The indie fest that’s got a Primark
Reading Festival Richfield Avenue, Berks
Abattle is under way for the soul of Reading. Ahead of this year’s instalment of the famous rock weekender, veterans who presumably weren’t here for Manowar supporting Budgie in 1982 bemoaned the line-up as the worst ever, and shared posters from halcyon Britpop years to contrast 2018’s more commercial bill.
Millennials fought back, claiming that everyone likes everything now, ergo Dua Lipa is as relevant as Radiohead. (And if you think Netsky b2b Jauz b2b Slushii is a Wi-fi password, you’re probably too old.) The stage was set for the charge of the light-entertainment brigade, deep into the rock heartland of Richfield Avenue, Berks.
It wasn’t the flood of grime and hip hop that riled the diehards. Rap has been within Reading’s remit for decades: J Hus’s grime dancehall and Travis Scott’s auto-tuned brimstone rap fit a lineage tracing back to celebrated Public Enemy and Cypress Hill sets of the Nineties.
Kendrick Lamar’s Saturday headline set was of a subtler hue though, an intimate performance that befitted his standing as the Pulitzer-winning sensitive genius of 21st-century hip hop, but struggled to connect in a field full of hormonally charged teenagers who’d just finished their GCSES. Wandering a stark stage muttering ferrety vulnerabilities into the microphone, Lamar delivered a disjointed set that relied on an appreciation of his sonic adventuring rather than irresistible hooks. His gentle demeanour suggested a rapping Marvin Gaye, until Alright, HUMBLE and Swimming Pools (Drank) provided the unifying moments that Reading’s boisterous crowd craved.
No, the faithful’s real beef was this year’s infection of mainstream pop. The sort of acts that this bastion of alternative culture would have scorned years ago are now coheadliners. Take Panic! At The Disco, who lobbed fatuous pop cheese in Reading’s face as if in vengeance for the bottle that knocked that band’s lead singer Brendon Urie unconscious here in 2006. Unremarkable R&b/rap boy band Brockhampton packed out the Radio 1 Tent and Dua Lipa made Reading feel like a radio roadshow. In case old-school fans had any doubt as to where Reading is going, there was even an on-site Primark.
Guitar rock’s treasures were shunted to Reading’s sidelines. Wolf Alice delivered the set of the weekend to Friday’s Radio 1 Tent. A topless and howling Shame brought South London’s gristle rock scene to Sunday afternoon’s main stage. In the Festival Republic tent, HMLTD played monstrous synth-punk in tattered pirate outfits and Kill Bill jumpsuits, facial hair by Freddie Mercury, make-up by the killer clown from It.
A soggy Sunday brought sops to the faithful, with The Vaccines hammering out a stream of hi-octane retro rock and Kings of Leon finally perfecting the dynamic of the modern rock headline set. Previous shows of theirs have sagged under an overload of ponderous bombast but, balanced with febrile tracks from 2016’s WALLS album and crackling rarities such as their Pixies homage Charmer, this was a scintillating two hours.
But is the Kings’s Reading crown slipping? This festival has always evolved with the times but 2018 marked the first year it’s steered askew, into more populist waters. It would have better reflected the Spotify generation’s listening habits had it given arena indie bands such as The Wombats, The Kooks and Fall Out Boy the main-stage billing that their popularity deserves; instead, it’s now designed to court casual consumers rather than more committed admirers. And that way, as V Festival history warns, irrelevance lies.