I covered live music for the BBC. Here's how to fix its disastrous Glastonbury coverage

Telegraph

13 hours ago

As the dust still settles on Somerset, it is looking likely that Glastonbury 2025 will be remembered less for sunshine, champagne-swilling celebs or even for stellar sets than for another cack-handed attempt at censorship by the BBC.
Is that really fair? Well… BBC bosses, always so desperate to signal that their fingers are firmly on the pulse of popular culture and the latest cutting edge technology, literally took their eyes off the box.
Instead, they were gazing at live-streaming. It's the future. Or it was.
Because with it the BBC forgot its role – to provide public service broadcasting. To select what to show and programme it accordingly for the enjoyment of their TV and radio audiences. It lost control.
Music festivals are bound to be an absolute minefield for the BBC. They are not strictly structured and controlled like, say, a football tournament. Imagine if a player on the pitch at the World Cup was wired for sound. You couldn't control their language. You couldn't edit out the rude bits, stop matches or choose not to show them altogether.
You can't control front musicians with mics, and egos bigger than that of the entire baying crowd, either. I'm thinking of Snoop Dogg on the Pyramid Stage one afternoon at Glasto, clutching his crotch while rapping that women are asking to be f---d and demanding: 'What's my motherf---ing name?'
You can't tame them. And you shouldn't try. Bands shouldn't fear having their collar felt when they're in full flow because of an off remark between songs.
I'm not talking about mouthing off at a mob and inciting to kill by the way.
Glastonbury has always been billed as celebrating counter-culture and promoting protest and provocation.
But then the BBC gets involved with its remit to reflect popular culture, desperate to get down with the kids and yet to comply with the law of the land. On top of the BBC Charter, Ofcom, the BBC Board, its own editorial guidelines and compliance policy, and the court of public opinion constantly on its back. What are the dozens of Auntie execs on site supposed to do?
How about spending less time being starstruck in the VIP hospitality tent? Get out into where the music, and possible trouble, is being made.
The BBC's role and responsibility is not to host the freeloaders. It is to be selective.
Since 1997, when the BBC took Glastonbury on, this has often left those licence payers on the sofa in front of the set furious if their favourite act doesn't show up in the schedules. The excuse has been time constraints and limited resources. The suspicion is that their heroes were at odds with Auntie's agenda. You know, DEI and all that.
But now there's no time restraint on how much or what can be shown and, with the BBC eager to exploit the endless possibilities provided by the latest technology, it has slavishly committed to showing everything from everywhere on site.
I was at another festival on Saturday where, backstage, the bands were being given written instructions on how to behave. The organisers, Labour-controlled Coventry city council, (40 of 54 seats) demanded that performers refrained from: using language that may be deemed offensive; making political statements; references to political, religious or other affiliated groups to be categorised as unlawful or hate speech of any kind; or the show could be stopped.
One band blurted out: 'It's not like Glastonbury is it, where they tell you to be political and provocative? We refused and got banned for four years.'
Another band told me that they fell out of favour at Worthy Farm back in the 1970s when they refused to vocally support nuclear disarmament on stage when Glastonbury was championing and donating to CND. They have only played there once since and that was only when their agent agreed to supply them and Worthy Farm favourites The Worzels as a package.
Let's not forget, the BBC does not book these bands. It does not curate the festival.
But did nobody at the BBC anticipate that an artist with previous for inciting violence and murder from festival stages might kick off – especially as he was the warm-up act for a band they had already very publicly and controversially banned? Had anyone done their homework?
BBC bosses still can't seem to explain why they banned Kneecap – a bunch of blokes from Belfast with their Irish 'rebel' music, one of the boys wearing a tea cosy on his head that his mammy probably knitted for him – and yet they let loose Bob Vylan, two self-styled punks who also had form at recent festivals.
Was anybody monitoring the live stream as it went out? Was anybody of the right pay grade around to pull it? Were the production staff all ignorant, incompetent or deviant? We deserve to be told which exec on site on the day and on a six-figure salary was responsible for fulfilling their main responsibility to provide an impartial public service.
It's not enough to say: 'The livestream was monitored in line with the agreed compliance protocols and a number of issues were escalated but the editorial team decided not to cut the feed.' Or even to admit: 'That was an error.'
The track record of production staff handling live situations has often been a bit hit and miss. My friend who was a very busy BBC head of complaints told me this week: 'Of course it's always easier with a presenter on hand to deal immediately with a situation.'
DJ Bruno Brookes and I learnt this very quickly in 1980s Ireland. Another band of angry young men were set on causing mayhem at our Radio 1 Roadshow in Ulster's second city.
All the advice we'd been given before we anxiously took to the stage, overlooked by paramilitaries perched on the city walls, was to alternate the name Derry with Londonderry. The bosses were confident that would keep all those sectarians on side, and were very relaxed even when the producer shoved a bloke up from the crowd to be our competition contestant, handed him a mic, and he immediately launched into a rant about the British and their political prisoners, chanting: 'Free The Birmingham Six!'
The crowd went wild. And not in a good way.
'Fantastic. You've won, mate. Liz, give him a goody bag. Let's get him off the stage. More fun from Northern Ireland after Rick Astley!'
A few years ago a legend of punk was suggested for an 'in conversation' at the 6 Music festival.
On stage he was straight into character. Anarchic effing and blinding, and fantastically funny. The audience in the venue were lapping it up as he slagged off his rivals. but particularly when he explained that he had chosen his famous instrument because 'it's an extension of my penis'.
All this apparently offended nobody in the room. Except our producer. It was all too rock'n'roll for radio.
So it was duly sent off to be considered by the compliance committee. It took nearly a week for a ruling to come back. But it was well worth the wait.
'His penis is fine. That can stay in. But there are to be no f---s under any circumstances.'
BBC bosses have now announced that they won't be live-streaming the festival. Ever again. Good. Let Glastonbury do it themselves. As I'm sure Michael Eavis knows, Karl Marx said that 'the workers must have the means of production'. Eavis has certainly got the means.
So just dent those multimillion annual profits with a few cameras and a website. Crack on. Then sit back and broadcast whatever you've booked. And you deal with the er…mud… when it hits the fan.