Hop Farm Festival 2011
Paddock Wood, Kent
01-03/07/2011

Hop Farm’s greatest strength is that it’s not just anotheridentikit festival, and through the location (an affluent county that demands such an event), the booking policy (carefully considered and immaculately pieced together) and the atmosphere (strikingly low twat count) it’s becoming one of the unmissable weekends in our congested festival calendar.

The clear wink towards the more mature reveller sees the Eagles headlining the first night, with a tailored supporting cast including 10cc and Bryan Ferry, with The Human League locking things down on the second stage. But it’s all something of a loosener for Saturday, and our day begins in earnest with Britpop hangers-on The Bluetones. Except they’re really nothing of the sort, and are rather a simply terrific guitar pop outfit whose mainstream success should have outlived the fad that became their albatross by some distance. We are lucky enough to catch the preposterous-looking Newton Faulkner manfully attempting ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ single-handedly, to widespread amusement.

From there it’s to Cloud Control‘s rasping psych-rock, which begins imperiously but runs out of steam, while the bass player’s shirt and shorts combo can only be explained by a coffee spillage, surely. Next up are punk-funk originators Gang Of Four, who you’d never know were too old for this if you couldn’t see them. While Morrissey’s cast of heroes – Patti Smith, Lou Reed and Iggy Pop – embark on an evening-long warm-up for the man himself, it’s over to fresh-faced smiley pop-folkies The Leisure Society, who do their feel-good thing immaculately as ever without really making any meaningful impact. Time for a burst of Fyfe Dangerfield’s forced restlessness behind the keys with Guillemots - a band who fail to make a significant impact on proceedings. On that note, it’s Carl Barat next, whose set suffers from a sparse crowd due to its clash with the similarly modest and understated Morrissey. This is a man who not long ago was revered like no other, but whose once unbreakable bond with his audience has diminished significantly. But he’s still a massive pull, and if he can cut the tiresome militant veggie crap, performances like this will go some way to rebuilding the love. For Morrissey is imperious, assured and commanding, and frankly better than he’s sounded in recent memory, with even his oft-maligned band sounding worthy of the material. It’s the usual solo and Smiths mix, and it all sparkles tonight.
 
Sunday’s all about the headliner – perhaps the biggest attraction at any of this year’s festivals, and an incredible coup for Hop Farm – Prince. We get underway with Dutch Uncles, who, according to the MC have “come all the way from Manchester” – yet remarkably they show no signs of fatigue after that mammoth journey with a spiky, urgent set that’s only marred by the singer’s ultimately grating ‘club singer’ delivery. The Go! Team, mind, truly get the party started in the Big Tent, showing themselves to be more than the novelty one-trick types some might once have suggested. They’re tight as hell and more fun than the rest of the bands on show put together; in short, made for sunny afternoons at festivals like this. Fenech Soler possess more punch live than we ever dared expect, with huge, pulsing electronics. Tinie Tempah’s in the main support role, and it’s a thankless and almost impossible task. Tinie and crew put in admirable effort, but it falls rather flat on the whole, in truth.

Then, at 8.15pm, all of the other stages stop, and, eventually, Prince appears. It’s rather surreal, as the little fella is arguably in a group of two (alongside Madonna) as far as still active iconic 80s megastars go – yet here he is, at a peripheral festival deep in rural Kent. And his presence is massive, immediately commanding the huge stage and controlling proceedings with style and attitude. Whatever your interest in Prince, to witness him live – especially tonight – is a spectacle almost without equal, and two hours doesn’t seem enough. Worth every cent of the no doubt eye-watering fee shelled out, and an exhilirating conclusion to a thoroughly enjoyable weekend.

Andy Slocombe