TOO MUCH TOO YOUNG
Neil Young is my nemesis.
All day I graze past people, displaying big boyhood grins and saying "I'm really looking forward to him." My friend John who manages The Maccabees, Gaz Coombes from Supergrass and most of the 30,000 waterproof-toting crowd all agree: Young is descended from the Gods.
With his out of control hair and the murky, thunderous skies above, I have him down as rock and roll's answer to Thor.
Many years ago I was working for Radio 1 at the Phoenix Festival, in the wilds outside Stratford On Avon where Young was headlining. Having polished off all my chores for the day I wandered backstage to the R1 Crew Bus hoping for a lift back to the hotel and a convivial nightcap in the bar before bed.
But it wasn't to be. With some of the team still recording Young's set, we had to wait till he was finished. There was no way out. Close to the end of his second hour on stage (and about 10 minutes into a gargantuan version of Like A Hurricane) you could find me prostrate on the floor by the OB truck, thumping the ground and uttering phrases like "Please make him stop".
Yet oblivious to the desires of mere mortals - including the local council - on he went. And on. And on. And on even past the sound curfew which subsequently incurred the organizers a £5,000 fine for breaching noise restrictions.
It is the same promoter today. The Hop Farm Festival in Kent (for this is where you find me on Day 2 of my 'week off') is the brainchild of Vince Power, formerly of the Mean Fiddler Organisation. I had high hopes that The Hop Farm might be a Theme Park for Beer. But it transpires on arrival that it's a far more homely site, more often used for Family days out.
The bill is inviting enough though: after appetizers including Laura Marling, Rufus Wainwright and My Morning Jacket, Supergrass concoct a one-hour festival set which includes a sprinkling of new songs and most of the hits (including the Britpop anthem Alright, which I've not seen them play live for years).
They're followed by Primal Scream who emerge looking like they have something to prove. I'm not sure why? But this is the best Scream festival set I've ever seen. It is brutal. Really tight and full-on. It barely pauses for breath. It's what Iggy Pop would have wanted.
And then, after 45 minutes of watching Neil Young's crew revamp the stage, there he is, the Godfather Of Grunge. I don't have a very good take on Neil Young. I only own one of his albums (Rust Never Sleeps) but for the most part he's existed like football's Premier League for me. I know he's there and he's important and that lives revolve, or at least are touched by his albums; that emotions rise and fall on the results of his work. But it's another world.
What's impressive though, aside from the sometimes distorted, disaffected sound he wrings from his guitar, is the vengeance still etched across his face. His contorted expressions, relayed rather scarily on the big screens either side of the stage, reveal a man still haunted and unsettled by the emotions of his own songs. I even get quite cosy with the fact that he can't end a song without three minutes of re-iterating what he's just done for the past eight. He is Neil Young. He is Premier League. He can showboat as much as he likes.
Unfortunately he won't finish till 11pm. And as part of my job as compere I have to make one last on-stage announcement after he's finished. By this time the chances of getting a cab back to the hotel where I'm staying are, I'm told, "unlikely". Police won't be allowing traffic on site until most of the crowd has gone home. I really haven't thought this through! I am stuck with The Young again!
Only when he finishes, he gets straight on his chariot (well, his mega tourbus) and gets a police escort off the site, leaving me to watch his tail lights fade.
I make the sound of Mutley on Whacky Races, then go off to seek solace in the artist's bar discussing the future of the Bull & Gate pub with Gem from Oasis. By the time I get to bed I dream of forcing Neil Young to read all my articles from the NME in one sitting. Let's see who's got the upper hand then eh?
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Goodness me, I remember that set at Phoenix - IT! NEVER! ENDED! Over on the campsite people were HOWLING at him to BLOODY STOP.
But more importantly: Theme Park Of Beer? Has there ever been a better idea?
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