Jay-Z at Glastonbury
This past weekend, thousands of Brits (and citizens of various other kingdoms, fiefdoms and republics, for sure) gathered at the Vale of Avalon to watch some of their favorite artists pull musical swords from the stone at the annual Glastonbury Festival. Typically, the main talking point before, during and after the festival is the weather, as past Glastos have left audiences to fend for themselves against torrential rains and ensuing fields of mud. But this year, organizers of England's premiere summer music festival booked Jay-Z to headline Saturday night, and the choice set off a different kind of storm: one of debate, disses and drama.
The most vocal opposition came from Noel Gallagher of Oasis, who proclaimed that "hip-hop didn't belong at Glastonbury."
And then the BBC broadcasted a bizarre pre-show interview with the rapper, who spent a lot of time talking about his sunglasses and proclaiming his brilliance before finally saying, quite magnanimously, that it was fine if Noel Gallagher didn't like rap. It seemed an ominous run-up to a controversial performance. When Jay-Z was late going on-stage, the BBC scrambled to broadcast other clips -- half of Massive Attack here, a bit of Hot Chip there. You could practically hear the seeds of doubt sprouting into trees in people's minds.
Then Jay-Z ambled on stage, a guitar slung around his neck, sunglasses on, strumming the opening chords to Oasis' "Wonderwall." And in that single moment, he undid every hater in the crowd. Some press took it as a huge upturned middle finger -- and perhaps it was -- but I also read the moment as a peace offering, a doff of his hat to an ungracious rival. Jay didn't take the bait, he rose to the occasion, leading the crowd in a sing-along of the 1995 hit and then slamming into "99 Problems" with a ferocity that simply demolished the crowd -- and which, quite frankly, demolished Oasis as well.
And Jay didn't let the crowd off the hook from there on out. A few songs into the set, a giant portrait for George Bush arose on the screen behind the rapper, and he stood there for what felt like hours before the audience, staring out defiantly. A chorus of boos ricocheted off him, and the crowd must have wondered if Jay was throwing American patriotism in their faces. Then he launched into a stark freestyle about the poverty in New Orleans and the lack of response to Hurricane Katrina's devastation, as the government left people stranded on rooftops for days without food or water. He skewered news organizations that swooped in for scoops but refused to help the people they filmed. At the end of the freestyle, Jay-Z closed simply with, "F*ck Bush," and a picture of the presumptive Democratic nominee filled the screen behind him. The crowd roared -- and this reviewer was floored by his audacity. It was powerful politics -- all the more so because the BBC censored nothing of Jay's performance, including that statement.
Once Jay-Z's politics were clear, the party music flowed. He revisited -- often in brief -- hits from every era. He had the crowd singing along to "Hard Knock Life," screaming along to "Girls, Girls, Girls" and "Can I Get A." He had them dance, wave their arms, sing back to him. And the remarkable thing was that they did it, they did everything he asked -- Britain's reputed coldness be damned. In turn, they were rewarded with a veritable sampler of Hova's best work. The sheer scope of his hits over the years was dazzling: "Izzo," "Big Pimpin'," "Dirt Off Your Shoulder," "Song Cry" and "Punjabi" among them. I was watching the show on television in a tiny Irish farmhouse, and I couldn't stop myself from jumping up and dancing through most of the set.
Jay-Z was feeling it, too -- several times he stopped and thanked the audience for letting him share his "culture" (as he put it) with them. He thanked them for listening. He said he was honored to be chosen to bring hip-hop to Glastonbury. He said it was a beautiful thing -- and he was right.
He closed with "Heart of the City," and the two messages of the backing track -- "Ain't no love in the heart of the city/ Ain't no love in the heart of town" and "How long/ how long must we sing this song?" -- resonated powerfully against his opening tirade against injustice. The show revealed his depth as a performer, moving effortlessly from party jams to inner city to critique to political treatises. A fitting encore -- "Encore" -- ended the show.
Afterwards, BBC commentators were floored. They couldn't conceal their amazement at his set -- one guy was practically shaking with admiration. Every interview with concert-goers revealed that even skeptics were won over -- I saw one woman say she didn't even like hip-hop and she was blown away.
People speculated endlessly about whom Jay-Z's surprise guests would be, and in the end, it was no one but sidekick Memphis Bleek. For the most part, Jay held the stage alone, bantering with the crowd, proving what a magnetic performer he is, even in a massive and potentially hostile outdoor venue. He made that enormous space feel intimate.
In the end, all the negative press only helped the show. After all, nobody knows how to deal with a beef better than a rapper -- and Jay-Z isn't just any rapper. Suffice it to say, Gallagher didn't just lose the round, he lost the match. There will be more hip-hop at Glastonbury.
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