23/07/08

GLASTONBURY 2008

(Read Patrick's 2007 Glastonbury Blog here)

1. Introduction

So. Here I am. Back again. In the Jazz Lounge. Rain falling from the sky, dripping off the canvas into the sodden ground. It really doesn’t feel like a year... Jay-Z ("for there can be only one") and 3,000 tickets still for sale. But at the last minute HMV offer them up, and they are gone.

It’s Glastonbury again and I’m back once more with a retrospective blog. This year, an initiative was launched untitled “Love the farm and leave no trace!”, the event being accompanied (quite rightly) by ever-stronger environmental overtones. Well, congratulations to everybody who attended. I can confirm that throughout the entire weekend I saw lots of people loving the farm, and people generally left no trace whatsoever - well, no trace of attempting to take their rubbish with them after concerts, anyway. Perhaps the wording needs to be clearer next year...

OK – that said – let's move on… Don't want to be cast as a moaner, and that's not a very Rock 'n' Roll attitude, is it? TVs out the window, then pop down and clear up the mess? Don't think so.

I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to attend this year and write up the comings and goings at Worthy Farm. For several months there have been dark clouds in the sky and the odd streak of lightening. Inevitably this storm was to build as the festival date approached, but I appear to have made it once again for better or worse, taking two days off work (no relaxed Wednesday this year then...). Those who know me and understand allegory will get this.

2. In Rainbows

In fact, the tale starts at Victoria Park in London. Not happy with Glastonbury, I draft in a warm-up act for the couple of days before to try to get me in the mood – it’s Radiohead, which will come as no surprise to those who know me. Important to see them both nights they are playing London (naturally), and I find myself in a smaller version of Glastonbury watching my first and second of around thirty gigs on the Tuesday and Wednesday nights before departing for Gloucestershire (another reason for no Wednesday at Glastonbury, of course). But as this is a Glastonbury blog, I shouldn’t really comment on these concerts. In Rainbows however is beyond compare, and Radiohead live are like no other band. So I’ve got that off my chest, anyway. Again.

To sleep at 2am on Wednesday after sending emails relating to activities alluded to above, and then up just over four hours later, and we’re off. Good to hit the festival full of energy!

3. First Great Western

At least three carriages are set aside for the Glastonbury crowd on our gleaming First Great Western service. Nicely done! Rucksacks clog the luggage racks, and we’re off. Well, nearly. Somebody pulls an alarm handle on the platform apparently (“no alarms and no surprises”), but we eventually set off. An announcement indicates that the person involved has been hauled off by the British Transport Police. Some people stage dive at Napalm Death concerts (couldn’t comment personally on this type of thing obviously). Others force themselves to the front of gigs to shake hands with Alan Vega (again, no comment). Others (witnessed on site this year) will be taken away by security for passing out balloons full of air (obviously) in Emily Eavis’s Park Area... But to be arrested on the platform before you even get on the train to go to Glastonbury for pressing a big button that basically says “don’t press”? Definitely a winner.

Neil Diamond - The Wurzels (yes - they are back – and singing about a brand new combine harvester or perhaps performing The Tractor Song - except – you see – it's clever – they are actually promoting a brand new tractor, running on biofuels or something like that. (Hunting out proof of this after the event is seemingly difficult, but I definitely saw a photo somewhere of Micheal Eavis and the lads... and a tractor). Good to see the corporate sponsorship has mitigated their upset relating to an insufficiently large stage last year (which postponed their comeback). Farms... Tractors... The Wurzels... Genius! I wonder who thought that one up? Good (in passing) to hear about food crop displacement and all those forests being cleared for biofuels. Hey - as long as we can keep driving, then who needs to eat – or indeed survive? Back with the artist sponsorship and perhaps Shakin’ Stevens will be “putting the freshness back” as he does the Shake 'n' Vac this year. Who can tell? It’s going to be a cracker - I can tell already. Must remember to go to the Orange tent, recharge my mobile and text somebody about it.

As well as the train, I’m going to take the tube, have a lift in a car (for about 20 miles), and then get a bus to Glastonbury. There has been a fair amount of “chat” about the environmental impact of erecting giant video screens in the middle of a field and then broadcasting Greenpeace videos to 165,000 punters who have all arrived by car (some using biofuel, so that's OK then). So I do my bit in the most part. It's rumoured Jay-Z is arriving in the Lexus hybrid that Paul McCartney (allegedly) had flown over from Japan rather than wait for standard delivery. I do sometimes wonder when the world actually went mad.

4. Bath

Whilst a couple of days off shouldn’t in theory make a lot of difference, this year it’s rather different. On route, I spend the best part of two hours with Mark (who I see most concerts with for the first two days) charging phones and sending emails from an excellent café in Bath near the station. Great coffee.

5. Arrival and First Music

And there it is. The queue of traffic trying to fight through to site is already upon us, and we’re still the best part of 10 miles out. Somebody (or something), has decided to set four acres of scrap yard alight and the roadblocks around the site are being reengineered. Eventually we’re in, and find the advanced party (who have been there since Wednesday) and we’re pitched - and off…

The Johnny Mystic Experience (I think that's what they were called - who we are watching in the sun-kissed image below), Ventriloquist, DJ Don (definietly not http://www.djdon.com/) and Phantom Limb are the musical delights we manage to listen to on Thursday night.

