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.

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.

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.