Budapest & Sziget Festival 2018

Not sure why I’ve sat on this post for so long, but here we go.

With no Glastonbury in 2018, we were in need of an alternative, so we settled on Sziget. Eastern Europe is still pretty unknown to me, so I was keen to see more. Big thanks to Dave (Man vs Globe) for providing so many recommendations for this trip.

The City

We were staying in the NH Budapest City hotel, close to Margrit Bridge on the Pest side. It had all the transport links we needed to get around, and had a few breakfast options near by. Kino Cafe had some filling omelettes, but their catchphrase was “thank you for your patience” - taking your order and getting your food could take the best part of an hour. Thankfully Bubo was much quicker so we ended up there most mornings.

The thermal baths were definitely something I wanted to explore. Thanks to my other half’s reluctance to get out of bed before midday, the popular Széchenyi baths felt like they were out of the picture. A bit of searching and we found the Király baths in Buda - literal searching, you walk past it a few times before realising it’s not a cafe. It’s smaller, more local and most importantly does not allow children - a big plus for me. We skipped the sauna and went straight in the main pool - a Turkish influenced design that felt like sitting in a giant terracotta kettle. There was an extra heated section to the side and an ice bath at the back if you were insane. I left feeling so relaxed, like part of my very essence had been been drained away. In a good way.

We had one evening walking around the ruin bar district in the Jewish Quarter, having a meal at Koleves. There were excellent vegetarian options and good beer, but the service was a little lacking - two requests for tap water were completely forgotten. It wasn’t exactly busy so I’m not sure what happened there. In need of a bar, we settled at Ellato Kert just down the road - a mashup of all the ramshackle late night areas of Glasto. Halves of local beer worked out at around 85p. A film crew was there and we couldn’t work out if we were sat in the background of soap opera or a porno.

During the week a couple of meals were had at Street Food Karavan. Firstly I sampled one of the Langos. It was a filling experience that I probably wanted to enjoy more than I did. Still, it’s worth trying. Then on our last afternoon we went to Las Vegans, I had a deep fried “cheese” creation and my companion had a mushroom burger. Both were excellent. The tables fill up quickly so I recommend getting there early if you want to sit down, and be prepared to overhear Stag Lads brag about last night’s conquests. 

Unmistakably the best meal we had - this probably says a lot about us - was a custom pizza created at Local Korner Pizzeria. I had cheese, olives, garlic, pesto and mushrooms. Heaven. There was also excellent beer, it was shame the brewery wasn’t given more props - the options were called “normal lager” and “IPA”. The guy working there did tell me its proper name and I couldn’t pronounce it, so maybe the simple name was aimed at dumb tourists like me. You were also encouraged to to write your names on the world map painted on the wall. So if you go there and spot Joe & Angelos over York, that’s us!

With our mornings free before the festival, we had time to see most of the main sights, such as getting a bus up to the views at Fisherman’s Bastion, skipping the busy funicular. On one of our first walks we stumbled across Miniversum, a miniature railway world. You get to control some of the vehicles and background actions, it was fun for us big kids. The museum at the hospital in the rock is definitely worth a visit, especially if you want to escape the sun. We also had walks around the Parliament and Margrit island, all recommended. Walking over Margrit bridge at night, you get a strange scene above the lit up parliament building: glowing shapes circling overhead. At first I thought these were drones. It turns out they’re birds & bats mopping up the insects attracted to the lights. Quite a sight. 

We saw a lot, but I got the feeling there’s so much more to see. I think we’ll definitely be back in the future.

The Festival

I’d heard a few descriptions calling Sziget the Glasto of the East, and the comparison definitely holds. The weather was insane, rarely dipping below 35 degrees with very little cloud, and rain holding off until the very last day. Camping must have been torture in that heat, I was so grateful for our hotel room aircon.

The island setting felt both expansive and self contained. It had all the things you’d expect - circus tent, gay cabaret, dance fortress - with things I’ve never seen at a festival before, such as a beach and a Sky Bar. There were a few bottlenecks around the main stage that felt like they could have been solved with an improved layout, but that aside it was always fun to stumble around this festival. Maybe it was a lack of English people (it’s fair to say I have little love for my country right now) but it was one of the most friendly festival audiences I’ve ever seen.

The music doesn’t start until around 3 or 4pm, encouraging you to stay out of the sun. That did mean that most acts got longer sets then they usually would. Accidentally seeing The Kooks aside, I don’t think I saw a bad act. Bonobo was the one I knew the least about that I enjoyed the most - their set built and built to an explosive end. Unknown Mortal Orchestra also went from Spotify Discover Weekly to new favourites.

There were some easy wins too - I was always going to enjoy MØ, Lykke Li and Dua Lipa, and thoroughly did. Kendrick Lamar could have stolen the show, but like a lot of people I left after 30 mins of waiting for him to show up. It sounds like he went on not long after I bailed, but the moment had passed. Props to Gorillaz from learning from Glasto 2010’s revolving door of guests and having a more coherent stage presence. Wolf Alice put Don’t Delete The Kisses in my head for the rest of the week. Lana Del Rey thankfully played the only two songs I wanted to hear early in her set so we could escape the monotone parade that followed. 

Every evening on the main stage there was a different type of party, each highlighting one of the core themes - environment, human rights, anti racism etc. It was a fine sentiment, but there was something ironic about talking about saving the environment by throwing out hundreds of plastic globes that definitely didn’t all end up in the bin or the river.

A few nights were spent in gay mecca Magic Mirror. There was an amazing cabaret that contained show tunes, pole work, acrobatics and opera, ending in a rave. You can always judge a club by the quality of its GoGo Boys. I thoroughly approved.

Something a little different was the Sky Bar - after buying a ticket and waiting for your turn, you get strapped into a bar seat and the whole bar is lifted by a crane 140 metres into the air. We went at night and, bug apocalypse aside, the view was amazing. I’m usually terrible with heights, but I was dangling my feet off the end with glee. The rum helped.

This was billed as a Love Revolution and I definitely fell for Sziget, big time.

Conclusions & Advice

The festival might be cashless but a lot of bars and attractions around the city are still cash only, so keep some currency on you.

Get a travel pass. Our Sziget tickets got us a discount on a City Pass wristband for the week, getting us on every bus, tram and metro for free.

Don’t forget your passport when you go into the festival for the first time. You won’t get your wristband without it.

Don’t use the Festipay wristband if you have a contactless Mastercard that you can use. Adding money to the wristband charged an admin fee each time, and each new top up had to be activated when you went to buy something. This wasn’t fully communicated to a lot of the staff I encountered, so it wasn’t always a smooth transaction.

Go on the treasure hunt to collect all the festival stamps in your Sziget passport. It helps knit the site together, and you get a prize!

Get the boat to the festival at least once. It’s a little slower than the train, but there’s a shorter queue to get in. There’s also a bar which always helps.

Get a taxi back to the airport. Our airport bus was one of the most uncomfortable and badly run journeys I’ve ever had. The driver ended up physically shoving people on board an already overcrowded vehicle, and several of us fell out when the doors opened at the end. Not the best way to say goodbye to a city.

