Cross the Tracks explains the importance of Brockwell Park’s festival without using any words
Cross the Tracks is always a hard one for me to write about for two reasons.
First, it’s on a Sunday, which means I have two days of hangover to precede it. Second, because of this, it’s hard to decipher if I can’t connect to the festival for that reason, or because of something else.
I’ve been a couple of times and it’s nice.
Really nice.
So mindblowingly nice that I could probably sit on a bean bag in the same place all day and listen to beautifully souled vibrations charging me along with the sun.
But I couldn’t because I had too many people to see.
What I love about this festival is its importance within the community and to its roots in jazz, soul, and funk.
It gives local emerging acts and promoters a pivotal stage. Nia Smith, the Brixton native, had the opportunity to propel her already blooming career on the biggest stage in her hometown.
The local spotlight wasn’t just reserved for the upcomers either. 70s legends Cymande are churning out the funk to an already enormous crowd at 15:45 while the previous days were still just warming up.
With Skinshape’s already echo-heavy guitars bouncing around the expanses of Brockwell Park and bending with the wind, we’re incredibly thankful for the beautiful day despite dubious forecasts. Some tracks have never sounded so good.
Others, however, led to bigger questions on whether Cross the Tracks, with the consistently critically acclaimed curation, should be held in such a vast expanse with thousands of people.
Yes, it has a community feel. In the same way, a village fete has one.
A collection of friendly people enjoying themselves is always going to give you a warm feeling, but there’s also a feeling of disservice here. Sometimes you need more than nice.
There were countless occasions where the crowd overpowered the artist. Olympia Vitalis’s dynamic voice went to waste in a tent that looked and sounded more like a boozy networking event. The glimpses were incredible, but I genuinely couldn’t hear much more.
Jazzbois and Jaz Karis suffered the same fate.
For acts that deserve a deep listen. A stand-at-the-back, head-tilted-in-awe amazement, then some of the stages felt undeserving.
Of course, Ezra Collective, who use crowd participation as a prop, thrived on the main stage (or the Temple of Joy if they could name it). They’re a reliable energy creator. I don’t know one person who has witnessed their gig without feeling changed from within.
I had to remind myself that the dance circles they were urging everyone to make were not the same as the ones Kneecap were envisaging.
Jordan Rakei is no stranger to London, with Cross the Tracks being his 17th show. This was a highlight for me, with such a display of talent from each person on stage. The intricacies of the vocals, percussion and bassline align with jaw-dropping precision throughout the whole set. One of the first times during the day that pockets of silence appeared in the crowd, along with a fair share of dancing.
I kept being picked on by the cameras, though and having to look at my sunburnt face on the screen for a good few songs. It took approximately 2 minutes to get a text from a friend I’ve not seen in years saying that they’d just seen me. Woof.
A deep blue gradient started to take over the sky as the clouds turned pink; the sunset understood the assignment.
The schedule allowed us to catch some funky basslines from Free Nationals before shimmying our way towards the front of Michael Kiwanuka.
It was Michael Kiwanuka who commanded the full attention of the audience. To the point where a person behind me had to break the silence during one of the breaks by saying, “Crikey, it’s a bit quiet, isn’t it?” It was hard to handle.
That’s what made it beautiful.
His distinct voice and impactful words closed Cross the Tracks the way it was meant to be.