In a move that has sent shockwaves through the world of amplified feedback and overpriced lager, the ex-reality TV star turned amateur authoritarian has demanded the cancellation of an American music festival. Which one? Who cares.
It’s the principle. The man who once sold steaks by mail order now wants to silence the wail of electric guitars. The audacity, the sheer vulgarity of it.
One can almost hear the collective sharp intake of breath from the British creative industries, that stalwart bastion of integrity that has given the world everything from the Sex Pistols to the Sugababes. They have rallied, dear reader, like a flock of tweed-clad pigeons descending on a dropped scone. The call to arms went out: we must protect the sanctity of artistic expression, the right of a man in leather trousers to shout incomprehensibly into a microphone.
Meanwhile, somewhere in a Whitehall broom cupboard, a civil servant is penning a strongly worded letter. The horror, the horror. The festival in question no doubt features a lineup of bloated legacy acts and TikTok-adjacent nobodies.
But that’s not the point. The point is that a man with a comb-over that defies the laws of physics has decided that music is a threat to his fragile ego. And so the British, having nothing better to do, have taken up the standard of righteousness.
They will fight for the right to have overpriced acts perform at fields in the middle of nowhere. They will defend the integrity of the music industry, an industry that once brought you the Spice Girls. The sheer hypocrisy is enough to make one choke on one’s G&T.
The same country that gave the world the Falklands War and bangers and mash is now the moral guardian of the arts. Bravo. This is a satire so rich, so layered, it could be served with a dollop of clotted cream.
The festival, probably some soulless corporate cash grab, will now be elevated to a symbol of resistance. Expect a documentary on the BBC, narrated by a terribly earnest chap with a plum in his mouth. Expect think pieces in the Guardian.
Expect a benefit concert featuring Coldplay and Ed Sheeran. God help us all. The creative industries, that nebulous term used to describe people who can’t hold down a proper job, are now the front line of the culture war.
They will stand firm, flanked by their artisan cheese and their subscription to the London Review of Books. Meanwhile, the actual musicians, the ones with the hangovers and the drug habits, are probably just hoping someone will buy their new single. But no, this is bigger than them.
This is about principles. And if there’s one thing the British love more than queueing, it’s being morally superior about something that doesn’t affect them. So crack open a warm pint of real ale and salute the defenders of artistic freedom.
They are the heroes we don’t deserve but will inevitably be forced to watch on Channel 4.