Here Comes The Night Time

Glastonbury Festival, Worthy Farm, 23-27 June 2014

This was my fourth Glasto in total, and the first time I’d done two years in a row, so I totally felt like I had the hang of it by now. But the weather odds did not feel like they’d fall in my favour. With a past ratio of two sunny to one wet, it felt like this was going to swing towards the 2007 swamp fest. But while there was definite moments of misery based around the inescapable fact that I Was Standing In The Pissing Rain, I’d say this was the best one yet, if not for the weather then for everything else.

This year, we went swank. Worthy View lies up two big hills to the south of the site. I knew we were going to arrive to a pre-erected tent, but they even had minions to carry our bags for us. That combined with only being parked 10 mins from our pitch meant most of the standard first day misery did not occur. And the tent was so big I could stretch my ridiculous legs out no problems. That's never happened before, and I found myself scrunching into a sleeping ball out of habit. Miraculously I managed to find my way back to our clone tent every night with relatively little disruption to our neighbours. There’s a brilliant feeling on the first day when you get past the travel fatigue - it always feels like the week stretches out in front of you forever and the end is barely visible.

That said, one of our absent companions said that Thursday is the best day, and I have to agree. No commitments, no schedule, no horrendous journey or anything to deal with other than whatever your legs carry you to. We spent the evening up by the giant Glastonbury sign before pushing our way around Shangri-La with 99% of the rest of the festival. The heaven/hell theme from last year has stayed, with the previous corridors and alleyways being replaced by a dozen or so mini tower blocks. One of them was a nightclub where you could only gain access if you climbed up the wall, and even then they only let you in if they liked the look of you. A lot of people got pushed off the 5 metre drop to the floor. Naturally people just stood around and filmed the falls on their phones. It was all drunken hilarity until someone dressed as a monkey in a suit stuck his head out window and scared the shit out of us.

Friday arrived with the forecast rain which thankfully cleared up by the time we gathered for the “Surprise Act”. Which turned out to be Kaiser Chiefs. Who were already playing that evening. Great. Moving on, Blondie played enough hits to make it a big singalong, Debbie Harry pulling all manner of shapes in her symmetrical wig. I wish I saw more of Deltron 3030, with their full band, choir & orchestra, especially as it didn’t look like it was filmed. But what I did see was catchy as hell.

Haim were back after two triumphant shows at last year’s festival, and although their setlist hasn't changed all that much in a year, they had lost none of their foul mouthed banter. Then came the rain again. Lots of it. And lightning, lots of that too, so much so that the Pyramid & Other stages had to be shut down. So an eerie silence hung around the fields as people either ran for cover or just sat out in it and accepted their fates. I was somewhere in the middle, too lazy to go back and change but too angry to just stand there like a soaking twat.

We were rewarded for our troubles with a Double Rainbow stretching the length of the site and a beautiful set from Elbow. Their guitar-based start-of-album-campaign singles really don’t do justice to the brooding epics that make up the majority of their catalogue. I got the shivers, and it wasn’t just down to being soaked through to my socks. Grounds For Divorce delivered a mighty riff felt right up to the back of the hill, and One Day Like This was the big singalong you expected it to be.

I basically owe Arcade Fire the job I’ve had for the last six and a half years. It was enthusing about their 2007 Glasto set that showed my employers the passion for music I had, which clearly there in larger amounts than any kind of work experience. So they took a risk, and it obviously paid off otherwise I would have left/been given the boot a long time ago. I’d missed Arcade Fire on the Suburbs tour and had initial misgiving about some of the excesses of Reflektor, but I had an inkling their headline set was going to be special.

I’m going to go out on a limb - their Friday night Pyramid set is probably the best thing I’ve seen at any festival, ever. It flew by, the combination of fireworks, theatrics and multi-multi instrumentalists coming to together to provide an overdose for all the senses. Bits of it are still echoing through my head now. It’s hard to pick just one song as a highlight, it was a series of highlights. Perhaps it could be Keep The Car Running as I thought they’d ditched it from their performances. The New Order sample in Afterlife was a great touch too. But mainly it was all down to being in this huge crowd of people, all united in adoration for this band of lunatics. To describe some of what went on could easily sound like art school excess, but it worked. It all worked. I’m still in awe. And I’ve no idea who or what will top that.

Buoyed by a fantastic previous night and a more forgiving forecast for the last two days, Saturday began with a lesson spiky pop from Charli XCX. Only 21 and already a co-writer of two number one singles, she feels like she’s already conquered a large section of the universe. I Love It was always going to get the biggest reaction, and why not? It’s one of the best pop songs in years. An added treat was her first attempt at an Iggy Azalea-less Fancy which made me dance like you only can when pissed at 1pm. Away from the collaborations, her songs are laced with hooks and catchy as hell. She looked like she was having the time of her life, and so did we.

Kelis is responsible for one of my other favourite festival moments - her set at 2010 Big Chill was an unforgettable combo of electro and trouser wine. But she’s never one to do the same thing twice, so the beats are out in favour of a soul revival. And she totally carries it off - a vision in a flowing pink dress with a tight unit of musicians around her. Beginning and ending with Feeling Good, it was great to hear the old tracks re-worked, especially Get Along With You. Acapella sounded amazing, but then it always does.

I ended up stumbling across the BBC Radiophonic Workshop performing music from the original Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series, among other things. It was a charming meeting of polite old men and reel-to-reel tape machines. Later on, John Grant brought the beard and the dry wit, and Bryan Ferry took fucking ages to get to the hits. The Brothers helped. Then the Brothers hindered. 7% cider can give and it can take away.

Sunday is always going to be a struggle, so when you’re cage-fighting a comedown from a week of excess, of course sharing a Dolly Parton set with 100,000 others is going to do the trick. She performed the Benny Hill theme on sax and described her family as “a bunch of horny hillbillies”. Beautiful insanity.

I didn’t really pay enough attention to anything else until a festival-closing set from Disclosure, who have been responsible for some of my favourite tunes from the last year. Ed Macfarlane came out and thrusted in all sorts of directions like you knew he would, and he was followed by several other guest vocalists until a triumphant Sam Smith at the end for Latch, which was a massive singalong.

On the walk back up the hill to our site, everyone was turning around at the top of the hill to take one last look across the valley. Lights were still on all over the place to entertain crowds with far more stamina than I possessed. Someone next to me struck up conversation and we swapped stories about what we’d been up to for the last few days. It ended on an agreement - “same time next year?”

This was another week of unforgettable memories. Glastonbury remains the greatest show in the galaxy and the time of our lives.

Songs of heartbreak and defiance

Bestival, Robin Hill Park, Isle of Wight, 8-11th September 2011

This was a new one. Waiting so late in the year for my main festival fix and holiday in general. The weather being what it has been this year, it did feel like we were going to pitch a tent in bleakest midwinter. As it happened, the big storms they predicted never actually hit us until Monday. Fair do’s, when it did hit us it was the remnants of a hurricane, but I’m getting ahead of myself…

Another new one was being driven to a festival. Untold luxury compared to the trains and buses I’ve had endure before. It was the furthest I’ve ever travelled to a festival, and a joy to return to the Isle of Wight, home of many a childhood holiday.

