Corbynmania has its own sound and style – now let’s get it to No 10 | Coco Khan

Another Glastonbury has come to an end, but despite performances from music legends, zeitgeist icons and even an appearance from Brad Pitt, it was the well-spoken man reading Shelley for a few brief minutes that stole the show.

By now, you might have seen the clips of Jeremy Corbyn addressing the crowd, but what you might not have felt was the sheer scale of the event: how pathways surrounding the main stage – and later at a smaller stage where he was speaking again – became gridlocked with people hoping to steal a glimpse of the Labour leader (amusingly thwarting fans of the Conservative-voting Craig David from getting to his show); how in between songs in the sets of headline acts, the crowd would erupt into the eponymous chant; how he dominated campsite conversation throughout the weekend; and how crowds of people of all ages followed him around the festival, as he patiently spoke to as many as he could, graciously posing for pictures.

Figures from the political world at Glastonbury are hardly uncommon, after all, the festival itself has a strong leftwing heritage. But this was something different. I’ll give you an example to compare: two years ago, I saw Patti Smith play the main stage at Glastonbury, and at the end of the performance she brought out a special guest – the Dalai Lama, a revolutionary, and a behemoth on the global stage. Yet moments after he left, the crowd had switched over to the next thing, and the episode ended up being only a footnote in the overall Glastonbury coverage.

Corbyn wasn’t a side act or a special guest: he was the main event, as he should be. The Pyramid stage suits him – he’s a natural, and people can tell. When Corbyn potters around the Greenpeace area of Glastonbury, he is right at home. He is not, like many politicians forced to walk among regular mortals, seized with awkwardness; the skin he is in is his, not a human suit.

There’s a widespread belief that music has suddenly become political again, after years of silence since the good old days when protest songs were ten a penny. I disagree with that analysis. Music that engages with the anxiety, rage, hope and heartache of a generation is by its very nature political, even if it isn’t shouting down individual politicians or institutions. This kind of music is constant, much like shallow, cheesy crap music is constant. To say the sounds of the 70s were more political is to fall into the nostalgia trap. Yes, there were the Sex Pistols, but even they never made it to No 1. In fact, currently topping the charts is the Grenfell Tower charity single which opens with a verse by Corbyn-supporting grime star Stormzy promising not to forget the victims of the tragedy and vowing “I refuse to be silenced”.

But music that is party-political is largely unheard of, let alone popular music inspired by and egged on by an individual politician. The Britpop of the Cool Britannia scene supported Tony Blair’s Labour, not necessarily the individual. The synchronicity of Corbyn’s leadership and an overtly political sound erupting into the mainstream is testament to the want, need, and resolution for change. From grime star Stormzy’s touching tribute to Corbyn during his Glastonbury set, endorsements from chart-topper Rag’n’Bone man, and the countless expressions of Corbyn support through festival-goers’ outfits – the popular Corbyn Run-DMC T-shirts or prints of Corbyn doing the dab – Corbynmania has its own sound, and its own aesthetic.

Since the festival’s inception in 1970, there’s been a narrative that surrounds it that goes something like this: at Glastonbury, you can leave your troubles behind, you can escape from your world and be who you want for six glorious days. That doesn’t mean a politics-free zone – far from it, what we Glastonbury-goers want, the world we want to live in, is one where Corbyn is prime minister. And if the political energy and electricity flowing through the festival is any indication, we may well get it.