The last time I went to Glastonbury was, funnily enough, 1997: year zero for New Labour. I remember scurrying over to catch Billy Bragg’s appearance, wondering what his act might consist of seeing that his raison d’etre had just evaporated with Labour in power and the old Red Wedge (80s rock against Thatcher project) mission now accomplished.
In the event he did the usual songs and urged us all to buy those ‘Support the doCKers’ t-shirts of the time that looked like a rip-off of the Calvin Klein logo of the time. They sold out on the spot from the festival stall. Two further general election wins later Bragg continues to agitate; his current hobbyhorse is Englishness.
Indeed Glastonbury is the most English of festivals, reminiscent of the old fayres of Albion and not corrupted in the way that the ‘Carling Reading’ bash now is.
However, there are some changes. In an initiative not unlike a net version of the way share options in 1980s privatised utilities used to be dangled to the public, the festival has opened a website for potential punters to register their interest. Founder farmer Micheal Eavis, a twinkly-eyed greybeard of 72, is hoping that 50 per cent of the lucky ticket winners (how Willy Wonka-like) will be under 25. He is quoted as saying:
‘We’re trying to get youngsters to the festival this year. I’d like to see at least half the people under 25. I‚m trying to address the balance otherwise the festival will die out with the older people.’
Of course this message seems at odds with government policy, which encourages us all to be economically active later into life with retirement becoming more distant. Expecting people to work longer and then curtailing their involvement in leisure pursuits once seen as the jealous preserve of the young seems inconsistent.
Pop is unavoidably migrating further up the age-scale – it’s a demographic inevitability. Hell, rock ’n’ roll has been with us since at least the fifties now so people following it are sometimes in their fifties. A couple of decades ago it was impossible to see someone aged 60 in blue denim jeans. Now we have had the leaders of the western world photographed in them like the last lot: Bill Clinton and Tony Blair, both players of guitar and saxophone respectively.
Other pop artists who too were campaigners in Labour’s wilderness years have also become elder statesman: the most obvious being Bob and Bono. The difference though is that unlike the spectacle of Geldof banging on from the outside, begging Thatcher for a VAT exemption from the royalties on the Band Aid single back in ‘84, the Live8 and Live Earth campaigns have marked a discernable shift.
Such issues have become mainstream concerns of the political establishment. Ditto the way the unions got involved in the Hope Not Hate tour recently featuring, inter alia, Bragg. We’ve come a long way from the days when anti-racism was seen as some fringe, loony-left cause.
With Neil Diamond just announced as headline act and numerous claims that today’s youth are more interested in Facebook and texting than real interaction, whether Eavis can keep the oldies at bay remains to be seen. In the meantime as someone increasingly sprouting grey hairs myself I reckon I’ll settle for the edited highlights on TV this year.