We have bread and fishes, and a jug of red wine
So, I've just spent the weekend at one of the biggest and most diverse festivals in the world. ChrisC and I drove down on Thursday morning, and entered the weird and wonderful world of Glastonbury; neither of us had been before. Thus far, everyone who's asked me how it was has wanted to know about the mud, and/or the female urinals. Kudos to onebyone for actually asking me which bands I saw.
To get those two thorny issues out of the way: yes, it was muddy. Not, according to veterans of The Mud Years, real mud, because it was only ankle deep most places. But mud none the less, and a hell of a lot of rain. However, thanks to a daring dawn raid on Millett's, carried out by ChrisC, I had a pair of wellies, which rendered mud
mostly irrelevant. Wellies are my new favourite thing. They're great.
Yes, there were female-only urinals, which involved a DIY origami cardboard funnel-scoop thing. They work, I'm not sure they're quite the revolutionary concept they claim to be. On the other hand, sufficiently many people had clearly gone "ewww" that they were largely queue-free, which has to be a good thing.
And the important stuff. Glastonbury is always advertised as a "performing arts festival" - I'd kind of assumed it was really just a big rock festival with some extra bits tacked on. This is utterly untrue. Arriving at around lunchtime on Thursday, we happily wandered about til midnight, and continually found new stuff all weekend - and
there were still things we never found. Every corner you turn there's something to look at - a climbing wall. A 25ft wooden scorpion. An inflatable wizard. A specimen eco-friendly garden, complete with wicker dens and decorative lanterns. People to tell your fortune, teach you tai-chi, give you a massage. Exhibitions on green power, sustainable
forests and projects to provide clean water to areas of Africa. Tipis. Stalls. A giant machine which appeared to convert aluminium cans into flamestacks and Johnny Cash tracks. And everywhere, people Doing Things. We devised a new game - Performance Artist or Nutter - and played it on and off all weekend.
I've heard many horror stories about festival food, and can happily say that I managed to avoid anything which I wasn't entirely happy to eat. And yes, eating isn't cheap - they have a captive audience. Though, to be honest, a lot of meals did seem reasonable value, it was things like drinks and ice creams where the markup got horrendous.
I've also learnt more about the exact dimensions of my tent. ChrisC's friend Dom had saved camping space for us, and I stated quite confidently that my tent would not fit in the teeny tiny space he pointed me at. I was wrong. Having never been to this style of festival before, I was wholly unprepared for the campsites - vast seas of tents
with little or no space between, save for the gaps with clusters of people round fires. Some people camped in huge composite monster tents, made of dome tents and tarps. Someone had a massive white geodesic dome. Walking through becomes a real challenge, both of dexterity and landmark spotting. Getting back to my tent: get to Pennards Hill, walk up the path to Firestation 60, look for the Welsh flag, look for the small
yellow and black flag, say hello to the people who've set up camp round the biggest open space as you walk through, fall over those strangely crossed guy ropes, aim for Dom's white gazebo and try not to get your foot stuck in the tent belonging to Incredible Snoring Guy.
And to borrow an award category from the NME: top thing on a stick. For those unfamiliar, it seems to be a common policy to have a thing on a stick, partly so your friends can find you, and presumably so you can identify yourself when watching the TV coverage. Everything from flags of nations or football teams amd a rather fetching turquoise silk flag with the anarchy A on it to cuddly toys on sticks. My top thing on a
stick ? A small, white flag which said in bold, black capitals: FLAG.
Contrary to expectation, neither Tiger Woods nor Spartacus seemed to be there. And it seems Gay Bar is the new Bollocks (though preliminary enquiries suggest this may just have been the people I was camped near.)
Every so often, people would wander through our little encampment offering things for sale. My favourite was the girl who came past carrying a fetching basket, advertising hash truffles. Not at all unusual - except that she was very keen to inform us that these were organic hash truffles. I found this very funny. Nobody else
seemed to :)
I feel like I could write pages and pages, and still not cover everything. As it is, I'll stick down some thoughts which spring to mind, and probably still run to a ridiculous length. And then constantly think of things I've forgotten. Yes, there's loads more stuff that happened. But:
Friday
Bands seen:
Kasabian, Experimental Pop Band, The Others, Wilco, The Rapture, Badly Drawn
Boy, (Snow Patrol), Franz Ferdinand, Love with Arthur Lee, Tindersticks, (Oasis), Chemical Brothers
Bands in brackets are those whom I didn't really see for long enough (either through accident or design) to form much of an opinion on.