Thursday saw a full evening of entertainments being put on, but the only one we were really interested in was the return of Santigold. I last saw her back in Leeds 2008, and since then she’s expanded the band and the wardrobe. L.E.S Artistes was played ever as usual and reminded what a bloody perfect song it is. Tracks from her forthcoming second album made it sound like a very exciting prospect indeed. She even through in her Major Lazer collab Vibrate. All kinds of amazing.

Friday’s first attraction was Beardyman, looping and cutting his own voice at an unbelievable pace. The sounds he produced rivalled any instrument. Bonus points for dropping in I Think I’m In Love by Spiritualized.

Then came a rare chance to see Australian kings of cool-as-fuck dance Cut Copy. Skinny bastard frontman Dan Whitford had itchy feet behind his keyboard stack, barely keeping still for the duration of their all too short set. The sun came out and the Big Top tent became more and more full as several conga lines of drunk teenagers came in to feel the noise. It was good to hear Saturdays off their debut Bright Like Neon Love, but it’s a shame Going Nowhere couldn’t have joined it. Several tracks of In Ghost Colours got a good reaction, but it was newie Zonoscope that was the main attraction, with Need You Now bringing things to a loud and emotional climax.

Next came Patrick Wolf, a bit of a favourite of mine if you’ve been paying attention. I’ll admit Lupercalia didn’t immediately grab me like previous albums have done, but soon enough it opened up to reveal a collection of beautifully positive songs about love and that. And it was from that record that this set mostly populated, his touring band now expanded to include a woodwind player. I wasn’t expecting to hear anything from Lycanthropy, but it was odd that The Batchelor was ignored. His new album was always planned to be an opposite to its predecessor, but perhaps there just wasn’t enough time. He was playing later in the day than I had seen since 2007, but it was still only a 50 minute set. “Oldies” came in the shape of The Libertine, Accident & Emergency and a humongous singalong for (what else?) The Magic Position. But I think the night belonged to the new. House, Bermondsey Street and Time Of My Life all sounded spectacular, especially with the added muscle of the live environment. Together and The City were two of my favourite performances of the festival. Patrick Wolf just doesn’t know how to disappoint.

Saturday was Big Dressing Up day, which annoyingly coincided with the worst of the weather. That only amounted to a brief but heavy shower, and with that out of the way we made it back into the arena in time for most of Dan Le Sac vs Scroobious Pip. It had all the wit and anger you could ask for, although I did spend most of the set looking around me wondering who everyone else’s costumes were meant to be.

Some exploring around the site lead to a science tent with, amongst other things, a soldering class, a sound table and a TARDIS. Wonderful stuff.

A few hours and many ciders later, we found Cocknbullkid in one of the smaller tents. Within the space of 2-3 spins, Adulthood became one of my favourite albums of 2011. Lively in tone, self-deprecating in lyric and resplendent in her attire, Anita is a star and has the tunes to prove it. Another set that went by all too quickly, I was right down the front making an out-of-tone fool of myself. And I didn’t care.

From out of nowhere, PJ Harvey is having one of the best years of her career. Unfortunately for alcoholic reasons I wasn’t really paying attention. Not being too familiar with Let England Shake, and also as a result of her playing around with the arrangements of other songs, I only recognised a couple. But fair play to her, you get the feeling she’s only ever done things her own way.

A theme is forming, unfortunately I’d had too much to fully appreciate a 2 ½ hour set from The Cure. Robert Smith still sounds every bit as haunting as he probably did several years before I was born, and I had a good little dance to Love Song and Just Like Heaven, but unfortunately the bad apple juice got to me and we bailed. As a punishment they went and played all the massive tunes after I left. Bastards!

Needless to say, Sunday started out a little slowly, but eventually we got started and had more of a wander around the site. This is certainly one of the more beautiful festivals I’ve been too. The atmosphere and the people a lot more on my level than others I’ve attended in recent years.

When I saw Kelis at Parklife back at the start of the Summer it was a far cry from the superlative performance of the year I’d seen at Big Chill 2010. However this blip was soon forgotten as she owned the afternoon. The addition of a live drummer put a bit of much needed pulse into the backing tracks. Kelis had arrived as Master of Ceremonies, killer pins on show and giving it her all. It was the third time I’d seen her do this set, other people’s songs thrown in and everything, but her charm and honestly shine over everything. Bounce got a huge reaction, as did Milkshake and Trick Me. But still nothing from Kaleidoscope! Curses. Acapella will always be amazing. End of.

Sunday evening contained the two acts I was most looking forward to, having never seen full sets from either of them before, so we claimed a spot down the front and prepared ourselves.

Robyn was probably the highlight of Bestival for me. Body Talk is a sensational album, songs of heartbreak and defiance fighting against a punishing backdrop of beats. She moved, she grinded, she took off her clothes AND she ate a banana. Not really sure what it meant, but it was bloody amazing. The Girl And The Robot never sounded better. Be Mine, Dancing On My Own and Don’t Fucking Tell Me What To Do all equally spectacular. And Indestructible. It was an exercise in How To Be A Star. We can only watch in awe.

Then came Bjork, another act who’s only ever answered to herself. Accompanied by two instrumentalists, a 30 piece choir, a whole load of apps and a bloody huge wig, Bjork admitted it wasn’t the perfect time to play an unreleased album in its entirety “but I’m going to do it anyway”. Crystalline was the most familiar of the new songs, with its 8-bit app looking like a Game Boy game of old. Hidden Place came along at just the right time, and from then on the set played just the right balance of old and new. It would have been preferable to be more familiar with the new record, but it didn’t stop her performance to be anything other than breathtaking. The choir were a definite highlight, well choreographed and sounding divine. Joga, Isobel and Hyperballad all came with new arrangements, Joga sounding like heaven itself as the choir took on the string arrangement. Declare Independence close the set, the day and my first Bestival with a thundering cry to match the storm we battled the very next day, with all the choir joining Bjork for a literal wig-out.

Then came the fireworks, the giant glowing men and the end of yet another festival season. To say I waited so long for this one, I certainly wasn’t disappointed. With no Glastonbury in 2012 I can’t think of a better festival to replace it in your schedules and in your souls.

Do you remember the first time?

Yeah, I suck. Been sitting on this review for months. And Bestival. And two gigs I went to recently and totally forgot to write about. I'd say I'll change, write more, be good...but...you know.

Wireless, 3rd July 2011, London Hyde Park

The year is 1995 and Essex as we know it is a different place. Well, it was still a land of high tans and low brain cells, but at least the loudest of these specimens didn’t have their own ITV franchise. Anyway, the landscape of Colchester was certainly different. I remember being all of 10 years old and visiting Our Price on Culver Square (which shut down and became Woolworths which shut now and is now New Look or something). They had listening booths dotted around the store, and I knew which one I was after. There was this band I’d seen on Top Of The Pops and probably Live & Kicking too. Being that age music was a relatively new thing to me. My earliest exposure would have been getting Kylie’s first album (THE HAT!!!!) on cassette (this was 1988 remember) and clearly I never looked back. I found an oversized pair of headphones and began listening. “This is really good” I said to my Mum who was waiting nearby.