As this picture shows it is in fact, raining, and there is a horrible feeling creeping over us all that this Glastonbury is going to be as wet as last year. It’s 2am, and I’m walking through what appears to be the same mud and slime I used to walk through from the Jazz Lounge to get to the toilets a mere twelve months before. “Rolling on the river” sings the lead singer of Phantom Limb in her green dress. I know what she means.

A fire keeps us warm back at the tent, and at 3am I sleep.

6. Kate Gnash

Remarkably, it’s Kate Nash who first uses the word **** at Glastonbury this year (have a guess, Monty Python did a great sketch about it which included the line "Keeble Bollege Oxford"). People are obviously getting ahead of the game. Performers are dancing round on stage dressed as skeletons, and there is definitely a giant oyster shell up there. I liked the performance – I think it was accompanied by some sun, but perhaps there was still rain in the air. The fact I cannot remember perhaps says something. At one point during the song, a helicopter comes in over the site. There is palpable tension as people glance skywards. Has Jay-Z arrived? Could it be him? Chant’s of Jay-Z ring out – people start running and screaming toward the helicopter pad. Children abandoned, food outlets upended as the crowds surge towards the noisy mechanical bird. “Jay-Z”, “Jay-Z”. But then I’m back, in front of Kate Nash, and none of this appears to have actually happened.

The line-up of acts this year seem to be a bit more eclectic, a bit more "random". Next, I see Aisle 16 – comedy. A few choice comments about Julie Andrews, and a fantastic version of “These are some of my favourite things” is launched – except for the subtle word changes every verse and accompanying lists... they include “these are some of my favourite Stings (reference to bees, and Mr Sumner amongst others), and finally lot’s of talk of the Liberal Democrats and Flash Gordon. Got it? “These are some of my favourite Mings”. Genius. And then a juggler. Albeit a good one. A funny one. Frank Oliver for the record. So, I’m at Glastonbury, laughing at songs, watching juggling and having been sworn at by Kate Nash. I’m not sure I’m really there yet. It’s all a bit disjointed.

But what’s this? That’s the thing with Glastonbury. Tell me that these little people wouldn’t have been trampled underfoot at the V Festival…

And what's that?

I decide against Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong. It’s worth noting at this point that I think they may be stalking me. When in London with Dug (who still gets your taxes working for the BBC, but decided against Glastonbury this year - Alistair and Chris are back though), we walked past Sister Ray Records on Berwick Street of an evening some months ago (as you do) and noticed a band playing in the store with about twenty people watching. We stay for five minutes then meander through the streets of Soho to find a pub, eventually settling in one (of the 30,000 or so in London) around ten minutes walk away. Sitting down quietly minding our own business with a pint or two, in walk the band and ask if they can have one of the spare chairs at our table. In years to come, when Joe Lean is meeting G8 leaders and campaigning for human rights (or whatever) I’ll still be reminding people about this moment. “You’ll never guess”, I’ll say to friends. And they’ll think “Oh God – not the Jing Jang Jong chair story again. Give it a rest”. And I’ll say “Well, years ago when I was in Berwick Street...”. Hopefully they’ll tell me to shut up. It’s good to have honest friends.

So instead, it’s Hobo Jones and the Junkyard Dogs on the Avalon Stage.

They are basically a skiffle band (or what appears to be the ghosts from a skiffle band if you look at the picture above), but very “modern” skiffle for all that. They perform some original material, along with (amongst others) "Gordon is a Moron", this with the odd flash of a picture of Gordon Brown from the back of a guitar. They are from Maidstone in Kent, and formed for a one-off gig some time ago. It went down well (seemingly) and they reformed in 2005 (two years later) and entered a local busking competition in Maidstone – which they won. They get increasingly rapturous reception as they go along after initially being delayed by about thirty minutes due to power failure (perhaps Neil Diamond is out back, but more of that later) and the crowd are really enjoying the on-stage energy.

At the end, the lead singer came back on stage with a bottle of Champagne, impromptu, catching the others out. “I’ve had this in my fridge for three years”, he proclaimed, “and it’s for you he say looking at them. We did it. We actually f****** played GLASTONBURY”, the last word with a triumphant shout. And the cork is popped. It’s actually quite an emotional moment, dare I admit it. There is total joy on stage – it obviously means so much to these guys. The Wurzels, please take note.

We stop at a tent near the Avalon fields, and watch a couple singing and playing in a tent. There are four of us in the “crowd”, and we watch on damp cushions having taken off wellington boots to traipse across the carpet. I wonder exactly what it is that can swell the four to four hundred or four thousand – or forty thousand for that matter. They were technically as good as, say, Kate Nash. However, we didn’t get as much swearing. Do record companies have a role in here somewhere (“boo hiss...” says everybody not signed with a record company). Just maybe. Guy Hands – any thoughts?