Highlights were Franz Ferdinand, The Rapture and Tindersticks. Franz Ferdinand are not revolutionary, they're not going to change the face of British music, but they are fun, and I bounced up and down like a fool.
Tindersticks were in the Acoustic tent, which meant they had slightly more consistent sound than the outdoor stages, and just managed to hit the lovely combination of clever instrumentation and fine songs.
Badly Drawn Boy was a little odd, varying between slightly lacklustre songs, and bizarre between-song banter in which he did his best to alienate large chunks of the audience. Wilco and Love were both bands I enjoyed immensely, despite being almost entirely unfamiliar with their songs.
At some point during Friday I finally conceded that I just wasn't going to get to see all the bands I wanted to. Too many clashed or overlapped, for a start. Plus the idea of sprinting madly from stage to stage seemed completely against the spirit of the thing - particularly when there was so much to see when wandering gently from one place to another.
Saturday
Bands seen:
Sister Sledge, 22-20s, Atilla The Stockbroker's Barnstormer, Scissor Sisters, Keane, (British Sea Power), The Egg, (Damien Rice), Tim Booth, Paul McCartney
Attila the Stockbroker was a complete accident - we headed off at random towards any stage whose name featured the word "tent", since it was at that time really really raining. He's someone I've wanted to see for ages, and his brand of "medieval punk rock" works remarkably well; I can see why he often seems to get associated with Blyth Power. Anyway, the world needs more T-Rex pastiches protesting the evils of dictatorship and drink-driving (Scumball Pinochet).
Paul McCartney was somewhat odd, in that he played a Beatles-heavy set of really quite good songs, then spoiled it with between-song patter that made him sound like an elderly children's entertainer, trying desperately to whip up some enthusiasm. Nice fireworks in Live and Let Die, though.
Disappointment of the day was Damien Rice - boy, can that guy whine. He whipped out a cover of Creep which prevented us leaving (briefly), but he really sounds like he needs a good slap.
Sunday
English National Opera, (The Zutons), The Divine Comedy, ?, James Brown, Belle And Sebastian, Morrissey, Bill Bailey
Yes, the English National Opera. On the Pyramid stage at Sunday lunchtime, performing Ride of the Valkyries to a huge and enthusiastic crowd. I'm not sure the ENO were really ready to have thousands of people yelling for an encore. If anyone bought the Times, and it contained photos of people in plastic horned helmets, that'll be the people I was with - the photographer thought they were great. Bonus points to the guy who turned up in a fur coat and a horned helmet made from tin foil and two bananas.
The ? is because, after meeting Dan and Ruth for tea in the afternoon, a wander round the Green Fields was unexpectedly curtailed by heavy rain at a time when I was not in a waterproof format. There was a tent with a band. It wasn't raining inside. Examination of the line up after the fact suggests they may have been Invisible Jones - people in odd clothes and odd make up, doing reasonably standard rock'n'roll
bass-guitar-drums. Infinitely better than getting rained on.
The Divine Comedy's set was wonderful - and also served up the quote of the festival. Neil Hannon, speaking in very precise BBC English: We thought since this is a rock festival we ought to do a rock song. So we're going to cover a song by The Queens of the Stone Age. As soon as he gets his banjo on. And they did, and it was No-one Knows, and it was great.
And a surprise entrant for Band of the Festival: Belle & Sebastian. I'm not a particular fan, or hugely familiar with them, and indeed we'd only wandered over to listen to them briefly because the timetable had all gone to hell again, and Billy Bragg wasn't on when he was supposed to be. They were playing early evening, in sunshine that seemed to suit
their music perfectly. And even though there was a major downpour mid-set, people stayed and were rewarded with a rainbow. Further thoughts on Belle & Sebastian to come at some point when I have a spare moment.
And while the final headlining band (Muse) played on the Pyramid Stage, I was on the extreme Eastern edge of the festival site, standing in front of a tiny stage, packed so closely in the dense crowd that I couldn't even see the man performing. Why ? Well, it was Bill Bailey. He rocked. And if you've never heard Zippedy Doo Dah (his proposed replacement for the national anthem) played in the style of Portishead, you simply haven't lived. Ditto that lost Kraftwerk B-side, Das Hokey Cokey.