“Joseph, you’re shouting”.

I can’t remember if I bought the album then or waited until a birthday, but I do remember getting Different Class and being instantly terrified and intimidated by it. Titles like Live Bed Show and Underwear sounded far too dirty to listen to. There’s also a recollection in the back of my mind of one dinner time being asked if I knew exactly what “E’s and Wizz” were.

So I only listened to four of its tracks. For around three years this era defining record stayed unplayed. Reaching that awkward 13 I finally found it in me to put it on and stay the distance. My God. Listening to it today, it’s still a remarkable album. In amongst the fog of Britpop (which was 80%-90% Boys With Guitars) came a band who thought rather that fought. And it changed my life all over again, beginning this love affair with music that to this day makes me part with more money than other interests or distractions.

I first saw Pulp at my first ever festival. For a 15th birthday present, Dad took me to a day at Reading in 2000. Throughout the day was an indie smorgasboard, with the delights of The Delgados, Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci, Idlewild, Elastica, Super Furry Animals, Gomez and Beck. Pulp hadn’t played a gig in 18 months, and this was the big comeback. It was like falling love all over again.

Then came shows in Brixton late 2001 and Thetford Forest 2002, both at the end of a string of gigs that carried the air of it being the last time. And then it was. No more Pulp. Jarvis would go through phases of “no fucking way”, but I always knew they’d be back.

If there’s one thing about Jarvis Cocker, it’s that he never lets you down.

But let’s talk about the other bands first. Metronomy were the first one I paid any attention to, but as there is a review of a full gig by them elsewhere, let’s just say they made the most of an early afternoon 30 minute slot. The Horrors showed their continuing maturity with a strong collection of new songs. The Hives surprised everyone with their continued existence. They now wear hats!! Saying that, I was surrounded by old uni friends so the likes of Hate To Say I Told You So brought back memories of 99p pints consumed in the basement of our sports centre. TV On The Radio put on a spectacular show in the sunset, sounding as pounding and urgent as ever. Foals is where the alcohol starts to fuzz the memory slightly, and we left early to get a good main stage spot, but they played a typically tight set, even if the instrumentals all tended to blur into one.

It’s hard to write anything about Pulp’s set other than “utter perfection”. Opening with Do You Remember The First Time with much exploding of ticker tape cannons, Jarvis shook his ever-skinny frame to a set of nostalgia and joy. Consisting of pretty much all of Different Class with a few other delights thrown in, we knew all the words, we sung every note. As this was the first show announced alongside their reunion, Jarvis praised us for being “early adopters” and regaled us with various London tales. This was the most relaxed performance I’d seen from Pulp, playing with Russell Senior for the first time since 1996. Whatever had caused them to call it a day was forgotten. Whether they do anything after this doesn’t matter, this show was an example of how to get a reunion right.

Common People closed the day, and could have been the last song I ever heard. It summed up the whole show: still clever, still loud, still shaking, just with more explosions.

Don’t be a Stranger

Dreamy Days

The Big Chill, Eastnor Castle, 6-8th August 2010

Let’s be honest, going to festivals can be an effort. It’s all drink this, take that, don’t sleep, hardly eat, repeat for a week.

At the Big Chill this year I suffered some of the worst Morning Afters I’ve ever had. So it’s probably a credit to this festival (and the folk I went with) that I so easily got over them and had some of the best field-based antics of my life.

The site was hilly and picturesque. Getting up and down the massive slope on the way to the arena was a chore but the views at the top (and the potential to run into the giant inflatable balls while drunk) made up for it. There was a lot more teenagers in the crowd than I expected. In fact we were all pounced on by kids at the gate who didn’t realise they needed an adult to actually get them in to the festival. “You look like me, you could be my Dad!” Little shit. That was balanced out by the amount of literal children there with families. The main stage in the afternoon was full of kids chasing bubbles, running in circles and generally having a boogie to the music. During Thom Yorke one guy in front of me had his child on his shoulders for the whole set, and the kid was loving it. Fair play.

After spending all of Thursday drinking (honestly don’t remember what else we did) our festival started properly on Friday afternoon with Ty. It was the perfect choice. A smooth mix of soul and hip hop, with some sensational backing singers who treated us to an enviously skilled dance-off. It got us in a right good mood for the rest of the day. Plus we got to laugh about Tim Westwood.

The predicted weather for the weekend wasn’t much to smile about, however in the end it was nowhere near the drenching that was forecast. Whatever showers we had were brief and mostly happened when we were back in Tent Town. However sometimes it did impose a bit too much on our enjoyment of the music. Hope Sandoval & The Warm Inventions arrived onstage late, to a doom-ridden sky and a moderate gale. They had the good manners to open with my favourite song, Around My Smile, and Hope Sandoval’s voice has lost none of its honey-dipped husky seductiveness. However this was music for scorching afternoons or watching the sun rise on a beach. A windy field in Herefordshire wasn’t cutting it, so we made our excuses and left. A shame, as she rarely tours, but the weather wasn’t doing it justice.

Due our collective faffing we missed most of Explosions In The Sky, catching only the last couple of songs, when really a whole set needs to be taken in to appreciate it properly. What we did see sounded suitably noisy and chaotic.

With a new Radiohead album apparently imminent, a solo show from Thom Yorke is Christmas, Birthdays and new Doctor Who wrapped into one. Alas he didn’t have his superband that he toured the States with, choosing instead to play about a dozen instruments all by himself. Coming on stage looking like a ginger Worzel Gummidge, he opened with the obvious Eraser, with a few more tracks from his solo album following that. It was Radiohead songs that dominated the set, including Planet Telex, Everything In Its Right Place, I Might Be Wrong, The Gloaming, Reckoner and an acoustic Airbag at the end. There was apparently a brand new song too, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it sounded like. He was clearly loving every second, knowing a creepy glace to the crowd from his sideways-facing piano would provoke a massive reaction from the assembled crowd. I’ve been treated to a few Radiohead performances over the last few years, and it’s always difficult to be objective with a band you love so much. Yes, it’s gloomy, but there’s beauty in the gloom. Everyone arm in arm singing along to Airbag at the end was a moment.

Massive Attack headlined that night and I really wasn’t paying attention. Their new record is what is commonly referred to as “a return to form”, but their set wasn’t exactly party music. And this is coming from a Radiohead fan. I was made to leave early, apparently missing out on Unfinished Sympathy, which could have made all the difference. We’ll never know.

Hospitality Records, them what have hosted many a fine evening before, had a whole tent to themselves until the small hours, so we went there. And that’s when the night began to fall apart for me. Danny Byrd was doing his usual Let’s Play 40 Seconds Of That Song Then Stop The Beat And Reeeeewind business which to be honest gets on my tits. I just want to dance. Don’t get in my way. Our group got split up and that was agitating me. I was looking out for them, but as I’m usually the beacon they were hard to spot. Then I began to slow down. Maybe it was the drinking since midday, maybe it was the attempt to wear a waterproof over an RAF jacket, but something was telling me to go to bed. So I did.

