Black Deer festival review: Country music’s finest gather in Tunbridge Wells for a rainy, rollicking weekend

The smell of BBQ and leather hangs in the air. All around, you hear the strum of banjos, the swoop of fiddles, and the occassional thud of an axe splintering wood. A mustachioed man with a microphone announces that a chili-eating contest is about to begin on the Live Fire stage. This is Black Deer Festival, the UK’s annual celebration of country and Americana music.

Far from your bogstandard tailgate party, Black Deer is a decidedly genteel affair that begins with a stroll through a flower-filled meadow in Eridge Park (the oldest deer park in Britain) and down to the main festival site. Dust kicks up underfoot as punters amble across the sun-beaten grass, hauling those cursed fold-out chairs (one of the few blights on an otherwise perfect weekend) and their kids in four-wheeled carts. It’s Stetsons as far as the eye can see, along with neckerchiefs, cowboy boots and denim cut-offs.

You don’t have to throw on a fringed leather jacket to get into the mood, though. That’s what the music is for. And the festival’s curators have outdone themselves this year. Kelly Jones of Stereophonics fame sounds right at home with Far From Saints, his folk/Americana project with Texas singer Patty Lynn and musician Dwight Baker. Meanwhile, US singer-songwriter Kurt Vile and his band kick back with some hazy stoner rock. After the sun goes down, Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats raise merry hell with their full-throated, foot-stomping blues.

A smattering of rain on Saturday fails to dampen spirits. Thunderstorms have been threatening all weekend, but the drizzle stops right in time for recent Grammy-winner Bonnie Raitt, who takes command of the stage like the seasoned pro she is. Perhaps it’s unusual to follow up with a rock band as your headliner, but no one seems to mind when The Pretenders get everyone dancing to “Don’t Get Me Wrong” and “Back on the Chain Gang”.

The last day of Black Deer opens to blazing sunshine, brunch and a stirring gospel choir belting out Bob Marley’s “One Love”. The afternoon, however, is a different story. Ominous storm clouds gather overhead; the firepit in the VIP bar is swiftly extinguished. Suddenly, the field seems empty compared to the buzzing crowds of yesterday.

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Those brave enough to withstand the torrential downpour that hits in the late-afternoon are rewarded by Lukas Nelson and his band Promise of the Real. The son of everyone’s favourite outlaw, Willie Nelson, washes away any “nepo baby” accusations with one of the best sets of the weekend. He kicks back on “More Than Friends”, his sweetly tempered single with Nashville’s Lainey Wilson, before taking on the swampy swing and grind of “Four Letter Word”. He and POTR rival the tempestuous weather with “Something Real”, an exhilarating blast of thundering guitars and thrashing drums.

Steve Earle, one of the greatest living songwriters, deserves a bigger crowd for his acoustic set. Bearded, bespectacled and banjo’d, he cuts a lonely figure but doesn’t seem to mind being without his band, The Dukes. “That was crap,” he growls to his audience. “You gotta sing better than that.” They do their best, chanting back at him for “The Galway Girl” and “Copperhead”. He seems satisfied as he makes way for Sheffield’s Johnny Cash, Richard Hawley, who closes the main stage with a rousing set of career highlights. For one weekend, it feels as though country music’s finest aren’t in Nashville, Tennessee, but right here in Tunbridge Wells, Kent.