There was plenty of beef swirling the web before the long Glasto' weekend this year. Young'uns hit up blogs and websites on a near-minute basis to express their overwhelming disappointment regarding what they saw as a "middle aged" dad-rock line up.
Slander circulated like swine flu and various uneducated splurts backed up by even more uneducated music related comments were, i suppose, what could have been expected from the numerous Internet-grazing assholes who enjoy slating anything that isn't classed in the new-wave-twee-psych-garage-scrap-punk genre. In other words, ignorant, type-heavy, Internet-occupied fuck-wits who like nothing more than to crap on the legacy of rock stars past, because now, we have synths and Shoreditch.
NME.com recently ran a feature regarding the festivals line up and its middle aged performers. Of course, Kids and cunts alike hit the site with comments that hold about as much use as fart and to be honest I was surprised at the lack of support Young and Springsteen received because I mean, lets be honest, they are the building blocks of the music we love and listen to today. But when the weekend, the rain and the sun finally came it all changed. Everything. (Well maybe not for The Sun's Gordon Smart but I will get onto that Liam Gallagher twitter obsessed brit-pop hanger-on later...)
The evening had begun to cool when The Loner himself hit up his main stage Friday slot and what followed my words will never do justice. I will completely and utterly avoid attempting to construct any creative literary bullshit and cut to the chase. Neil Young provided Glastonbury Festival with possibly the greatest rock and roll show the festival, or the entire country for that matter, has, and will for a long long time, ever see. Job Fucking Done.
But being gob smacked was the least of my worries. It was not time to dwell on the feedback that was still ringing in my earholes or the reoccurring 'Rockin' In The Free World' chorus that smashed my cranium four or so times, it was time for something else. Something just as colossal. Something just as mind blowing. It was time for a man who embodies everything that the American dream means to rock and roll, a man whose stories are perfectly and poetically crafted with a romantic musical canvas of beauty, a man whose nostalgia has followed him from the shores of Asbury Park to the mud of Glasto', it was time for The Boss.
Once again I think I will avoid trying to justify the allure of this performance, I think it's pretty impossible to do so. But I will keep it simple again. Bruce Springsteen came and surprised an audience on Saturday night of the event and it wasn't just because the uber-cool middle-aged rock and roll LEGEND played a stunning set of sheer fucking amazingness but for another reason, something that took patience but like patience, and i suppose drunken sex in a way, it takes fucking ages but once your there, fuck-a-duck you're there man!
The reason patience paid off in this particular case regarded Springsteen's song selection. All those waiting for 'Born in the USA' would be waiting a long long time because Bruce didn't subside to such faux pas patriotic social errors. Instead a selection of anthemic nostalgic anthems that included a cover of Joe Strummers "Comma" and a power-thumping rendition of "The River". Of course the usual "Born To Run" and the enigmatic "Thunder Road" tickled my tear ducts in a way that only the Asbury Park pioneer can.
But after all said and done, this was not intended to be a review. This was a statement of confirmation, a literary middle finger to all those web-obsessed cowards who sit behind their desk wanking over 7" singles by Architecture in Helsinki or some other twee nut-mugs.
Those middle-aged comments, those dad-rock slates and all that irrelevant bullshit criticism regarding Glastonbury's line up now holds fuck all grounding. The reason being this was the best Glastonbury ever. If you feel happy to criticise Eavis' decision then you're clearly a twat. Glastonbury has been characterised by being a little odd since it's birth and it's not an institution that intends to conform to the ideologies of anyone. It's a gathering of the weird, an accumulation of the outlandish and it's legacy means that it will never cir cum to what YOU want.
If you want the Arctic Monkeys go to Reading. If you want The Killers fuck off to V. If you can't grasp the bands playing Glastonbury then simply don't go. But overall, the final thing is this. You must literally have such a measly existence if the best thing you can do is sit behind your computer screen, log on to NME.com and backbite what you see as a "middle aged" line up then you're the fucking disease that's spreading through the music world. Young and Springsteen, and Blur for that matter, have a musical heritage to uphold, a legacy tattooed into the lines of melody, so don't criticise it, embrace it and try to inhale the essence of greatness. Otherwise, don't be such a bellend.
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