A bit of an average end to the day, then. But what followed on Saturday was possibly the greatest, most consistently entertaining and all round fun line-up of music that I’ve ever seen. Metronomy kicked us off with their shrill voices and nerdy keyboards. After near-missing them three times now, this was my first proper sight of them, and my how they’ve grown from bedroom bleeps to full on live band dance-pop mayhem. There was a charming attempt at failed banter about cars and the weather, but what they lack in main stage experience they make up for with Heartbreaker, Radio Ladio, My Heart Rate Rapid and A Thing For Me. Synth-nerd-tastic.

Patrick Wolf. Sighs. He did it again. I wasn’t sure how his particular brand of pop would go down with the gang, but thanks to my directors commentary filling them in on just exactly what each song was written about, what the lyrics were and how many times it’s made me cry, they seemed to get the message. It was a perfect Greatest Hits set, with interestingly no inclusions from forthcoming Album #5 The Conqueror. He finished with Magic Position. We had a little dance.

Then the Gods Of Festivals were truly smiling on us. There was some confusion as to what order Kelis and Plan B were playing in. Official literature said Kelis headlining and clashing with MIA, internet rumour said otherwise. Turns out the internet was right, and I wouldn’t have found out if I hadn’t randomly turned my phone on to get a call saying Kelis is on now, get the fuck over here. It was my favourite set of the festival. Resplendent in attire fit for Cleopatra, Kelis was on top of the world. New album Fleshtone is bothering LCD’s This Is Happening for my record of the year, it’s a cracking example of how an American artist can take the European electro sound and not make something fucking terrible. It is testament to how proud and happy Kelis is with herself at the moment that she played pretty much the whole album. The old songs were there too, with Millionaire thrown into Trick Me to much cheering. I was right at the back but the love in the tent was unmistakeable, especially when ending on Acapella, possibly my tune of the festival as it hasn’t left my head since then. Kelis’ show was like nothing else I’ve seen, and I so easily could have missed it.

So with the schedule for the day now all over the shop, we got to catch the end of Roots Manuva, including the wonderful Dreamy Days, but sadly too late for Witness. He seemed on good form and I wish I could have seen more.

With a rare UK show from M.I.A, you can never quite tell what mood she’s going to be in. Thankfully, tonight she seemed to be in a playful one. Opening with a teasing medley of what to come, Galang was settled on and the dancing began. I was a bit merry by then. The rainbow laser and epic video wall was an unbelievable site. Boyz, XR2 and Bucky Done Gun were all thrown out there, but then things started to nod off into the weaker moments of the new record. /\/\ /\ Y /\ (yes, it really is called that) is a typical M.I.A album in that it contains equal part amazing pop music and unlistenable nonsense. And, a fair amount of dubstep. You know my feelings on dubstep. Opening the encore with Teqkilla, she started to encourage people on to the stage, just like she did back at Reading 2005 when she co-headlined the lowly Dance Tent with Mylo. A few turned into dozens, and as the intro to Paper Planes started up dozens turned into hundreds. We got one verse and one chorus before the plug was pulled. I found it hilarious at the time, but I feel a little short changed now. It was a mostly brilliant set, which would have felt more complete if we got to hear the song we all came to make gun signs at. Plus she didn’t get to play XXXO, one of the best singles of the year. I heard a rumour she’s facing a paycut for the stage invasion antics. So there you go.

Saturday’s delights were extra special as I woke up feeling ridiculously terrible, a situation usually reserved for Sunday. So I was apprehensive as to what horrors Sunday morning would bring. Not many, in the end, but it still took a while to get going. I was pretty comatose for Norman Jay’s DJ set. It was a good collection of tunes, and it was great to see toddlers getting down to some DnB.

The lineup for the last day really didn’t have a great deal going for it, so we lazed around and drank the remainder of our alcohol. One less thing to carry home. One thing we did make a point of catching was the massive bonfire and firework display. A Wicker Man-esque construction had been looming over a corner of the site all weekend, and it was finally set alight. We could feel the heat from across the lake. It was quite a sight when it eventually toppled.

For reasons of boredom we saw the beginning of Lilly Allen’s set. Now these words come from someone who actually owns a physical copy of her first record. I remember when she first emerged, Allen appeared to be a refreshing change from the cardboard cut out female singers with zero personality that had come before. When I first downloaded LDN I played it on a loop for days. So what happened? Over exposure perhaps, or maybe my continued inability to separate personality from musician. He second album claimed It’s Not Me, It’s You. Well, I’m happy for it to be me. She seemed to pull the biggest crowd of the weekend, so well done there. But it did nothing for me.

We were in danger of ending the weekend on a low point, so we needed a good dance to see us through. The words “Zero 7 DJ Set” don’t initially bring mind the atmosphere we were after, but how wrong we were. We dipped in and out of his three hour set which was a suitable mix of various upbeat genres, finishing on the Pilooski re-edit of Franki Valli’s Beggin’. We also took in one last wonder around the site, before a couple of us called it a night around 3am. Possibly the first time that the latest I’ve stayed up was on the last night, and I was in a bloody good mood to boot. Even after I suffered bouncer hassle and spilt an overpriced drink in the space of a few minutes.

The journey home is always tough. There’s no need to make it worse. The morning was going suspiciously well. All packed up and at the bus stop on time. More leg room than on the way down. Something had to give. The bus driver was just, if you’ll forgive the words, an utter cunt. I’ve already complained to National Express about him, and have yet to hear back, but it’s put me off setting foot on a coach ever again.

So, that’s summer over with then. Parklife seems like a lifetime ago, when it’s only been two months. And Glasto’s recovery was made all the more bearable knowing I had this treat to look forward to. But what now? Leeds in its traditional form is off the menu this year, which as I’ve been going to it and its southern cousin for half a decade now does feel a bit strange. But after last year’s lethargy, and this year’s delight of the new, it seems like a wise choice.

Now I have the fun task of remembering I have to work for a living. But the autumn seems to be bringing with it some potentially amazing gigs, so all is not lost.

Sunshine In A Bag

Glastonbury Festival, Worthy Farm, 23-27 June 2010

The world needs another pretentious review of Glastonbury like the centre of Leeds needs another Greggs...so grab yourself a steak bake and make yourself comfortable, this is going to be a ramble.

Regular viewer(s) might remember my last trip to Pilton was a damp affair and one spent mostly on my own. And my loyal fanbase might also recall that my last trip to a big festival ended with me wishing for a pox to fall on everyone under the age of 23.

This was going to be different though. The weather omens were spectacular, a different gang was assembled, U2 were forced to pull out – all amazing things.

A few words for the weather. Bloody hell. A bottle and a half of suncream kept me from turning completely into burnt toast. It felt wrong to complain, and it was only occasionally unbearable, especially when it turned my tent into a canvas oven and made me one grumpy customer. Still it was nice to be able to sit down whenever we wanted, a luxury that wasn’t granted back in 07.

