It’s hard to encapsulate just how fantastic Young Fathers were in the Glastonbury colours, so I will try to be a succinct as I possibly can.
Like a 3-headed Hydra, either slumped over the microphone, animalistically gesticulating or holding its head high to see the horizon, the three-piece, joined by a man behind the drums attack their songs with the fire and fury found in their rhetoric. As they crowd around one mic, pressing their faces together to splutter, screech and soulfully croon, you can feel the raw physicality permeating from front to back of the Other Stage.
Spoken in a broad Edinburgh accent, they absently adress the crowd, before launching into their poignant song, ‘The Queen Is Dead’. Judging by their aggressive, upfront demeanout one may ask the question whether the group is suited to the festival, let alone the stage, but you can’t ignore brillance when it slaps you around the face. You need to look no further than ‘Get Up’ to digest a depiction of it.
From the tribalistic rhythms and theatrical stage personas, there is a sense of utter rebellion here. They don’t really mind whether the crowd are taking to them, this is art for art’s sake, which is beyond commendable – it is essential.