LIVE REVIEW: Hop Farm Music Festival, 4 – 6 July 2014
Alejandro De Luna
Review originally published for Gigslutz
“Where the heck am I?” I asked myself this question several times during the three-day return of the Hop Farm Music Festival. “Is this a rock ‘n’ roll event?” the answer´s no. Unlike other summer festivals full of tempting perversion, fascinating perdition and auto destruction, this one is more like a family picnic and a paradise for children and 60+ year olds. Here you will not find the pissed troublemakers, the potheads (and beyond) laying in the grass and the narcissistic renegades. Just a cute and small country side festival that despite it can praise itself of still maintaining the no sponsorship/no branding flag. This years edition, suffered from last minute cancellations (Dr. John and The Deacon Blue.) and a somewhat poor turn out, however despite that there was still some memorable performances to enhanced the long session in Kent.
Hop Farm is truly eclectic and inclusive. From vintage Gangsta Rap (Arrested Development) to traditional English folk (The Full English and Bellowhead.) From pretty weak indie-rock bands (The Jezabels, The Feeling and Maximo Park) to better ones (The Family Rain – a mixture between Jack White and The Artic Monkeys.) From the inclusion of femme fatale´s (Moya, Sophie Ellis Bextor, Caro Emerald and Nerina Pallot) to legendary ska/reggae acts (The Beat.) And from Britpop textures (The Lightning Seeds) to cabaretesque and new wave pop icons (Marc Almond.) It’s fair to say there is something for everyone at Hop Farm.
“If you don´t know this song then you shouldn´t be here”, says Ray Davies before playing ‘Lola’ while trying to lift the spirit of the crowd on Friday. After being notified that his sister passed away a few hours before his hit-filled headlining set, The Kinks front man didn’t have an easy night. How badly does the septuagenarian tried to cheer up and engage with the crowd without obtaining the desired response? So it came the sing-along anthems like ‘Tired of waiting for you’, ‘Sunny afternoon’, ‘Days’, ‘You really got me’ and ‘All day and all of the night’. It was brilliant, but the mans certainly not what he used to be. He is a proper legend, a true Rock ‘n’ Roll icon and one of the last vestiges of classic pop music, but to see him becoming a cheerleader just made me feel embarrassed. Time to move on maybe, Ray?
An opposite and more welcoming response from the crowd embraced Saturday´s headliner Brian Wilson. The man responsible for building up the Californian sound seemed not to give a single fuck if we liked his set or not. But how could we not like it? After all those years full of Phil Spectoresque obsessions, auto destructive surplus and the imminent passing of time, Wilson´s walking is slow and cautious; his voice is weak and his gaze has a lost look that make me think of those LSD-fuelled nights when he was conceiving one of the most perfect pop albums ever made. But he is in good company now: an orchestra of ten brilliant and talented weirdoes – including Beach Boys´ founder member, Al Jardine – with the mission of lifting up the essential catalogue of his mentor. If there is somebody that can praise himself of creating the perfect 3 minute pop song, then it needs to be this genius of harmonies and sonic complexity. Songs like ‘California Girls’, ‘Sloop John B’, ‘God Only Knows’, ‘Good Vibrations’ or ‘Wouldn´t It Be Nice’ are a proof of that. If perfection in pop exists, then Wilson is the way to go. And live is just an experience only comparable to the incomparable.