First of all, a few non musical highlights… when someone says “it’s hard to put _____ into words” they’re either being lazy or honestly can’t find adjectives to describe underscores. But in all seriousness, it’s hard to put Shangri La into words. But here are a few: broken down dinosaur cars. Corridors of faulty alarm clocks leading to a club in a wardrobe. Random karaoke resulting in one of my companions singing my favourite song. The word “Beleavis”. Neon TARDIS. Some of these might have been imagined. Can’t really tell.

Big thanks to whoever recommended walking up to the top of the hill past the Tipi Village and not looking back until you get there. My God. One of the best views I’ve ever witnessed. The scale of this place…has to be seen.

Also, special mention to the guy in the maternity gown shouting into a banana. You rock.

On to the music then. Corinne Bailey Rae was the first act seen on Friday, and was well suited to soaking up the sun. I’ve always had a soft spot for Like A Star. And her soulfunk rendition of Que Sara Sara was spot on. Willy Nelson got through 27 songs in an hour, either most of them were about shooting his dog in the face or I was quite drunk by then.

Snoop Dogg arrived to all the fanfare you’d expect. He was entertaining enough, but if we’re going to be technical all he did was shout over other people’s records. Bit of a pointless Olé Olé Olé chant too. Darn us Brits and our Soccerball. But he’s a charmer and you forgive him. Sheeeit.

Dizzie Rascal has evidentially spent the last couple of years slowly climbing up the mainstage bill and learning a trick or two on the way. He knows how to make things escalate. A full live band now back him up, and thank fuck he didn’t bring out J*mes C*rd*n. This boy is a star now. Accuse him of selling out if you want, but he’s been facing those claims since his first album. Now he can throw the riff of Reptillia into Jus A Rascal or spit out Stand Up Tall over Smells Like Teen Spirit like it ain’t no thang. I had to miss Florence for this, but she showed up at the end for Dirtee Love. And naturally Bonkers was all kinds of mental. The hill went nuts. Good show young man.

Gorrilaz stepping in for U2 was the perfect idea in theory. Albarn did the emotional headliner last year with Blur. This time round he could feed his arrogant side with his gang of pixels and half of the Clash. Gorillaz’ performance has had some criticism, and I’m going to add to it slightly. For the all the high points – and there were many – we had to put up with too many average album tracks and directionless preaching about plastic bottles. A shame, because as a crowd we were so up for it. Dare, Dirty Harry and Stylo all sounded amazing. And the special guest roster will probably never be beat. I mean really, Shaun Ryder, Mark E Smith and Lou Reed? It’s the world’s most unlikely pub quiz team. Just don’t ask them about the 70s. Or the 80s.

Feel Good Inc and Clint Eastwood came as a massive relief in the encore, but even Snoop Dogg coming out to once again sing his own song over someone else’s couldn’t hide the fact that this could have been a lot better. Del Tha Funkee Homosapien, we needed you.

Saturday saw more exploration of the site, so not many bands were properly viewed. The Lightning Seeds were a pleasantly nostalgic start to the day, having the decency to play the song 97% of the crowd were there to bloke along to.

While the rest of my companions saw The Dead Weather, I took myself to find my favourite baguette (hello Growler you filthy beast) and throw myself at the beauty of The National. Matt Berninger’s baritone pulled the sun into the dust, and Mr November made me cry a little bit. They were followed by The Cribs, always good for a show and something like the 17th time I’ve seen them. Still not playing You’re Gonna Lose Us though. Silly Jarmans.

George Clinton felt like one of those acts you had to see because you wouldn’t catch them anywhere else. Over the course of the hour his band probably only played around six songs, and his granddaughter sure has some filthy hobbies, but you can’t argue with the Funk. Or four pints of 7% cider. With a voice like sexy charcoal, he moved us to our bones.

Saturday night saw much exploration of the after-hours activities, including a silent disco complete with 3D Jimmy Saville explaining the delights of British Rail. Honest. I have witnesses. All this meant that Sunday was a bit of a lost day. The football was a big Fail and the heat was at its most punishing. Nothing a bit of speed drinking wouldn’t see to. It wasn’t until 8pm that I properly watched a band. Faithless aren’t designed for the daytime, so were a bit lost in the twilight hours of the festival. All the tunes were there, but it lacked a proper connection.

Plus, they were just warming up for a legend.

Stevie Wonder. It was the set we all wanted to hear. All the songs you could wish for. We Can Work It Out was my favourite, but it was a highlight among highlights. You truly felt like you were watching a master at work. It was effortless. Even brought out Eavis at the end to remind us why he’s a farmer and not a singer. But who can blame the guy. 40 years of the greatest show in the galaxy.

Glastonbury has spoilt other festivals for a lot of us now. Whether we would all feel this way had it shat it down all week is uncertain, but having already spent a damp week in paradise I can confirm that nothing else compares.

But that’s not going to stop me some trying. Next up: Big Chill.

If you want tough, I'll give you tough

Parklife, Manchester Platt Fields, 12/06/10

Hello! Long time no write. A shame really cos I’ve been to some cracking gigs over the past few months. I almost wrote about LCD Soundsystem’s phenomenal show at the Academy, but struggled past “Perfection”. This Is Happening will probably be my album of the year, and that gig will take some topping. Foals came a couple days later, and probably would have been enjoyed more if I still wasn’t in a daze from LCD. Still, a fine performance that was the right combination of old and new.

But now Festival Season is here! And that means t-shirt sunburn, overpriced cider and some rambling reviews from your humble scribe.

The omens were good. Any day that starts by drinking cider at 11am that you found left behind on the train is going to be an amazing day.

Parklife is a newcomer to the festival scene. Every summer there seems to be articles questioning “are there too many festivals?” As this question is asked every year, the answer is probably "no". And if they’re as well managed as Parklife, then we could stand to gain a few more.

Set a few miles down Oxford Road (translation: swimming with students), Parklife took place in the vaguely picturesque Platt Fields, big enough to lose people but not too small to feel claustrophobic. Despite the preceding week’s stormy weather, the ground was pretty firm under foot. In fact, all props to the weather, we were served a fucking blinder.

There were around half a dozen stages offering acts that leant more to electro and DnB with a splash of dubstep and other dance genres. Saying that, there was a particularly high Lads’n’Wags presence, but that would have been down to a certain football match being shown in a corner of the field. Didn’t see any of the game myself, I was in too good a mood to want to be let down by a typically average display from Our Boys. Soz England.

Metropolis have always put on amazing nights in Leeds, and it was in their tent that we spent most of the day, starting with the masked antics of SBTRKT. N-Type was bringing the dub over in the neighbouring Ape tent, but it was a bit early in the day for dubstep. Actually, call me out of touch with The Sound Of Now (or 2009 or whatever) but I’m never in the mood for dubstep.

After a frolic in the Silent Disco (literally amazing) it was back to Metropolis for Danny Byrd who was playing 30 seconds of every tune under the sun. A good warm up, but left us wanting something a bit more prolonged. Over to the Big Top for Simian Mobile Disco, and what I thought was a live show turned out to be a DJ set, and a bit of a monotonous one at that. Now I love a bit of SMD, and perhaps it picked up after we bailed, but after 20 minutes of what felt like the same song, it wasn’t exactly uplifting. Too prolonged. Be careful what you wish for.

