Caroline Sullivan 

V festival 2014 review – not quite food for the soul, but palatable all the same

Despite a mainstream menu, Justin Timberlake and company eventually won over even the most laddish sceptics, writes Caroline Sullivan
  
  

Kaiser Chiefs
Endearingly delighted to be back … Ricky Wilson of Kaiser Chiefs performs at the V festival. Photograph: Pete Goddard/Splash News/Corbis Photograph: Pete Goddard/Splash News/Corbis

"Bring the vibe", V Festival's nebulous marketing slogan, was heard and heeded on the opening day of the two-venue rock-pop shindig. Said vibe was present in the form of this year's festival drug, nitrous oxide – canisters crunched underfoot everywhere – and in groups of lads who cheered on Example, the uber-lad, but were less sure about Justin Timberlake, the headline act.

V is derided for its corporatism, and you're reminded of it at every turn: stage times, for instance, were only available in the pricey official programme. But no other festival caters for the hordes who want a mainstream menu at a parkland site close to London and Birmingham. With a Saturday main-stage lineup that included Kaiser Chiefs, Bastille and Ed Sheeran, nobody was there for a Healing Field spiritual transformation. Yet few acts could be written off, either. The Kaisers' Ricky Wilson was endearingly delighted to be back at work after his stint as a Voice-activated heart-throb; Ruby, echoed by 20,000 voices, was a huge, embraceable moment. Sheeran and his junior-sized acoustic guitar were unexpectedly commanding, too. Photographing the crowd and smacking his guitar to get the rhythm going on his recent No 1 single, Sing, Sheeran was very nearly Suffolk's answer to Californian swagger-dog John Mayer.

Janelle Monáe had everything you could want in a festival act: vocal richness, monochromatic graphics and a musical worldview that incorporates John Barry and Erykah Badu. Tell that to the thousands who flocked to see Example, on at the same time as Monáe played to a near-empty tent. The Manic Street Preachers cancelled because they were stranded in Hungary – you could imagine Nicky Wire's waspish reaction to that – but Elbow soulfully filled the need for a fiercely British act. Finally, Timberlake, dressed like a rat-pack playboy and dancing like Michael Jackson, was note-perfect and generous with the hits. The beered-up blokes in the crowd took some persuading that it was acceptable to applaud the one-time teen idol, but eventually – inevitably – came round.

 

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