Why I've Stopped Losing My Shit Over Reading Festival's Line-up Announcements

Photo by Anis Ali

Three years in a row I bit my nails down the bleeding point when it came to the Reading Festival. I remember what seemed like a nation of people tuning into Radio One announcing the line up and the mass panic that seemed to ensue when the tickets went on sale. The whole build up to the August bank holiday was almost as exciting as actually being there, knee deep in shit and surrounded by some of the most important bands in the world.

Last night the first drips of the line-up came once again via Radio One, a wonderful if not dismal metaphor for Reading and Leeds no longer being the institutions they once were. In 2014 how many people do you know turn to radio to hunt down the latest and greatest in new music? Probably as many people that will go to Reading festival solely because the line-up thrills them so much and not just to drink watered down lager by the heady smell of a port-a-loo.

An immediate and kinda insulting problem is that organisers have forgotten what it means to choose creative and exciting acts: three of the four headliners were in similar if not identical line up positions in 2010. And then there's the inclusion of Paramore, the musical equivalent of an unflushable poo. In contrast, the likes of Primavera and Bestival have enlisted Neutral Milk Hotel and Outkast as stellar main stage acts. Even in Reading's smaller tents, the list of names is uninspiring. Once upon a time these stages used to attract those annoying yet dedicated punters who would stay glued to the barrier all day. This year, fans of all things throwback have got The Courteeners to look forward to, just in case the prospect of Blink-182 making their 500th appearance wasn’t adventurous enough.

The awkward ignorance of the organisers to new hip-hop is another sticking part of the festival’s lacklustre this year. Apparently still resting on the laurels of booking Eminem in 2013, the closest the main stage now has is Macklemore, who's become so much of a joke to the genre that even he's apologised to the world and Kendrick Lamar for his own success. Scan down to the small print at the bottom of the bill and you’ll see Pusha T and Danny Brown inexplicably relegated, floating amongst a tired looking set of DJs. And while I'm sure Giggs and Joey Bada$$ will put on electrifying performances, why do I have to squint to find them on the line-up?

The festival has been struggling to kick up a fuss for a while; gripped by a certain brand of ennui that’s affecting all of the big UK festivals recently. When was the last time you heard anybody talk about how “they’re definitely going to T in the Park/Isle of Wight/Rockness this year”? Who do you know whose rallying a crowd to go to Latitude? With the exception of Glastonbury and the slick move of booking OutKast at Bestival, nobody seems to get truly excited about the Great British music festival any more. Reading and Leeds are not the problem; they’re merely a reminder that music weekenders here are now only synonymous with £8 hog roasts in a field and a line-up that looks like it was chosen by a PTA.

At this point I know there are bound to be a few ready to explode in defence of the UK’s smaller festivals. Don’t sweat it, because Boomtown, Field Day, Secret Garden Party, I got you. You keep doing what you’re doing. You’re saving those who want something a bit niche from drowning with the Titanic of the Reading main stage, and as long as these festivals are in the hands of the fanatics willing to bankrupt themselves, British music culture still has a chance of redeeming itself. These are the sort of places you can go, safe in the knowledge that you’ll see the best performances of the year, even though you’re standing in a crowd of 50. But they’re fighting a yearly battle to stay attractive to punters that have the choice between a one-hour flight and the promise of sunshine, versus 18 hours in traffic and getting trenchfoot in the Great British countryside.

In turn, the European festival market is in rude health; Primavera and Melt! are curating line-ups that mean something to people who love music and getting fucked up in equal measure. Our continental contemporaries have learned what people want from a weekend of hangovers and backache, and adapted their festivals to perfection, with the Erol Alkans of the world cuddling up with the Jungles at Melt! and Primavera's Barcelona wing nonchalantly enlisting the skills of Kendrick Lamar. With so much choice, value for money is at a premium. Reading and Leeds look like lazy, overweight uncles in comparison to the spritely, enticing nature of their foreign competitors, and it won’t be long before the entire country agrees.

So it’s time for the suits behind the big UK festivals to pull out the swords they’ve fallen on. They’ve got both the time and the funding to make their weekenders sell out in an hour, but taking a long hard look at what’s going on abroad or even at home on a smaller scale needs to happen first. The defeatist mentality of “In twenty years time you'll still see the likes of Coldplay or Muse headlining festivals” needs to be put in front of a firing squad, along with gourmet burger stands and people who don't feel like a prick wearing a onesie with wellies.

Follow Tamara on Twitter @tamararoper

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