So it was over to the Main Stage for Calvin Harris and a DJ set that was beyond uplifting. Now he seems to get a lot of bad press, but personally I think he knows a good tune and he certainly played a lot of them. It also helped that the sun was blazing and I was starting feel the effects of a day on the booze and very little else. Highlight: One More Time. Always goes down well. And I’m Not Alone will always remind me of that day now.

Then came confusion. We sacked off the football to go see High Contrast, but it turned out to be Roni Size. No complaints, it was a fine set. High Contrast was finally on later, and delivered the goods as always, dropping some fierce mixes that heated the tent up in every way possible. It had to be said there was a distinct lack of twats around, an achievement given the result of the match.

Then came what was always going to be my highlight. After years at the front of one of the most important and interesting acts in the country, and pretty much at the top of the I Would list, Kele Okereke is out on his own, and at Parklife he headlined the Now Wave tent with his new live band.

A solo album out any day now and the biggest smile on his face, it was refreshing to see him so relaxed and triumphant. But sad at the same time, as Bloc Party mean so much to me that it’s almost upsetting to hear that he probably was never this happy in that band.

There was a quote from his recent Attitude interview that has stuck in my head. When asked if it was ever discussed how to talk about his sexuality when the band first started out, he replied “the only conversation I can recall, and I remember it well, was...one of the band members told me that he didn’t think I should talk about it right now. Which I found surprising. I never really forgave him for it, to be honest.”

Not helped by his onstage comments about “this band I used to be in”, it’s never nice for the kids when the parents file for divorce, but when Dad’s rocking a new electro sound, we can have a little dance for now. The first few tracks were all from The Boxer, and were minimal and hard. The backing trio alternated between keyboards, electric drums and other devices. Kele was jubilant, his hips moving like never before, gyrating round the mic stand like a massive flirt.

Then we all had a bit of a moment. Blue Light arrived in a greatly altered form, based around a light keyboard refrain, yet still sounding so beautiful. “If that’s the way it is, then that that’s the way it is” will always get to me. But there was little time for sentiment as it morphed into a fuzzy version of The Prayer, which took no time in crashing into One More Chance.

This trilogy of delights dealt with, new single Tenderoni properly took off. “You’ll know it by the end of the summer” he confidently claimed. A cross between Wiley’s Wearing My Rolex and Jack Beat’s Get Down, it’s a bloody tune, and such a statement of intent for a solo career. Lyically similar to Bloc Party, but exploring sound that is now his own.

We got an insight into his way of recording as he built up other songs through looped guitar lines until they built into a heaving sonic mass. One highlight contained the repeated line “I know that you’re stronger than this”, which was either reassurance to a friend or a reminder to himself.

Then came Flux. At last. After being robbed of it at the Engine Shed last year, there it was in all its glory. The last disco at the end of time. I realised just how much I stank. Didn’t care. “We need to talk”. We certainly danced.

There was something very sweet about how the four of them took a bow at the end, arm in arm. Bloc Party may very well be over, and that would be a shame beyond shames. But Kele has arrived. And it really feels like he’s going to get his own way from now on.

So, a perfect set. But could it get any better? How about emerging from the tent to hear the unmistakable sound of Friendly Fires finishing their set with Paris? Talk about perfect timing. We legged it across the field and had one last boogie. Well, the rest of the gang then braved the final moments of the Metropolis tent, which was now pouring out tonnes heat, sweat and smoke, but I was spent.

We were now faced with the journey back, which initially seemed impossible, but after a short walk further up the road and an uncomfortable bus journey full of sweaty young people, we made it back to Piccadilly. Even got a seat on the rammed last train. Fell into bed at 3am. A broken man, but an utterly content one too.

So, Parklife was a perfect start to Festival Season. Next up: Glastonbury.

You used to be alright, what happened?

Daydream Festival, Barcelona Parc del Forum, 12/06/08

Something a bit different, then. Team Glasto from last year didn’t like the sound of 2008’s offerings. A little comment on that - I’m not going to join in on the mildly racist Jay Z Shouldn’t Headline rants, main stage headliners really don’t matter at Glasto. It’s a little saddening that the whole thing has turned into a PR disaster. I wouldn’t be surprised if Eavis jacks it in, if this is how people are going to behave. We don’t deserve a Glastonbury. Anyway, I’m going to be moving house that weekend so we went in search of a new challenge. Radiohead in Barcelona? Shop.

Radiohead are currently enjoying a peek in a career of increasing peeks. In Rainbows is their most undemanding and simple record since The Bends, and sees them really kicking back and having fun, after Hail To The Thief’s rather over-reaching, bloated-yet-content fun. And let’s not forget them doing the music industry up the arse, just when it didn’t need another bumming. “Doing a Radiohead” circa Kid A meant releasing a scary electro album. Now it’s synonymous with giving away your wares for nothing. Fair play, them and the other big boys can afford it. But most record labels still don’t know how to deal with the internet and have stood dumbfounded since the glory days of Napster. People are just refusing to pay for anything these days.

Clinic started our festival with their Hawaiian shirts and surgical masks, pounding through some organ heavy rock. Funnelled indecipherable lyrics in hypnotic spirals. The likes of Walking With Thee, Second Line and Evil Bill got some recognition down the front. The rest of us basked in the welcome sun after the half-arsed storms had passed over.

M83 suffered from poor sound and my drinking. I only recognised one song, Don’t Save Us From The Flames, and that was at half volume. Since they’ve been around for longer than The Teenagers they should be doing better than those lousy frogs.

Bat For Lashes was charming the sunset with her Kate Bush meets the listenable moments of early Bjork sweetness. If that sounds like a lazy cut and paste description then I had drunk quite a bit by then. This being an eco-festival, we gazed at the massive solar panel while sipping from our refillable souvenir cups. Three Euros for not even a half pint of tepid Cerveza? No mi gusta.

Then came Radiohead.

“You used to be alright, what happened?”

What happened? Tubes descending the stage providing a magnificent light show, the audience sending adoration and gratification their way. This is a band that rarely tours, and with a new environmental stipulation catching them is rarer still. We won’t go into the size of my carbon footprint after flying out especially to see this.

15 Step clicked things started. There was a playful nature on stage, like this was the night of the last school dance and everyone had got laid. Bodysnatchers and All I Need continued the new material’s strong live adaptation, with In Rainbows aired in its entirety.

The crowd were just that little bit more passionate than the ones back home. No arms-crossed “impress me” stance, no tagalongs, just a few thousand people dancing in the sunset. Every new song got a cheer, every old one a collective intake of breath.

Complaints? Apparently they rehearsed over 70 songs for this tour. With that amount of material to grasp at, I wouldn’t have lost any sleep if Optimistic and The Gloaming weren’t aired. Karma Police, Street Spirit and No Surprises were conspicuous by their absence. The Bends just seemed clunky compared to the likes of Jigsaw and Bodysnatchers. Biggest clanger was Bangers & Mash in the encore. As fun as it was to see Yorke spaff out on his mini Meg White drum kit, it was time to get the hits out, not play rare Disc Two tracks. But these are minor. You're seeing Radiohead. Revel in it.