7. The Love Family of Alabama and a Few Old Timers

Mark and I then watch Alabama 3, who are bloody marvellous. A track with the lyric (I think) of “we’re getting somewhere now” is officially Glastonbury moment #1. They perform "Woke up this morning" and "Peace in the Valley" amongst others. I guess this band is just too bonkers to have crossed over into huge mainstream success - quite yet. But they have a huge live following. With three lead singers on stage they are an eclectic bunch – but boy can they stamp out a good tune. The best way I can describe the Reverend D Wayne Love (in his current incarnation) is that he resembles and behaves like a recently-out-of-rehab (shame it didn’t work) version of the Gary Oldman character from the film Leon. If he’s not off his face, he deserves an Oscar. Inspired. They are, of course, from Brixton, and there are more than three of them. All well documented here.

We see Eddi Reader ex- (very ex-) of Fairground Attraction, and I watch a bit of Candi Staton. Not frequenting discos in the 1970s, I really only knew one track “Your Got the Love”, which Source got hold of and remixed in 1991 to fantastic effect. It’s a great mix – definitely a top 20 tune for me. Candi adds from her website ("And then I got a call from London saying the song was on the charts. The good thing was, they couldn't pay me so they gave me half the publishing!"). Candi 1 - Source 0. But Candi is a soul singer I guess, and that’s not really my thing. So I drift towards Hazel O’Connor playing in a very full tent (I can’t actually get in), and I see her perform Eighth Day. There is also a moving “Where are you now”, and “D-Days”. Post punk, post-young, Hazel is obviously enjoying herself performing and talking to us about her songs. It’s enjoyable, but I’m skimming across the surface of the music I’m hearing so far. It’s like going to a mates house twenty years ago, and getting excited (or not) about “Now That’s What I Call Music No 37.” Like I said, all a bit random.

8. What to Do?

It’s time for another laugh. A genuine one. www.thedukesbox.co.uk. Four (five?) blokes in a tiny converted caravan masquerading as a juke box, playing live music as selected by those on the outside.

Simultaneously deadpan and full of life. I watch them perform “Ice Ice Baby”, “Take a Chance on Me”, and a surreal version (as if the others weren’t surreal enough) of “Voodoo People” by The Prodigy. It all puts the spring back in my step (well, a squelch anyway). And then I’m back again in the 1980’s, with The Men They Couldn’t Hang. I stay for two songs only, watching three people at the front leaping about. Just the three. To be honest, it looks as if many others may have had a damned good try and hanging these guys a few times for various crimes, and I’m not hanging around to see if it turns nasty and the nooses come out. But they have energy, and they’re still at it, obviously doing what they love doing. Probably.

The Editors are on the Pyramid Stage, but are a bit “samey” to me. Noels revelation that Glastonbury is guitar-based rock themed clearly has substance, and it all starts to get a bit monotonous as I listen to these guys. Sorry. I know you are very good. Perhaps I’m still not turned in properly yet – or perhaps Jay-Z has a point.

9. The Other O’Connor

So it’s time to head out and see Sinead O'Connor. I’ve listened to various bits of her work over the years, and of course everybody knows “Nothing Compares to You” – one of the rare occasions when a cover version of a song is infinitely better than that performed by the originator – and all the more extraordinary for the fact that the writer was of course his purple holiness. (It should be noted that on arrival I catch the end of the Blockheads gig, with Phil Jupitus acting for the late (and many would say great) Ian Dury. The band is really tight and the sax solo from “Hit me with your Rhythm Stick” has never sounded so good. Here's a reminder of the original for you (01:53 - 2:18 sax fans!). Just occasionally – very occasionally – somebody comes along with a revolutionary new sound/performance at the same time as crafting a fantastic song. This track – for me – remains one of those times. The richness of the production is recreated perfectly on stage.

And after that, Sinead looks like a rabbit in the headlights. But not just any old rabbit. The smallest, most helpless rabbit you have ever seen, and the headlights are not just any old headlights. “Oh no”, as John Major said a lot if you believe Rory Bremner. These headlight are a lighting rig strapped to the front of a 747, and Sinead’s stumbled onto a runway at Heathrow Terminal 5. If the headlights weren’t enough, she’s probably going to be taken out by a baggage truck desperately trying to find the incinerator. It's clearly been a troublesome time for her these past years.

She starts by performing (maybe?) six tracks from her latest album "Theology". How about that for courage?

From NME: "'Theology' is an attempt to create a place of peace in a time of war," said O'Connor. "It is my own personal response to what has taken place and is affecting everyone around the world since and including September 11, 2001. I simply wanted to make a beautiful thing which inspires me," she added.

The 747 grows ever closer. We’ve managed to get really near the front of the stage and can see how nervous she looks. She’s seeking constant approval and re-assurance from the other two on stage – who I have to say, do just that, and rightly so. They are also great musicians. She’s also playing and performing beautifully, and just seems to need their assurance that everything is going well. It is. But then she’s trying to get the levels adjusted, and then there is something wrong with the earpiece, and on it goes. But, as the 747 closes in, she kicks off with “It’s been seven hours and fifteen days... since you took your love away...”, and with the flaps on full, the plane soars into the sky, missing Sinead by a whisker. She’s free from danger. The entire tent sings along, and we nail Glastonbury Moment #2. There is even a smile after the song is finished. There is no “Fire on Babylon” or other such powerful ballads, but I’m pleased I saw her perform. Clearly fragile, and not really looking like she wanted to be up there, Sinead O’Connor has an extraordinary voice which it would be a great shame not to hear again.

