Looking Back: Glastonbury Festival 1971

I've been YouTubing through my past recently, finding a mother lode of memories. I don't know what’s caused this sudden desire for retro-reflection. Maybe it's just a natural inclination as you get older (the big Six Zero is rapidly approaching), but there is a wonderful sweetness to this experience.

My principal port of call for my nostalgic time machine has been the Glastonbury Festival (or Fayre, as it was called back then) in 1971. Nowadays, the Glastonbury Festival is a huge commercial production, attracting tens of thousands of people with booze and bankable stars such as Beyonce and Jay Z. Back in the beginning it was a more mellow affair. Although the first event on Somerset farmer Michael Eavis’ land was the previous year, 1971 is regarded as the real starting point in the history of the Festival. Unlike today’s events, however, it was self-organized by a crowd of enthusiastic volunteers (aka hippies), and completely free.

Apart from the fact that Eavis’ farmland was available, the Glastonbury area was chosen because of strong links to England's mystical past. Glastonbury Tor is the site of the Isle of Avalon from Arthurian legend and the lettering in the foundation stone of nearby Pilton Church credits Joseph of Arimathea, a disciple of Jesus Christ who gave up his own tomb for Jesus’ body after the crucifixion, as the founding father. Add to that a concert stage in the form of a scale replica of the Great Pyramid (and covered in shiny metal mesh) and you get the idea that this festival was intended to be more than just an outdoor music venue.

I arrived at Glastonbury on the back end of ten weeks working 12-hour shifts in a commercial bakery, having dropped out of the University of Bristol after too many rounds of drug induced fuzziness had left me flat and directionless. My stint with the loaves and sticky buns had paid off my debts and allowed me some free time. I was nineteen years old and had no idea what to do next. A music and love fest out in the country seemed like a good idea.

Keith, my friend and co-conspirator in Morpheus Lightshow (another story) dropped me off a couple of days before the actual start of the festival. By this time, the stage was almost complete and a thin trickle of people was wandering in and setting up camp. I didn't have a tent so I scavenged some left over scaffolding poles and a tarpaulin from backstage and made my own on the edge of the field and with a good view of the stage, threw my sleeping bag on the damp ground inside, and I was good to go. I had no food with me, but a communal kitchen was making large vats of oats and fruit soaked in milk. And that is what I lived on for the next week.

According to ukrockfestivals.com, 7,000 people attended the event. From the clips I found online, most seemed happily stoned and there was plenty of bare flesh. I honestly don’t recollect things being so naked and tribal, but I am sure I appreciated it at the time. What I do remember is the music and the sublime atmosphere. Michael Eavis, a self-proclaimed Puritan, described it as "all to do with falling in love and loving life". For me, it proved to be a point of transformation.

The musical lineup was Melanie, Quintessence, The Edgar Broughton Band, Pink Fairies, Terry Reid (with David Lyndley and Linda Lewis), Gong, Family, David Bowie (pre Ziggy Stardust), Hawkwind, The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, Brinsley Schwarz, Fairport Convention and Traffic. Not bad for a free concert. I later ended up doing lightshows with quite a few of these bands. 

There seemed to be no fixed schedule for the performers and always rumors (Pink Floyd are coming!) about who was going to show up next. As I recall, things would get going towards lunchtime and go late into the night if not the next morning. Melanie performing Peace Will Come as the sun was about to rise over the misty Somerset countryside was magical. Arthur Brown was as crazy as ever, Quintessence did a great jam on Freedom, Hawkwind mesmerized with three chords; Terry Reid and Traffic absolutely rocked. Each performance was great because everyone was playing for the fun of it. At night, powerful beams aimed at the pyramid stage turned it into a floating lightship on which we all headed out into space.

We even had a visit from the child guru, Mahariji (now known as Prem Rawat) who told us that real beauty was to be found within our selves. His words didn’t seem to catch my attention at the time, but a couple of years later I found my own teacher and devoted myself to practicing transcendental meditation, so perhaps they did. Prem Rawat later married and settled in California. Interestingly, I met his wife in 1992 at a Thanksgiving Party in Malibu while I was working for the Natural Law Party.

Nostalgia can be a powerful narcotic. It can paint memories in far brighter colors than they actually shone. But I don’t think it’s the case here. Something powerful was happening back then. Yes, there was a lot of sex, drugs and rock and roll and plenty of confused mysticism. But these were a natural cultural response, available tools to express a desire for expansion and liberation that was surging through young people’s minds. Many things were born in the Sixties and early Seventies that are yet to manifest. Great teachers emerged to point us in the direction of a more loving and caring human experience, without the need for drugs. Although it may not seem like it in these days of economic and political mayhem, the benefits of this experience have been quietly maturing for the last forty years, though not yet in such visible form. As Melanie sang, peace will come.

There was one character at Glastonbury who really caught my attention. He had a chicken on his shoulder and a sign hanging from a long stick that read, “If you love animals don’t eat them.” Up until then, I had been an enthusiastic meat eater but his words dug straight into my heart and I’ve never touched meat again. Alcohol, tobacco and drugs went the same route shortly afterwards. It was fun to see him again. If anyone knows who he is please let me know.

Footnote: There is plenty more footage of the 1971 Glastonbury Festival if you dig around on YouTube. There is even a movie made by David Puttman and Nicholas Roeg and available on DVD from Amazon.co.uk. I’ve ordered a copy and just maybe I will find the 19-year-old me somewhere in the crowd, hopefully with some clothes on.