I live near a festival site – and I love it

Telegraph

21-05-2025

Brockwell Park stands at the southern end of Herne Hill in south London. Opened to the public in 1892, it still feels like a spirited reminder of Victorian philanthropy; a place where London's cultural and social divisions are eroded; a free space for joggers, tai chi practitioners, footballers, families and the occasional miscreant. In the early weeks of the pandemic, the park had to be closed due to fears of overcrowding – a sign that it's a part of everyone's lives.
For many years, I have lived nearby. I've benefited from Brockwell's commanding views across the city, its lido, its beautiful walled garden. I have also been to the occasional music gig – and it's the site's use as a venue for festivals that has attracted so many headlines recently, and caused many of my neighbours much consternation. It sometimes feels as though the battle for Brockwell Park were being pitched as a battle for London's soul.
In short: part of the park is closed off every year for about seven or eight weeks for a series of festivals known as Brockwell Live – this closure is for the setting-up, as well as the events themselves. The most high-profile festival is Mighty Hoopla, which brings together 2000s favourites such as Daniel Bedingfield, Samantha Mumba and Jamelia.
The complainants have, inevitably, been branded Nimbys. I'm not so sure: for one thing, I'm sympathetic to their environmental concerns. The park is a haven for pipistrelles, Daubenton's bats and a variety of birds such as herons, and green-winged teals. Traffic, both human and automotive, increases horribly when major events are happening. Litter unfurls through the Victorian streets.
And yet I don't oppose Brockwell Live. For one thing, I get a weird Proustian rush when I open my window and, if the wind is in the right direction, I hear the sound of Sugababes performing Push the Button. More seriously, we know that live music in Britain remains in a perilous position. The decline has been coming since the early 2000s, and was exacerbated horribly by the pandemic. In 2023, no fewer than 125 grass-roots venues closed in the UK, with escalating costs in the form of rent and utility bills the main cause.
Last year, it was estimated that the music sector contributed £6.1 billion to the economy – not just because of ticket sales, but due to spending at the venue and in the local environment. Big tours, such as those undertaken by Coldplay, accounted for three-quarters of the total. But no one in that echelon plays at Brockwell Park – apart from Kneecap, who appear this weekend at Wide Awake Festival, – but they may be the Coldplays of tomorrow, and they need to hustle: their careers are reliant on events such as these, particularly in an age when streaming has critically reduced artists' revenues.
The reduction of live music venues in London has also been catastrophic for youngsters who want to discover new artists, or even just have a good time. In the late 1990s, the landscape was filled with a mix of emerging talent and established names. You could crawl along Camden High Street on a Thursday night and catch five different bands (or so it seemed). I wonder how many of those venues still exist. My favourite, The Falcon, a wonderfully dingy hub for shoegazers and hyperactive indie kids, was situated on Royal College Street: it has long gone. Today, a festival at a London park feels about as close to the live experience I was lucky enough to have nearly 30 years ago.
Of course, even these festivals aren't what they once were. Brockwell Live is promoted by Superstruct, a multinational company which is in turn owned by KKR, a global investment firm. This is a long way from the heyday of the rackety independent festival. Some vanished events sound rather wonderful: I would have loved to attend the Anti-Heroin Festival at Crystal Palace Park in 1985, when Hawkwind and Spear of Destiny shared the stage with Dame Vera Lynn. Brockwell Park, too, has had its fair share of politically themed events, notably Rock Against Racism in 1978 and 1979, when attendance is thought to have been in excess of 150,000 (these were, of course, free). Mighty Hoopla's current capacity is less than 20 per cent of this.
So let the music play? Brockwell Live announced earlier this week that the festivals would go ahead despite a successful legal challenge from a local campaign group. Yet certain things do need to change: I would argue that, given environmental concerns, the capacity should be reduced, and also that Superstruct should pledge a considerable donation to the Music Venue Trust. Live music is crucial to Britain's cultural infrastructure – but it's ever more becoming a tale of haves and have-nots.