The Kings of Leon do their bit and are reasonably impressive. But again, I’m not really “getting it” so it’s up to The Park Area where Pete Docherty is scheduled to play a small personal set. I make it up there with Mark, and we manage to position ourselves pretty near the front. The main stage is in a natural amphitheatre with room (perhaps) for around 5,000 people. Dizzee Rascal (the current UK number 1 as I write this), is still playing. He has a few words about Jay-Z (don’t we all). And so following comedy, soul, rock, skiffle and folk we’re onto rap. Great to catch a bit. What a contrast to Sinead – it reminds me of the extraordinary musical diversity there is out there.

Pete’s sorry for being late. He thought he was booked for Saturday night, not Friday – or words to that effect. He performs pretty much as last year, and again I’d rate it highly against all I saw at Glastonbury this year. Maybe he’s replaced Robbie Williams (but without the EMI machinery) in the nations affections. I mean, let’s face facts – The Libertines and Take That weren’t that different really? Right?? Well, not when you compare Sinead and Dizzee, anyway. And by the way, did anybody else watch that YouTube video of him, and Amy, and those mice? If so, you really (like me) ought to get out more. If not, please don't. It's only going to encourage them.

Some 1 am South African Rooibos tea and toast (Flippin’ heck – again - how Rock ‘n’ Roll am I, this year?) follows the ejection of some bloke for flogging a balloon of “gas” in the Park Area. (Sorry if I am so naive that I don’t know what the balloon contained. Perhaps somebody could send me a filled one with some explanation? [A metaphorical email arrives suggesting this may have been NO₂]). And suddenly it is 3 am, and I’m off to sleep. And not via the Jazz Lounge. I just can’t be bothered and miss Pete Wareham’s Final Terror and Filthy Six whoever they were. Ah well, you can't have it all.

10. The Cobler Saved by Soul

An even more surreal day awaits - alas. And all this firmly without drugs. Having seen a little of the Travelling Band (merely in passing), I find myself (by design) at the potential rendezvous point I mentioned in last year's retrospective blog. Its 12:30 on Saturday and I’m watching the fire point behind The Other Stage. There is a crowd of what may be upwards of a thousand people all gathered around the bins that sit at this point. It’s incredible. They are all looking around obviously waiting for some great event. And then it dawns on me – last year's blog has been such a success that these people have turned up to offer congratulations - and to make themselves known. They too, are people that trawl the web reading about other peoples' experiences, like me, “non-authors”, perhaps guilty themselves of publishing paragraphs of personal experiences alongside poorly written concert reviews. I can’t do it. If art works by Banksy can command six-figures through his maintained anonymity (OK – so the pictures are brilliant as well, but that doesn’t serve to illustrate my point), then I’ll stay hidden as well. At 12:35 the crowd starts to disperse. Perhaps they’ll head away disappointed, and enigmatically the author will remain anonymous...

Now, it’s important at this point to note the real point that I’m making here. The above paragraph could all be pure fiction (you decide!). Indeed, I may (of course) not actually have been to Glastonbury this year at all. I hope that this illustration will not cloud your feelings regarding the honesty of the rest of the write up, but it’s a reminder that just because you read it, doesn’t mean it’s true. However, this all really is true – just like everything I’ve heard in the previous six months. Honestly.

I amble with Mark towards the Green Fields and on route catch some amazing Southern African harmonies whilst supping coffee. I’ve moved from music to facts – this, in anticipation of Massive Attack’s stage show later. (I’m in turmoil, as I know I should see Jay-Z rather than Massive Attack to make this blog more relevant, but I just can't bring myself to abandon the Bristolians...) So the facts I read are that in America, 465,000 mobile phones are thrown away every day, and 2,000,000 plastic water bottles discarded after their contents have been emptied down gullets - or not. This makes absolutely no sense to me at all. It’s insane. Yet, here I am on a train writing this up (in fact, on the same route that I took to Glastonbury), with my own plastic bottle of water that I’ve just been given. It’s come from North Wales (rather than being flown in with Paul McCartney’s new car from the Far East - bonus!), but it’s still insane. Along with the apple I ate yesterday that came from Chile. It is all just too easy. Like taking a plane somewhere for £5 (plus taxes!). But don’t get me going on all that, or this post-event blog really will get bloody...

Hal Webb is in a tent surrounded by children and adults, singing a song that appears to be called The Cobbler Saved my Sole (Soul? Sole? Cobbler? Geddit??).

I’ve since looked up Hal Webb using Google, and in a single search which totally debunks their algorithms knocked $50bn of their market capitalisation (i.e. barely a scratch). (Of course, it could be that Google is safe, and Hal doesn’t have a web site.) The first match (including reference to the song title) was indeed for a (“an”, if you are a pedant) Hal Webb who can be found here: http://www.setlinc.com/webb/. But Hal’s home page indicates that he’s a hand-picked evangelist for the perfecting of the saints (or something to that effect). Ephesians 4:11-12, apparently. Now, if I’m not going to start on the Chilean Braeburns, then I really better not get going on this one either. Interestingly, Hal (pictured with his wife, one assumes) has an on-line store which, rather intriguingly, has links to “Order form”, Sermons”, “Music” (fair enough), and “Puppet Castle”. But Puppet Castle is just a broken page. The mind boggles.

