The 1975 at Glastonbury review – amid the irony, ego and pints of Guinness, this is a world-class band

The Guardian

11 hours ago

The 1975's first Glastonbury headlining slot arrives preceded by some intriguing rumours about what's going to happen. Some fairly eye-popping figures are being bandied about regarding the cost of their set's staging – which allegedly vastly outweighs the fee the band are being paid – while one dubious online source insists Healy has shaved his head for the occasion. He hasn't (he appears onstage tonsorially intact), but clearly large sums of money have been spent somewhere along the way.
What ensues isn't quite as complex as their last tour, which featured lead singer Matty Healy eating raw steak, doing push ups, climbing through a television and Prince Andrew's face appearing on a bank of television screens accompanied by the strains of Mahler's 5th Symphony. Nevertheless, there are huge video screens everywhere: not just behind the band, but above them and at either side of the stage, and indeed below the actual video screens that Glastonbury traditionally provides. The treadmill that ran across the front of the stage during their 2018 tour – there for Healy to glide around on, something he does with admirable insouciance – makes a reappearance, while, for reasons that aren't entirely clear, the rear half of a car makes an appearance stage right at one point. Healy sings from within it.
The screens alternately bathe the stage in white or pink light, show Adam Curtis-esque montages of news footage, flash up lyrics as Healy sings them – a good idea in the case of Part of the Band, a song packed with authentically funny lines. But this being the 1975, never a band to miss the opportunity to make a meta point about being in a band, they also flash up critiques of Healy's lyrics – 'MINDLESS HOLLERING' – and more generally, of the 1975 themselves: 'They're essentially making robotic Huey Lewis tunes' is a particularly cutting judgement on the band's signature synth-heavy, pastel-hued 80s pop-rock-influenced sound. Later, the screens render their lyrics as meaningless gibberish by displaying what it sounds like he's singing – 'oh mah hez smell like chocolate'. And this is done immediately after Healy informs the audience that he's 'the greatest songwriter of my generation … a poet'.
'I was only joking,' he adds later, although his talent as a frontman is less open to question: there's something gripping about the way he switches from straightforward 'Glastonbury-are-you-with-us?' enthusiasm to role-playing as a raddled, tormented pop star, pint in one hand, cigarette in the other. He makes earnest pronouncements about the lasting friendships at the centre of the band and is seemingly astonished at the size of the crowd: 'Oh Jesus,' he mutters as the lights reveal its full extent, 'yeah, it's normal, it's fine'. But then, there'll be arched-eyebrow examinations of his own genius, from posing to dancing with wild enthusiasm.
It's a show that's frequently strange and self-deprecating – an intriguingly different approach to the business of headlining the world's biggest music festival – although it runs the risk of the actual music they make getting lost somewhere amid the visual bombardment and commentary. Happily, their set also functions as a reminder that behind all the irony, the 1975 are impressively skilled at the prosaic business of writing songs.
If You're Too Shy (Let Me Know) or She's American have pop-facing melodies strong enough to shine through. The one point where the staging seems to overwhelm the show itself is during a lengthy interlude when the band vanish from the stage entirely and the message 'Matty is changing his trousers' flashes on to the screen. It's a very risky move indeed at a festival where there's always something else you could be watching: a minor exodus duly takes place in the audience. But when they return they start rolling out the big hits: It's Not Living (If It's Not With You), Sex, Love It If We Made It's dense parade of millennial angst, the gleaming pop of The Sound. It ends with About You's appropriately epic balladry, and the members of the 1975 embracing each other, apparently genuinely emotional: a straightforward conclusion to a bold, experimental, occasionally confounding, but ultimately hugely impressive performance.