Hello and welcome to The Long Wave. This weekend I was at Glastonbury reviewing the bands with the Guardian’s music team; it was my second year at the legendary arts and music festival, and I’ve become a total convert, preaching the glory of Worthy Farm after years of assuming that an event like it wasn’t for someone like me.
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How Black culture belatedly found a home at Worthy Farm
In recent years, Glastonbury has come under fire for the perceived whiteness of the event. In 2022, the Black British comedy legend Lenny Henry said in a Radio Times interview that “it’s interesting to watch Glastonbury and look at the audience and not see any Black people there” – even if a Black artist had a key billing. Stormzy’s headline set in 2019, considered one of the most electrifying in Glastonbury’s long history, was the first solo headliner ever by a Black British artist; even festival organiser Emily Eavis seemed embarrassed that it had taken so long.
Much more damaging to Glastonbury’s image, however, was Noel Gallagher’s response to Jay-Z being announced as a headliner for the festival in 2008. The Oasis songwriter called it “wrong”, claiming that hip-hop had no place on Worthy Farm – opinions that he later recanted. When tickets sold slowly for Glastonbury that year, some commentators blamed Jay-Z’s presence on the bill – rather than the terrible weather of the year before. I was only 11 in 2008, but I remember that my parents, hip-hop fans themselves, were infuriated by the backlash. To them, it demonstrated the constraints placed on Black people’s careers, as well as a reminder that, regardless of success or achievement, there were spaces in this country in which we still weren’t welcome.
Certainly, for a long time I had no interest in attending Glastonbury. That’s not so much down to my music taste – I love a lot of pop and rock music, and some of my most anticipated sets last year were Avril Lavigne and Coldplay (for my sins), and this year, Lorde and Charli xcx. If I could travel back in time to catch a set it would be Lana Del Rey in 2023. But there was also this lingering idea that camping and not showering for days just to see live music was “something white people did”.
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From Fela Kuti to Beyoncé, the legends that paved the way
Evidently, Glastonbury’s image as a forum for white, male rock stars still lingers – and a Sunday afternoon slot for Rod Stewart this year, who the day before suggested that the country should embrace Nigel Farage, will have set things back a bit. Yet it has not always been this way. In the 1980s, Glastonbury increasingly became a home for international Black music.
The American “gentle genius” Curtis Mayfield became the first Black headliner at Glastonbury in 1983. That same year, King Sunny Adé became the first Nigerian artist to perform at the festival. The roots reggae band Black Uhuru (who returned to Glastonbury this year after a near four-decade absence) were headliners in 1984. Afrobeat pioneer Fela Kuti’s Pyramid stage set that year, with 20-piece band Egypt 80, with its storming political messages and confrontations of authority and broken democracy, is widely regarded as one of Glastonbury’s most iconic performances. Skunk Anansie headlined the Pyramid stage in 1999, making singer Skin the first Black woman to do so. Since then, Kendrick Lamar, SZA and Beyoncé have served as headliners – Beyoncé defying the same accusations of inauthenticity and non-belonging that her husband did, three years after Jay-Z silenced his critics with a shutdown performance.
Naturally though, Black cultural progress often fluctuates. Last year, our arts and culture correspondent Lanre Bakare wrote that the increase in Black artists at the festival (among them Janelle Monáe, Burna Boy and Little Simz) reflected a “cultural shift”, and that while Black festivalgoers had to work to overcome “psychological barriers”, they were breaking through in order to experience what is surely one of the greatest festivals in the world.
I think that is true for me, too. My approach to Glastonbury is to embrace the eclecticism of its lineup. I attended sets by artists I’ve never heard playing music I’d never usually listen to, that cliche of broadening your horizons. I found myself strangely emotional during what was an odd combination of a minimalist piano performance and then DJ set by Breton composer Yann Tiersen, and then imagined myself smelling alpine plants and orchids in a Yakushima forest during Japanese folk singer Ichiko Aoba’s show.
Glastonbury’s power has always resided in its ability to loosen your inhibitions and transport you to other worlds. However, that does not mean it is a space free from the more undignified strata of British society. One white boy asked if I would “pattern man some loud” (sell him weed); another hit me with a rogue “wagwan?” and fist bumped me; another saw me in my vest and asked “How comes Black people get so hench?” But by and by, these were easy to shrug off as business as usual when living in Britain, rather than expressions of hostility.
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A community under canvas
I can honestly say that coming to Glastonbury for a second year felt like coming back home. Yes, it is still predominantly white, but there is a thriving and visible Black community: on Saturday, I had the night of my life dancing to Larizzle, one of my favourite DJs, at the Black at Glasto tent at Silver Hayes, a hub for Black culture at Glastonbury launched last year by the community design agency ourppls. I “glamped” so I can’t say that I’ve exactly beaten my aversion to camping, yet there can be little doubt that other Black Britons are embracing life under canvas. There has been a surge of Black birdwatching groups, hiking clubs, skiing trips – a rebuke to the idea that certain activities are “for us” and others aren’t.
The lineup for this year, while perhaps not as stacked as 2024, still offered a banquet of local and international Black talent: Black Uhuru, Ezra Collective, Cymande, Celeste, Doechii. I spoke to Ghanaian-American singer Amaarae, who told me that, as a child, she had watched footage of Amy Winehouse on the West Holts stage, and felt honoured to be performing in the same spot. She added that, though there had been improvements, she had previously viewed the festival as predominantly for white artists. Had she thought she would ever play here? “I definitely thought that one day I was going to be a star, so it was always an aspiration,” she told me. “I didn’t know how, but I knew that I could make it possible for myself.” Truly, there is no greater force against double consciousness than west African self-belief and manifestation.
Nonetheless, Gallagher’s claim that rap had no place at Glastonbury lingered in my mind. Stormzy was the first Black British solo artist to headline, but there hasn’t been one since. AJ Tracey and Pa Salieu were the only Black British rappers on this year’s bill. But then came a twist. Skepta was pulled in at the 11th hour to fill in for an illness-struck Deftones. And in just 30 minutes spitting on the mic, he produced such a thrilling set that you couldn’t help but hope the headline spot is his soon. Let’s just say that if, when Glastonbury returns in 2027, there’s a Skepta and BBK link-up on the Pyramid stage, the streets will be there – by any means necessary.
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