But my Hal doesn’t look like this Hal, nor the Hal in the film 2001 who proves so troublesome (but right) – Glastonbury Hal is dressed a bit like a psychotic pixie. Job done. Move on. But where to?

Space. The final frontier. It’s time to go into an inflatable planetarium and watch the night sky over Glastonbury. (Given you can’t see any stars for all the smoke from the fires, this is a useful exhibit). I mean why not? Initially, I thought we may not make it out alive – strangers – gathered together – in a pitch black hermetically sealed (well not really, but it makes for a more interesting story) inflatable dome – I thought we may be in for a cult mass killing or something – but it turns out to be a very straight presentation. With a certain irony, this brings me back to earth with a bump. “Can everybody hear me”, whispers our host (apparently) over the sound of the blower (air, not carbon monoxide I’m now pleased to confirm). Those who can hear, thankfully say “no”, so he whispers a little louder. Wrong place, wrong time? I’m in an inflatable planetarium whilst Seasick Steve entertains the crowd on The Pyramid Stage. Thankfully, it’s not that straight as it turns out. The whole thing is run (seemingly/maybe) by some characters who worship the power of the sun, but there we go. I’m sure they are harmless (all funds appear to be going towards some planned fusion reactor that they are going to launch at the sun to destroy all life throughout the known cosmos, but hey, not to worry – I’ve got the water bottles, old mobile phones, South American apples and Hal’s Puppet Castle to keep me distracted for the moment).

[Oddly, this whole incident is followed up two weeks later playing darts with a mate that I see every year or so (for a few beers), and we’re talking about Carl Sagan, and the fact he died a long time ago.]

I boycott the continued spread of globalisation by steering clear of the Wurzels.

Before leaving the Green Fields, I visit an Eco House. It’s great, but the banister of the staircase is a bit wobbly. Also, there is a glass ceiling internally. The people running it looked very friendly, and it’s a great idea. I just couldn’t help but get the feeling they’ve loosened the bolts on the staircase to trick somebody into testing out the automatic composter. As for glancing up (at) the punters above through the glass ceiling – well, that would be speculation but it is Glastonbury...  Here is a picture out of the window.

But it’s not the composter for me! Instead, my wish from last year comes true – I make it out, and I’m off to see Holy F*** in The John Peel tent.

This is really the first musical incident that lights a fire for me. They are terrific, doing some very clever stuff with basic electronics with some fantastic rhythms being pushed out.

Good old Wikipedia details: The band uses live instrumentation and miscellaneous instruments and non-instruments (including a 35 mm film sequencer, toy keyboards and toy phaser guns) to achieve electronic-sounding effects without the use of laptops or programmed backing tracks.

They were named #3 Best New Act at Glastonbury in 2007, I read. So I’m glad to have had another chance to see them.

And they are followed by British Sea Power who – to be honest – really should have been better in my opinion.

Sure - there is shrubbery on stage and in the audience, but the best part of the concert for me proves to be the expectation waiting for them to start. Such is the world of the over-hyped alas, although perhaps the hype is only in my head. I’ve wanted to see them for a while, and lots of people (who know about these things), said they were worth checking out. I’m glad to have seen them this year though, as I suspect they may not be asked back next year... Coming on (slightly late, to be fair), and already running around five minutes over there presumed slot before the stage would be cleared for the next act (The Courteneers), there was a quick check back stage that went something along the lines of “any chance we can just squeeze in a short last track...”, to the Stage Manager.

So the nod was given (after all, they are British Sea Power, and they were great last year, right?). And we’re off on a 12-15 minute (or was it more anybody? Please feel free to correct me...) closing number that eventually saw one of the members of the band donning a fake parachute/suicide bomber pack and climbing up the stage lighting rig, then climbing down it again, and then diving off the stage and being carried by the crowd. Great theatre enjoyed by all I suspect apart from (1) The Courteneers who were presumably out back scoring songs off their play list, and (2) the now clearly delighted Stage Manager. But that’s not very Rock ‘n’ Roll of me (there I go again), so well done, lads! Great! I have to say though, the bollocking they got from the Stage Manager when they came off (finally) which had been building for some time made them look like teenagers at school being admonished, having been caught smoking behind the bike sheds (or perhaps, based on the scale of the bollocking, having just burned them down).

11. A Wombat in Shades

I’m woken near The Other Stage by a sudden noise and see a giant Wombat wearing glasses, but I’m not really sure how I got there.

12. Apples from Somerset

Then pear cider (only 7% - no harm done - well, none that I can remember), and it’s time to see that up-and-coming singer songwriter (and pretty mean guitarist) Joan Armatrading. “All the way from America” is good, and “Love and Affection” is beautifully played and delivered.

