Rod Stewart, Glastonbury Festival, review: A flashy cabaret in a field

Telegraph

7 hours ago

I fear Sir Rod Stewart may have left it too late to conquer the Glastonbury Sunday legend slot. The old soul trouper still has the charisma, the songs and the rock star hair to hold the attention of a vast generationally diverse audience, and he summoned all his veteran showbiz skills to put on an entertaining show. But his superpower has always been his voice, and at 80 it is starting to show signs of wear and tear.
Which is not to suggest he can't sing. Give the old crooner a big ballad and he can still wring every last drop of emotion out of it, especially when floating around in the upper edges of a melody. He's a bit wheezing and breathier than in his prime, but his sense of where his voice can slip and slide through a song is second to none. Signature ballads such as The First Cut is the Deepest and I Don't Want To Talk About It were gorgeous in the afternoon sun. A version of I'd Rather Go Blind dedicated to the late Christine McVie of Fleetwood Mac was momentarily stunning, as if the huge occasion had fallen away and we were watching Rod the Mod connect with his beloved soul music in a profound way.
But much of the set felt misplaced, as he tried to bring cheesy Vegas razzmatazz to dated pop rock hits that he no longer has the lung power to fully command. Young Turks was blasted out very fast and quite flat, as if he was straining to sing it in a key out of his natural range. The sentiments of Forever Young are fine, but he needs to sing it better than that to convince us of the merits of growing old disgracefully. It was notable that the vocal energy level shot up when Stewart went off to 'change me shirt and 'ave a cuppa tea' and his trio of female backing vocalists took over for a rip through Proud Mary.
I wonder if the occasion actually got a bit too much for him? Which might seem absurd for a performer of Stewart's experience, but he admitted at one point to being 'so excited, I can hardly breathe'. He brought the hits, a slick band, and the desire, but he couldn't quite command a crowd who only really joined in on the biggest songs, a sing-along of Sailing and a perhaps ironically well received Da Ya Think I'm Sexy? that Stewart shouted rather than sang. A sign declaring 'Rod you're a plonker' suggested some in the crowd still needed convincing of his charms.
It took the arrival of his old guitar foil Ronnie Wood to really inject some rock spirit as they blasted through a raucous version of the Faces' Stay With Me, before Lulu joined them to charge through a cheesy Hot Legs. It was fun, but I suspect Stewart's ancient guest stars (who included his soundalike Mick Hucknall) don't quite have the wow factor for a younger generation of listeners.
The phrase 'Use your platform' has been bandied about a lot at Glastonbury this year, as young bands in particular seem to be rediscovering the urge to speak out on issues of the day. Established acts have been less vocal, perhaps more aware of possible career repercussions. Stewart is probably too venerable to worry about reputational risks, and weighed in with 'There's been a lot of talk about the Middle East, quite rightly so.' But rather than encouraging potentially divisive chants of 'Free Palestine', he dodged to the ironically safer terrain of another war, dedicating a ropey cabaret version of the O'Jays Love Train to ' the Ukraine '. I'm not sure the song's generic universal love sentiments really count as a political statement but at least he was making an effort to show he was in line with the festival's hippy-era peace-and-love values.
Stewart even brought out festival founder Michael Eavis in a wheelchair to celebrate his 89th 'birthday' (which was actually last October). The bearded old farmer and the bright-pink-suited veteran star looked like a very odd couple, and, in truth, it all felt like a bit of an odd fit – a flashy cabaret in a field rather than a triumphant celebration of one of Britain's greatest rock and pop superstars.