Within earshot of the bow-tied picnickers of Glyndebourne’s opera season, another venerable music genre was being celebrated amid the rolling hills of the South Downs at the weekend. Six decades away from the John Coltrane album that gives it its name, the idea that jazz could attract crowds of around 25,000 a day in Sussex seems fanciful. One might think, given its 21st Century sales figures, it’s better suited to the La La Land of dimly lit supper clubs in America. But since it launched in 2013, Love Supreme’s bookers have struck a smart balance between purist credibility and an open-armed policy that also welcomes soul, disco, R&B and hip hop. People might come for the wedding reception hits of Kool & the Gang, but find themselves swept away by the multi-keyboard mania of Japanese virtuoso Hiromi’s Sonicwonder.
Overall, older musicians dominated, some apparently in disguise. Someone near me hadn’t realised that Sananda Maitreya was Terence Trent D’Arby until the jaunty melody of “Wishing Well” popped up. He changed his name in 2001 and has released bucketloads of music to little commercial interest in the past few years. However, his powerful rasp was still instantly recognisable, and like Yusuf “Cat Stevens” Islam, the new identity didn’t mean a refusal to play the old hits. “Sign Your Name” and “Delicate” were also delivered in rawer, rockier forms.
With his beard, cap, sunglasses and baggy denim, Eddie Chacon could have been appearing on stage under the witness protection programme. He even allowed his band to play for a full 15 minutes before he wandered on. Not many will have realised that this was the Eddie half of Charles & Eddie, the American soul-pop duo who had a worldwide number one with “Would I Lie to You?” in 1992. They split in 1997, Charles Pettigrew died of cancer aged just 37 in 2001, and Chacon faded into a photography career. In one of music’s less likely comebacks, he has released two albums since 2020 in collaboration with the pianist and producer John Carroll Kirby, and they’re fantastic. His emotional falsetto was backed here by a fluid setup of flute, keys, bass and drums. Songs such as “Comes and Goes” and “Sundown” drifted past in a blissful haze.
Dionne Warwick, at 83, was at the far end of the age spectrum, appearing in the South Downs tent not long after 80-year-old drummer Billy Cobham. Warwick ought to have been a big enough name to play the main stage, but on hearing her weakened voice and her docile backing band, it was obvious she could have been drowned out by sweet wrappers. A sight to tick off the legends list and wish you’d seen her decades ago.
Among the new guard, London soul singer Olivia Dean was a charming big sisterly presence on Saturday night, but a surprising choice for headliner status given that her debut album only came out a year ago. A week earlier, Glastonbury’s organisers had put her on the Pyramid Stage at lunchtime. This time two years ago she was hurtling down the A23 as a last minute replacement for the absent Gabriels in one of Love Supreme’s smaller tents. She looked the part, however, in a shimmering minidress, tossing her mane of hair, and although her songs largely lacked the energy to excite the gathered masses, they were immediately catchy and delivered with style.
For the younger faction of the audience, she made her smooth ballads feel modern and relatable. Every new number came with an introduction story: “This is a song about how all my ex-boyfriends unfollowed me on Instagram,” she said before “Dangerously Easy”. “Be My Own Boyfriend” was a beguiling highlight, with Dean extolling the power of self validation over a gently rolling bassline: “I don’t wanna get involved, no, with all these men I’m so much better than.”
High winds and a few big showers made it difficult to engage in the activity that this festival suits best: lounging on the grass half-listening to music you might not seek out at home. No mosh pits here – while there were plenty of teenagers moving in giddy packs around what makes for a very safe first festival without mum and dad, you were also likely to become entangled in camping chairs and blanket-smothered legs if you tried to make your way from one side of the field to the other. Some fairly standard festival sights looked incongruous here: a stag do in matching shirts; a crowd gathered around presumably the only person on site with working mobile data, experiencing England’s penalty shoot out against Switzerland by osmosis.
Sunday felt busier on site, with Chaka Khan returning to top the bill with her disco-era singalongs for a second time, and Kool & the Gang offering a tightly delivered barrage of old favourites. On the second stage, the crowd pleasing came from more interesting directions. Hiromi was a joy, bouncing between her piano and keyboards in a ballooning yellow dress and zapping her songs off in umpteen different directions.
It’s one thing to see a headlining band playing their best tunes to an audience of pre-existing fans, but when a half-curious festival crowd is completely won over, that’s a special kind of triumph. Such was the case for Texan rock and soul band Black Pumas, whose singer Eric Burton had enough charisma to singe your eyebrows. He quickly had everyone raising their hands, swaying in time like a gospel choir, stepping down into the front rows to conduct their enjoyment at close quarters. During More Than a Love Song he held some extraordinarily long notes, while the band built a muscular backing around him. “Ice Cream (Pay Phone)” was another joyful highlight.
Noname, the stage non-identity of the Chicago rapper and poet Fatimah Warner, brought another welcome broadening of the bill. As with Little Simz, who was here last year, Love Supreme wouldn’t go amiss hosting a few more rappers from the conscious, political side of the genre. Shooting out tongue-twisting lyrics in her high, sharp voice, she was unafraid to call out the big shots. “Namesake” criticised Rihanna, Beyoncé and Kendrick Lamar for performing at the Super Bowl, which she called “Propaganda for the military complex.” Ouch.
It was a fiery way to wrap up a weekend which at times felt too cosy (and too windy) but still offered plenty of surprising thrills in the corners.