Holy F*** it ain't, but I’m in the sun, I have (another) pear cider in front of me, and the music sounds great. I’m pleased to see somebody in the audience wearing a “Judas Priest Moscow 2005” T-shirt. Again, this is what Glastonbury is all about. Go on Joan - Do it. Do it.

And then I traipse (rapidly) over to Dance West to see The Grid. Richard Norris and Dave Ball (ex-Soft Cell) have quietly released a new album called Doppelganger. Their first album was great (1990, Electric Head). Does Anybody remember “A beat called love”? I catch a couple of fat DJs (sorry, 'Plump' DJs) finishing off their set, who have the entire place rocking. I make it right down to the front. I’m the oldest person about by far. Well, until The Grid come on.

Then the rotund DJs are off, ready for the change over. Can the place get any fuller? No. It empties. And then on come The Grid – and it empties more. This is a huge disappointment. I expected a lot more. It's a poor setting for live music as they are right at the back of the stage. I did read a review of this particular gig which indicated the place was rocking. Perhaps the reviewer was at the back - they certainly weren't with me at the front. Or perhaps (perish the thought) they may not have been there at all. I was. I leave after a bouncer walks along the front handing out cups of water. He seems to be offering one to me to help me cool down as I’m jammed in with all the other sweaty raving punters. Only I’m not. There aren't any. I check it’s not for somebody behind me, but there really is nobody else there. I look more closely. Perhaps it’s a Horlicks.

Illusions shattered, senses reeling, I stumble back past The John Peel Stage, and drop in for a track by Band of Horses. I then catch the last ten minutes of Elbow – which sounded fantastic (but it’s important that I was there for The Grid, right?), and then Hot Chip.

13. Not Jay-Z Then...

I knew nothing about Hot Chip, but thought that they were great. Another good find. Apart from the start of “Nothing Compares to You” – how bizarre it is hearing it again so soon after Sinead – I can’t list any songs, as I don't know them. But in the same way I enjoyed CSS last year I enjoy these guys, with the jumped (jumping?) up lead singer in his decreasing-worn boiler suit.

And then it’s time for Massive Attack. I’ve opted for the Bristol bunch, rather than going Stateside. When a push came to a shove – and I know that Jay-Z had cracking reviews (“5/5 A great success”), I just wanted to see Massive Attack and what they had to offer. I’m about ten rows back from the front, and it’s a massive sound and light show. Dark – brooding – angry. In fact, in places, angry like there is no tomorrow. The image below captures it well. Being an innocent victim of certain accusations, and strong on anti-government rhetoric regarding Iraq, this time around it appears to be a visual diatribe about disappearing rights that Robert Del Naja is performing to Glastonbury. It’s a powerful counter-position to Jay-Z who’s on the bigger stage singing Oasis tracks. Del Naja is quite vocal in his support for Jay-Z, and suggests that racist behaviour is “very last century”. I wish it were true – but it’s a good approach. Make something offensive and pointless (and illegal), uncool as well. Worth a try.

Messages scroll from left to right during Safe from Harm:

I am the inferior of any man whose rights I tramble underfoot - Horace Greeley
Last guys don't finish nice - Saul Alinsky
The first principal of nonviolent action is that of noncooperation with everything humilitating - Cesar Chavez
You can jail a revolutionary but you cannot jail the revolution - Bobby Seale
Freedom is never free - Unknown
No man is above the law and no man below it - Edwin Markham

Not as compelling at the annual expenditure on arms I saw at Brixton Accademy some time ago, but none the worse for that. You can see the performance of Safe from Harm here.

With no clear memory, I think it must be The Jazz Lounge. Only once was there any hint of rain today (note that I’m only writing this as an afterthought which shows conditions must have improved). Angie and her son James (who spends a fair amount of time sitting down during the day, and walking about at night), sits down at night (for a change) by the fire (the wood actually lights, and we’ve blagged some spare logs from the local Glasto Support Team), and we chat and drink until around 4am. It’s getting light when I slope into the tent.

14. Sunday Shambles

We aim to meet some people at Shangri La. Except that we are now at the other end of the site with around 100,000 people between us and where we are supposed to be. Somebody has guessed where something is. Never wise at Glastonbury. As well, we’re already thirty minutes late. Before mobile phones, this would never have happened. There would have been a “backup plan” that could have been brought into action. But now, it’s not a problem. We all have mobiles. Just no reception – and flatish... flatish... oh flat batteries. So that’s that. However, we manage to meet whoever it was that we were supposed to meet where they were not supposed to be (as indeed we weren’t) about twenty minutes later. I'm still not sure who they were, but they bought me a beer! Rather than standing by the bar discussing this recovery of the situation further I head over to The Other Stage and watch about ten minutes of Black Mountain. By this time, Mark (who was only able to stay until Sunday morning), is already home. Our own journey home will prove more challenging.