Highlights? You And Whose Army and the terrifying Yorkecam. Spazzdance o’clock in Idioteque. The lush of Nude. What felt like the US flag being shot to bits in Paranoid Android. There There soaring skywards. House Of Cards. A million, million times House Of Cards.

I could go on, but then I’d just have to start making up hyperbolic adjectives.

Planet Telex closed the night. “Why can’t you forget?” Memory, the abundance or lack there of seems to be the recurring theme that links all seven records. The tubes went suitable Rainbowed. I would have liked a different set closer, but despite what I said above, to quibble with a Radiohead setlist is to be a fucking dick.

Radiohead are still one of the biggest bands in the world, consistently mixing commercial success, critical acclaim and freedom of expression. There is no other force like them.

Kebab Watch: At 1am? In residential Barca? No chance. We came across a random biker indie bar to collect supplies for mammoth 5 mile trek home. We also befriended a German-Columbian couple who thanklessly guided us back. God bless you Nick and Carolina, owe you a pint. On the way were followed by a zombie, or a punter on a mammoth comedown. Didn’t stick around to find out which.

Lethal Drizzle

Moving house, lack of internet and general Stuff has kept me from posting this so far...

Glastonbury Festival, Worthy Farm, 22nd-24th June 2007

Watching Glastonbury on TV is like aliens looking at Earth from space. You get a sense of scale, it looks beautiful, confounding, like nothing else…but you really don’t have a clue what it’s like until you’re there.

It’s almost worth going just to cut through the mythology and cliché. In a way, after viewing what appeared to be a never-ending canvas metropolis on the small screen, it wasn’t long before it became A Festival Site, just like the others, with muddy paths and shit toilets. But of course this wasn’t like any of the others. This was the greatest festival on the planet, viewed from the sky or more traditional ground locations.

The bus journey down was a living hell. Cattle to the slaughterhouse get better rights than the eight hour journey we were put through. This was mainly down to “Steve” and his lack of festival site navigation. That and quite a few other people had heard about this little event and also wanted in.

To write a review about Glastonbury and only talk about the music would be repetitive and more than a little overdone. The following were seen, even in a vague context during some more comatose tent-based moments:

Reverend & The Makers, The Cribs, Modest Mouse, Good Shoes, Bright Eyes, Super Furry Animals, The Coral, Rufus Wainwright, Arcade Fire, Arctic Monkeys, Björk, Brakes, The Long Blondes, CSS, Klaxons, Pigeon Detectives, Babyshambles, Gruff Rhys (twice), Editors, Mr Scruff, The Holloways, The Enemy, Sunshine Underground, The Marley Brothers, The Rakes, The Go! Team, Jamie T, Chemical Brothers.

But some performances really need highlighting, and the finest was surely Arcade Fire. The matching uniforms, the bizarre swimming pool videos, the delicate apocalypse of instrumentation that completely hypnotised the audience into total devotion. Numerous biblical references that weave through their new album have turned Win Butler into a paranoid preacher, his wiry frame stuttering with fear and compassion. His band, his gang, fly and crash around him, with the percussionists losing none of their sense of self-mutilation. And the songs…being at the festival means I missed the television coverage, but if No Cars Go wasn’t used over the ending montage then something is wrong. Rebellion (Lies) can’t be put into words. And the closing chant of Wake Up was echoing around the crowd long after they left the stage.

Then for some unknown reason I pushed against the crowd for half an hour to go see Arctic Monkeys. Yes, the songs were all present and correct, but something was very unremarkable. Dizze Rascal’s appearance would have been a highlight had his microphone been switched on. So it was back to the Other Stage where I managed to catch the last five songs of Björk’s set, and wished I’d stayed for the whole thing. She is without comparison. Hyperballad never sounded more beautiful, and everyone left wanting to get hold of one of those electronic Tetris block tables that was abused during Declare Independence.

And thank fuck for The Go! Team, the one band that made me forget the rain, mud, piss and shit that surrounded me and, with the help of quite a bit of cider and gin, made me dance like a twat. With only two bands above them on the Other Stage, Ninja appeared truly humbled in front of the huge crowd that had gathered before them. Inexplicably sandwiched between (ugh) Mika and (ARGH) The View, it was fantastic to see the energy and bounce supplied by the shed load in the Arts Centre was switched to IMAX-sized enjoyment.

Honourable mentions must also go to Good Shoes, Pigeon Detectives and The Rakes for tight performances, to Jamie T for being as charming as always and to Gruff Rhys to admitting he was in a worse condition than anyone watching him.

Disappointments have to include Rufus Wainwright and the Chemical Brothers. Rufus was on fine banter form, but just playing his new so-so record in its near entirety isn’t the festival way. 14th Street and The Art Teacher were the only old songs we were treated to, but he does gain point for providing the first “moment” of the festival. He brought on Martha to perform a under-rehearsed yet sublime rendition of Hallelujah. And the Chemical Brothers not playing The Private Psychedelic Reel is just pointless.

A quick paragraph about the weather. Now I realise Dot To Dot’s winter conditions were just toughening me up for the main event. There was a imbecilic piece in the NME that basically said “why was there mud?” You’re in a field. It rained. That makes mud. And really, you’ve got a waterproof, you’ve got your Wellington boots, you’ve got a shitload of booze, what’s the problem? I can’t say I noticed it after a few cans. For the first few days we were lucky, only in the sense that after it shat it down for half an hour it was then dry for the rest of the day. Only Sunday was a downer with its unrelenting drizzle. The worst came on Monday, eviction day, when the showers just wouldn’t stop. The muddy path that had doubled in size since I pitched my tent next to it had formed a free flowing river of shite. I left my tent behind. I regretted this decision halfway up the M4, but there you go.

Glastonbury, so They tell me, is in danger of losing touch with its roots. It has sold out. According to NME, it’s in danger of “pricing out the real fans”, and that there was a “noticeable lack of young people” present. Bollocks. Every walk of life was fully represented, and by the looks of the flags many nations were there as well. It was refreshing to see bands and not be surrounded by teenagers. Although as I write this, Michael Eavis is dismissing this year’s crowd as “middle aged”, not “up for it” and will be targeting a younger crowd next year. So maybe I’m wrong. That statement will do nothing to quash the “sell-out” naysayers, and perhaps it is a little disappointing. But nothing can stay in the past. Longevity is only guaranteed if you can adapt and move on. Unfortunately, in this instance it appears that this just means letting in more youth.

How many would show up if it was just half a dozen bands and a pint of milk? And how many would show up for the Greatest Show On Earth? The answer is clear. Glastonbury cannot sell out or conform, because it is Glastonbury. It is imitated but never bettered, it exists on its own and nothing else will ever come close.

There are countless things I could go into more detail about…the flags around the Dance Village, being constantly asked for a lighter or pills, the greatest baguette in the galaxy (The Growler – chips, cheese and bacon, doesn’t sound like much but it was beautiful), the new Park area that was a festival within a festival, the atmosphere of the Stone Circle…but words and hyperbole only go so far. Some things you have to experience for yourself to fully appreciate.