and not the original, and most of them were posted this morning when most ticketholders are likely at work, funding their forthcoming adventure to Pilton. Now they’re homebound, online anticipation and positivity has risen above the seething armchair critiques……

Then there is this ‘old photographs of Wiltshire’ Facebook group I recently joined, where a picture of the Barge at Honey Street was posted today with the caption, “The Barge at Honey Street, near Pewsey.” Some aging, caps-lock permanently stuck on gammon responded, “IT IS NOT PEWSEY IT IS HONEY STREET!”

If caps-lock usually implies angered shouting, and the nearest large village to Honey Street is Pewsey, perhaps it suggests how nonsensically negative and overreactive your average Facebooker has become, and how much it exists for aimlessly irritated and amateur critics to vent their general disgust over first world problems. It says more about them and the tenet of Facebook than the thing they’re mocking. This much ado about nothing is amusing though, that’s why I like this particular social media platform….

Glastonbury Festival released their main lineup poster today, and my gut reaction was similar to the priceless online onslaught of negativity in the comments. Being honest, it’s not inane, it’s not the best lineup we’ve seen, but I restrained myself from passing comment, considering it’s an age test; the older you get the less headliners you should expect to know at an event self-professed to be a festival of “contemporary” performing arts. No one online considered it might not be Glastonbury which has the problem!

And secondly, for the simple reason I’m not going anyway, and haven’t attended for twenty-four years. I wonder how many of those feeding negative comments to the pitchfork assembly are going themselves. I hope and pray it’s not many, for Glastonbury is not the place for decomposing strident and pessimistic cynics…. like me, for example!

Glastonbury is and will always be an experience, you go to Glastonbury for going to Glastonbury, not whoever happens to be on a stage you’re passing. Yeah, it’s held some massive names in the past, pre-broken Brexit Britain, but does anyone commenting have an inkling how much and how hard it is to organise something on this scale? How much work goes on behind the scenes? Far more than typing your grievance in a text box, rest assured.

I can now count the acts I’ve heard of on the annual Glastonbury poster on my fingers, even less ones I’d actually like to see, this lessens with every year Father Time takes from me, it’s an old dog new tricks scenario; I’m content with shit happens. Most of the names I’ve heard of are through my daughter’s playlist, with a sprinkling of classics like Cyndi Lauper, to whet the appetite of grumpy old bastards who might yet turn up; it’ll all come off in the wash!

I shouldn’t scratch my Uncle Albert beard and tediously spin a yarn of how I once failed to see the Mad Professor at the dance tent because of my genius navigation past the Pyramid Stage while Pulp was playing. A band who, being I was a ‘raver’ and they were ‘indie’ I wouldn’t usually beeline, but finding myself unable to gorge further through the masses, was forced to watch them, and forever became a fan through unexpected circumstance. But if I did, it would surely serve a purpose to illustrate a tale of the unexpected. Digest new things, you never know till you try. To moan this act doesn’t suit your whim is to misunderstand the concept of Glastonbury, or festivals in general. You need to open your eyes and ears to new things not just relish in the nostalgic era of your individual youth. But more importantly, the arts and entertainment industry at its knees, need you to do this more than ever before.

Yet, in this ocean of boiling ageist whimpering which is the comment section on Glastonbury’s Facebook lineup post, which one could summarise as a multitude of disgruntled whingers unlikely to even attend, who cannot accept they’re past it and are whinging for the sake of whinging, one gen-z’s unintentionally amusing comment reversed the status quo, by calling the lineup, “a load of old dinosaurs!” (Assuming they meant the acts listed and not the other commenters!) They win the internet today for standing against the grain, still bleating bollocks, but for precisely the opposite reason to everyone else, thus proving if you can’t satisfy everyone, why bother trying with anyone? Who the heck is SZA and how did they get listed above PJ Harvey? I might have to sacrifice a cute furry pet over this atrocity!

Though, in this, you should note the universal appeal Glastonbury promotes and always has. I recall the nineties when attendees foamed from the mouth at the thought Robbie Williams got up there to do his thing; youth today would hail this classic, as they would’ve done for Led Zeppelin. Because should a change of tide wipe you out or this upset you, there’s a billion retro festivals, eighties nights, tribute acts, et al, which are more niche, and likely kinder on your wallet too. Maybe take some time to research them rather than jump a bandwagon?

Yep, if Shania Twain is the calibre of Elton John or Springsteen now, a tear will undoubtedly trickle down my wrinkled cheek, but it is not my cheek Glastonbury needs to appease, neither is it the witch hunt of unsatisfied grumpy old keyboard warriors. Key here is the simple notion; Glastonbury is so much more than a main stage and congested campsite. Don’t fuss over mainstream or contemporary things if they’re only going to engulf you in flames of irritation, think of your blood pressure.

No buddy, saunter them there Somerset fields and find the bizarre, outlandish, the upcoming, the amateur, the underground, then, and only then will you understand the true ethos of Glastonbury.

Or simply retire, watch it on the telebox; you can fast forward. With a cardboard cup of Lidl cider, and undercooked hotdog. Stay home where you can take a piss behind the sofa without queuing, and maybe start a blog where, like me, you can hypocritically rant your niggles without spoiling a Facebook post! What have we becomeeeee?!