Whilst I only hear the last Black Mountain song, it sounds a bit like some 1970s Floyd/Led Zep/Hendrix mix and I enjoy it. Big. Wide. Anthemic (in a way that all the bands I’ve seen who are supposed to be anthemic haven’t been so far – but more on that later, as the best is yet to come). Newton Faulkner (who I saw at The Roundhouse recently) does pretty much the same gig (but shorter). But the guy is such a talented guitarist it’s soul-destroying. Where’s that cobbler? Having bought my first electric guitar after Glastonbury three years ago, the urge is now to reclassify it as firewood. But it’s great that so many people are far more capable that we are as individuals. If you don’t appreciate the skills in others, you’re missing out on something pretty big. It may be tough to take, but compared to my lamentable efforts I have to admit that Newton’s got the edge. Well, just. I’ve now seen “Bohemian Rhapsody” performed by The Flaming Lips and Newton Faulkner at Glastonbury. Both were great. Such covers may be clichéd , but to quote CJ, a cliché to me is like a red rag to a bull.

15. Big Benn

I head over to Leftfield to intercept James (who was presumably sitting down somewhere as I didn't find him) for three hours of comedy. Instead, I find Tony Benn, that “veteran antiwar campaigner”. I wonder if he despairs about what he’s been able to achieve – or perhaps he rejoices at what might have happened in British politics without maverick voices such as his own. The crowd are good natured, and you get the impression that there are here to hear him speak rather than to listen to what he has to say. But what he has to say all sounded pretty sensible. Politicians often have that knack – but I suspect Tony, veteran, antiwar campaigner, is fast becoming one-of-a-kind in terms of the genuine feeling behind the words. Perhaps that's not true though and I'm being unfair.

I have a pint of Morrissey. Apparently Neil Morrissey (for it is his own fair brew, apparently) was in the tent serving it earlier. You can just imagine the headlines. “Morrissey serves up a bitter brew”. “Morrissey calls time early”. But perhaps that was last year.

I see Tift Merritt (what sort of name is that for a band?), who are “mostly from Canada”. It was lovely relaxing music - dangerously easy in fact to fall asleep to, and I very nearly did just that. I think Alistair did. But there were places to go and people to see. It was time for the big four (well, the big three, and Goldfrapp. No disrespect).

16. A Diamond in the Rough (err, or not)

I honestly can’t believe that I’m writing a review of Neil Diamond. Lrike I said earlier, it’s a world gone mad.

 

I took this picture, so I can put it on the wall, so I can remember that I saw Neil Diamond at Glastonbury. It’s a cheesy moment, heroin-chic. It’s Las Vegas, not Lost Vagueness. It’s playing the Copacabana for too many days without a break. The frilly shirt was missing, but surely it was brought along and available? Any what does Neil (not Morrissey) manage to do? He blows the sound system, and trips out the circuits. Not Napalm Death at Brixton Acacdamy. Not Judas priest in Moscow. But Neil Sodding Diamond. Note the light around the picture above – bathing him in light. It was all a bit evangelical. I wouldn’t be surprised if Neil and Hal Webb know each other. And as he bounds out at the end of the set for the encore, the crowd erupts. I think he thought about trying it a second time, but decided against it. Back to the casino tables, croupiers, babycham and Ford Capri go faster stripes. Cheese. On a stick. Or perhaps I'm being overly harsh. It was fine.

Goldfrapp can’t really follow that, and don’t. They were sexier and more dangerous last year at Glastonbury, but seemed rather subdued. Perhaps they’ve done one festival too many. The latest album appears not quite so crowd-pleasing yet, but has several songs performed from it. I guess that if your main forte is playing festivals, it must get a little stale. The crowd were not energised, and you need both an energised artist and an energised audience for Glastonbury moments, and this lot weren’t playing ball. Presumably singing along to Sweet Caroline had tipped everybody over the emotional edge. Even a touch of pole dancing fails to pull it off.

17. The Real Diamond

Leonard Cohen (like you need the link...) is a different kettle of fish altogether. If Neil Diamond was Timmy Mallet, then Leonard Cohen was Joy Division. And if Neil Diamond was Russ Abbot, then Leonard Cohen was eh well, Leonard Cohen. Come to think of it didn’t Russ Abbot cover Atmosphere by Joy Division? (Joke, everybody. Joke. Or is it?)

Anyway, the point is that Leonard Cohen was a true gentleman (whatever that really is), standing (not basking) in the sun of Glastonbury, a man clearly held high in the affections of all there – a poet and songsmith – and he gave a cracking performance. The highlight, was Hallelujah, which was Glastonbury Moment #3, and probably the Glastonbury moment of the festival for me. There must have been 80,000 people singing along in perfect unison. As quoted from the NME:

The star started the song just as the sun was setting, and further delighted the massive crowd when he changed the lyric "I told the truth, I didn't come here to fool ya" to "I told the truth, I didn't come to Glastonbury to fool ya". The crowd sang every chorus with Cohen, and gave him a massive ovation at the end, when he took a bow.

Sort out in your mind (surely you can) why that is better than 80,000 people singing along to “Sweet Caroline”, and you’re in the club. Life, as I was told recently, is just colour, sound and emotion. And here it is. Overflowing.

18. The Verve

And the race is on. As a few drift off to see Joan Baez (really), we head towards the front of The Pyramid Stage. I’m going to be right in there for the Glastonbury finale of The Verve. A steel baracade was installed in front of The Pyramid Stage a few years ago to take the pressure off people directly in front of the action. Alistair and I decide to go for it. For about ten minutes this represents everybody who catches the Northern Line on London Underground during peak commuter time (you know who you are – could you perhaps leave a bit earlier so it’s less crowded when I want to travel?) trying to get through the doors of just one carriage. The human tides pushes us round, and like a cork from a bottle of something fizzy (pear cider...? no - not fizzy enough!) I emerge in the relative calm and tranquillity of the front section. We find each other again on the shore line.

