by It may have been a Beautiful mind, but does he have a beautiful voice? The idea that Russell Crowe can’t sing is one of those snarky things etched in stone, thanks in no small part to the Australian actor’s breathless Javert in Les Miserables (2012). And yet, as he marched out onto Glastonbury’s tight acoustic stage on a sunny Saturday afternoon, to perform with his music project Indoor Garden Party, you’d think he was every inch the rock star.
It’s easy to be cynical about Crowe’s reinvention as a blues crooner; the words “vanity project” hung in the air like the dust that, by this point in the weekend, was filling the lungs of festivalgoers in every mud-caked way.
The nice boys A star, busker in his youth, is not the first actor to reach the student body at Worthy Farm. Regal Jeff Goldblum the Glastonbury crowds in 2019 with a series of easy-listening jazz numbers – plus the theme from Jurassic Park, because, well, this was Jeff Goldblum after all. But Crowe, to his credit, took the lead seriously: there was none Gladiator motifs, no rotely “Another Day” warble.
Ahead of the gig, he told Sky News: “Chuck puts all the famous bulls*** aside, or his reputation to do some other job. You’re going to see a serious band full of monster musicians who know what they’re doing.”
Watching him enthusiastically (if a bit David Brentishly) ring through covers of songs such as Dire Straits’ “Romeo and Juliet” and a daringly rearranged “Folsom Prison Blues”, as well as his own compositions, I found it hard not to yes. to be swept along by the sheer exuberant eccentricity of it. Speaking between songs, Crowe was extremely energetic, delivering telling stories; making impressions; embarking on an unexpected rant against the city of Southampton. (And his singing was good!) This, in a strange way, is exactly what Glastonbury is all about.
Billing the festival’s acoustic stage represents a lifelong career goal for many musicians. If Crowe is simply strolling into a plum suite – or, if we’re being generous, in part – by virtue of his Hollywood celebrity, it’s a reflection on some level of the acerbic commercialization of the UK’s left-wing, ostensibly anti-capitalist music festival. But in another way, there’s something heartwarming about seeing Crowe play out his rock star dreams in front of a raucous crowd.
Glastonbury has always been a music festival first, but it’s not just about the music. The annual generous scramble for tickets always takes place long before the program is announced; people want to come for the community, the enormity, the vibes. It celebrates not just the musicians but the abstract and specific joy of live music, the vibrant act of performance. Crowe, bearded and majestic – even gladiatorial – was as alive and present on stage as ever.
Earlier in the weekend, before any of the big acts played of so much note, festival founder (and previously the nation’s most famous farmer, until Jeremy Clarkson vacated his crown) Sir Michael Eavis came out onto the Park Stage to perform. a short series of cover versions – including Neil Young’s “Journey Through the Past” and Elvis Presley’s “Suspicious Minds”.
Eavis, now 88, sat in a wheelchair and sang words from printed lyric sheets; it was profoundly moving. Like Crowe, Eavis is not a great singer. (Though, like Crowe, he also had a group of highly skilled instrumentalists.) But the music is often more than just God-given pipes. It is an art form that is, or should be, available to anyone. I can not write music? Play covers. I can not sing? Just give it the college old try.
The headlines and the TV coverage may be heavily influenced by mega-hybrid acts such as Dua Lipa or Coldplay, but the festival is all about the unknown. A few hours before Crowe’s set, the Acoustic Stage also played host to Fun Lovin’ Crime Writers. You probably haven’t heard of them: they’re a band made up of professional genre innovators, playing assiduously if not bare-knuckle covers of big hits: Talking Heads; Elton John; The Beatles.
Wearing a custom shirt reading “The Gang Plays Glastonbury” in the style of an It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia episode, singer Chris Brookmyre looked really buzzed to be there, as did the rest of them. They are one of the hundreds of activists who litter the many stages of Worthy Farm; this giddy excitement to play is something they all have in common. Among artists perhaps more than punters, Glastonbury is a superspreader event for the broad, goofy.
It is clear that Crowe’s team did not have the same power as Eavis; the history and significance of the octogenarian organizer presented his appearance with a rare and delicate heft. But it was a powerful take, in its own way, eschewing celebrity in favor of something real, immediate, and serious. Actors spend their lives wearing masks; Crowe was here showing his real face. “Can he sing?” is not the right question at this point. So here’s a better one: Are you not entertained?