Wet ? Yes. Fantastic ? Yes. Want to go again ? Hell, yes.
To get those two thorny issues out of the way: yes, it was muddy. Not, according to veterans of The Mud Years, real mud, because it was only ankle deep most places. But mud none the less, and a hell of a lot of rain. However, thanks to a daring dawn raid on Millett's, carried out by ChrisC, I had a pair of wellies, which rendered mud
mostly irrelevant. Wellies are my new favourite thing. They're great.
Yes, there were female-only urinals, which involved a DIY origami cardboard funnel-scoop thing. They work, I'm not sure they're quite the revolutionary concept they claim to be. On the other hand, sufficiently many people had clearly gone "ewww" that they were largely queue-free, which has to be a good thing.
And the important stuff. Glastonbury is always advertised as a "performing arts festival" - I'd kind of assumed it was really just a big rock festival with some extra bits tacked on. This is utterly untrue. Arriving at around lunchtime on Thursday, we happily wandered about til midnight, and continually found new stuff all weekend - and
there were still things we never found. Every corner you turn there's something to look at - a climbing wall. A 25ft wooden scorpion. An inflatable wizard. A specimen eco-friendly garden, complete with wicker dens and decorative lanterns. People to tell your fortune, teach you tai-chi, give you a massage. Exhibitions on green power, sustainable
forests and projects to provide clean water to areas of Africa. Tipis. Stalls. A giant machine which appeared to convert aluminium cans into flamestacks and Johnny Cash tracks. And everywhere, people Doing Things. We devised a new game - Performance Artist or Nutter - and played it on and off all weekend.
I've heard many horror stories about festival food, and can happily say that I managed to avoid anything which I wasn't entirely happy to eat. And yes, eating isn't cheap - they have a captive audience. Though, to be honest, a lot of meals did seem reasonable value, it was things like drinks and ice creams where the markup got horrendous.
I've also learnt more about the exact dimensions of my tent. ChrisC's friend Dom had saved camping space for us, and I stated quite confidently that my tent would not fit in the teeny tiny space he pointed me at. I was wrong. Having never been to this style of festival before, I was wholly unprepared for the campsites - vast seas of tents
with little or no space between, save for the gaps with clusters of people round fires. Some people camped in huge composite monster tents, made of dome tents and tarps. Someone had a massive white geodesic dome. Walking through becomes a real challenge, both of dexterity and landmark spotting. Getting back to my tent: get to Pennards Hill, walk up the path to Firestation 60, look for the Welsh flag, look for the small
yellow and black flag, say hello to the people who've set up camp round the biggest open space as you walk through, fall over those strangely crossed guy ropes, aim for Dom's white gazebo and try not to get your foot stuck in the tent belonging to Incredible Snoring Guy.
And to borrow an award category from the NME: top thing on a stick. For those unfamiliar, it seems to be a common policy to have a thing on a stick, partly so your friends can find you, and presumably so you can identify yourself when watching the TV coverage. Everything from flags of nations or football teams amd a rather fetching turquoise silk flag with the anarchy A on it to cuddly toys on sticks. My top thing on a
stick ? A small, white flag which said in bold, black capitals: FLAG.
Contrary to expectation, neither Tiger Woods nor Spartacus seemed to be there. And it seems Gay Bar is the new Bollocks (though preliminary enquiries suggest this may just have been the people I was camped near.)
Every so often, people would wander through our little encampment offering things for sale. My favourite was the girl who came past carrying a fetching basket, advertising hash truffles. Not at all unusual - except that she was very keen to inform us that these were organic hash truffles. I found this very funny. Nobody else
seemed to :)
I feel like I could write pages and pages, and still not cover everything. As it is, I'll stick down some thoughts which spring to mind, and probably still run to a ridiculous length. And then constantly think of things I've forgotten. Yes, there's loads more stuff that happened. But:
Friday
Bands seen:
Kasabian, Experimental Pop Band, The Others, Wilco, The Rapture, Badly Drawn
Boy, (Snow Patrol), Franz Ferdinand, Love with Arthur Lee, Tindersticks, (Oasis), Chemical Brothers
Bands in brackets are those whom I didn't really see for long enough (either through accident or design) to form much of an opinion on.