Behind me, tens of thousands line the natural amphitheatre (it's 20x the size of that forming The Park Stage). As detailed last year this really is the most magnificent setting for a gig. As night falls you can look behind you to see the slopes lined with people, fires and candles festooned around the site, flags waving. It’s such an incredibly uplifting feeling – and there you are, practically on stage by comparison. The sense of scale and event is almost too big. I think back to the concert I attended with three other people, to the inside of the planetarium, to Las Vegas casinos and Neil (let it go...)... The view ahead (as captured above – my favourite picture from this year), sums up the concert. And there is Mr Ashcroft nestling in the middle, behind a sea of flags. The stage looks massive, they look small, the hundred thousand-odd behind me a massive force to content with. And then they start to play. A rock concert at its absolute best. Truly magnificent. There are a couple of new songs including Love is Noise and a few older ones, but it’s the output from Urban Hymns that really brings the place alive. Powerful emotion-laden songs.

A sustained Glastonbury Moment #4.

At the end we drift away, the Jazz Lounge the target one last time. Tonight there is the drummer from Kasabian matching another drummer beat for beat, with an impromptu gathering (although I do remember most of them from last year - the two sax players included). I think they call themselves The Mega Big Funk Orchestra (or The Megafunk Orchestra, or The Big Mega Funk Orchestra?). The guy in charge is on keyboards and again I’m blown away at how incredibly talented they are – but in a small venue with a small select gang of people watching and dancing and drinking and smoking (open sided tent, guys), it’s just something very different again from where I’ve been earlier.

Then it’s back to the tents (it’s becoming easier to cut corners as significant numbers are starting to disappear already) and one last fire, before calling it a night and turning in.

We stare into the flames and sit around until just after 4.30am and talk about the previous few days. And other stuff.

19. Another Year Gone

A truly horrendous bacon sandwich the following morning was a bit of a downer, but we decamp and we’re ready to go... about three hours after waking up (no rush!).

I guess every Glastonbury is different. Whilst there are many different bands there each year the surroundings are broadly the same – the collection of food outlets, the stages, the site map remain unchanged, the stone circle, the flags - all seem comfortable and familiar. With this one, I felt my experience was often “at arms length”. As I said earlier, you need not just the artists but also the audience, and this audience was rather distracted (and quite rightly so) going into the event, and throughout much of it. However you need time to let the mind breathe every now and again, and the Glastonbury air (thick with woodsmoke) served the purpose very well. So that’s what I did. I breathed the air.

Much more could of course be said about the event (but you’ve done well to make it this far, dear reader, so I'll start to wind it up). There is no real time for mention of the lip balm (contains “drugs”) passed out by the Somerset and Avon Constabulary (odd choice), of the queues outside the Orange tent (friends queuing up together, impassive, silent, waiting to get the juice back into their phones in order to be able to text each other again), or for the spider I spotted attempting to spin a web in the hair of the lady in front of me at the Alabama 3 performance (some dancing would surely have cured this predicament?). Of those that I wish I’d seen but didn't, I suspect the top few would be Jay-Z, Elbow, maybe Seasick Steve and perhaps Franz Ferdinand. But I saw the latter some time ago at Brixton Academy when they only had one album of songs, and I've managed to book tickets to see Elbow at The Roundhouse, so that just leaves Jay-Z and Steve, no doubt dueting somewhere near you soon. Or perhaps Jay-Z will be supporting Oasis (or the other way around) at a Festival coming up. I’ll scan the press...

I’ve seen so many different types of music – perhaps too disparate and diverse to be cohesive, but then if you didn’t want that potential why come to Glastonbury?

I had a lift for part of the way home, then train (thank you Southeastern) and another train (thank you Southern) to finish it off (it is our business, you know!). The trip home was longer than predicted (although only the bit in the car), but not longer than expected with hindsight (surely not gridlocked roads due to volume of traffic again??). And based on the sound of what we believed to be a dodgy wheel bearing by the end of the trip (not my car!) we also had the potential to complete the journey on just the three wheels. [A footnote says it was a bit of trim that somehow dislodged and started making a noise - well, that's what I've been told to say!]

So I’m back at Victoria Station where there are other shell-shocked individuals with rucksacks wandering around. I catch the train back to Wandsworth Road with two other “Glastoed up” people still on the train. I try a few words, twice, but they are back into London-mode. No more conversation. No more conversation. So that’s that. Another year. To misquote Verbal Kint, "And then. Just like that, it's gone".

I hope you enjoyed my musings. There is a feedback form on this website if you have anything to say. We do stuff to do with technology and public transport information – so have a look around. I appreciate the tollerance in letting me post this here amongst this business material. More chance of it being found, and hey, if you found this via a Glastonbury link, you might like what we do as well.

Oh. Finally, http://www.carbontrust.co.uk. Do what you can.

Patrick

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