Highlights were Franz Ferdinand, The Rapture and Tindersticks. Franz Ferdinand are not revolutionary, they're not going to change the face of British music, but they are fun, and I bounced up and down like a fool.
Tindersticks were in the Acoustic tent, which meant they had slightly more consistent sound than the outdoor stages, and just managed to hit the lovely combination of clever instrumentation and fine songs.
Badly Drawn Boy was a little odd, varying between slightly lacklustre songs, and bizarre between-song banter in which he did his best to alienate large chunks of the audience. Wilco and Love were both bands I enjoyed immensely, despite being almost entirely unfamiliar with their songs.
At some point during Friday I finally conceded that I just wasn't going to get to see all the bands I wanted to. Too many clashed or overlapped, for a start. Plus the idea of sprinting madly from stage to stage seemed completely against the spirit of the thing - particularly when there was so much to see when wandering gently from one place to another.
Saturday
Bands seen:
Sister Sledge, 22-20s, Atilla The Stockbroker's Barnstormer, Scissor Sisters, Keane, (British Sea Power), The Egg, (Damien Rice), Tim Booth, Paul McCartney
Attila the Stockbroker was a complete accident - we headed off at random towards any stage whose name featured the word "tent", since it was at that time really really raining. He's someone I've wanted to see for ages, and his brand of "medieval punk rock" works remarkably well; I can see why he often seems to get associated with Blyth Power. Anyway, the world needs more T-Rex pastiches protesting the evils of dictatorship and drink-driving (Scumball Pinochet).
Paul McCartney was somewhat odd, in that he played a Beatles-heavy set of really quite good songs, then spoiled it with between-song patter that made him sound like an elderly children's entertainer, trying desperately to whip up some enthusiasm. Nice fireworks in Live and Let Die, though.
Disappointment of the day was Damien Rice - boy, can that guy whine. He whipped out a cover of Creep which prevented us leaving (briefly), but he really sounds like he needs a good slap.
Sunday
English National Opera, (The Zutons), The Divine Comedy, ?, James Brown, Belle And Sebastian, Morrissey, Bill Bailey
Yes, the English National Opera. On the Pyramid stage at Sunday lunchtime, performing Ride of the Valkyries to a huge and enthusiastic crowd. I'm not sure the ENO were really ready to have thousands of people yelling for an encore. If anyone bought the Times, and it contained photos of people in plastic horned helmets, that'll be the people I was with - the photographer thought they were great. Bonus points to the guy who turned up in a fur coat and a horned helmet made from tin foil and two bananas.
The ? is because, after meeting Dan and Ruth for tea in the afternoon, a wander round the Green Fields was unexpectedly curtailed by heavy rain at a time when I was not in a waterproof format. There was a tent with a band. It wasn't raining inside. Examination of the line up after the fact suggests they may have been Invisible Jones - people in odd clothes and odd make up, doing reasonably standard rock'n'roll
bass-guitar-drums. Infinitely better than getting rained on.
The Divine Comedy's set was wonderful - and also served up the quote of the festival. Neil Hannon, speaking in very precise BBC English: We thought since this is a rock festival we ought to do a rock song. So we're going to cover a song by The Queens of the Stone Age. As soon as he gets his banjo on. And they did, and it was No-one Knows, and it was great.
And a surprise entrant for Band of the Festival: Belle & Sebastian. I'm not a particular fan, or hugely familiar with them, and indeed we'd only wandered over to listen to them briefly because the timetable had all gone to hell again, and Billy Bragg wasn't on when he was supposed to be. They were playing early evening, in sunshine that seemed to suit
their music perfectly. And even though there was a major downpour mid-set, people stayed and were rewarded with a rainbow. Further thoughts on Belle & Sebastian to come at some point when I have a spare moment.
And while the final headlining band (Muse) played on the Pyramid Stage, I was on the extreme Eastern edge of the festival site, standing in front of a tiny stage, packed so closely in the dense crowd that I couldn't even see the man performing. Why ? Well, it was Bill Bailey. He rocked. And if you've never heard Zippedy Doo Dah (his proposed replacement for the national anthem) played in the style of Portishead, you simply haven't lived. Ditto that lost Kraftwerk B-side, Das Hokey Cokey.
Wet ? Yes. Fantastic ? Yes. Want to go again ? Hell, yes.