And after all that, public transport which plagued by a litany of failures carried me to the Glastonbury Festival Of Contemporary Performing Arts. Everyone failed to acquire tickets so it was just me, Radeel, TD and my leaky tent. Still, once we’d mopped up our sleeping bags with our t-shirts, a lot of fun was had and I caught the following artists:
The Undertones – it was raining and I daren’t venture into the mud baths to watch them properly.
Editors – a band approaching the peak of their popularity, they filled the Other Stage admirably and impressed me immensely. Deserved a better slot.
Maxïmo Park – pop perfection and the crowd outside the tent was overflowing into a river, but no-one seemed to care.
Dark Angel – not enough rinsage for my liking.
M83 – simply beautiful. Play any of their records at full volume on a massive sound system, close your eyes and dare to disagree with me.
Shpongle (DJ set) – this got pretty wonky and I wasn’t even tripping. Barefooted mud stomping added to the ambiance.
Bloc Party – the indie snob in me was yawning already but they do have excellent songs.
Röyksopp – wow: bouncy and anthemic exactly how Fat Boy Slim should have been.
Fatboy Slim – the set was drab, uninspired and littered with mistakes. Even though I was on the front row with magic specs I left after half an hour.
British Sea Power – not at their best, but they were still magnificent and didn’t fail to lift my mood immeasurably.
Hallucinogen In Dub – mmm: bassy and deliciously groovy.
Art Brut – their wit finally made me realise why these guys have such a big following.
The Rakes – I liked them.
The Departure – they played a better set in Cambridge and I’d been overlistening to them recently. Needs more charisma.
The Subways – catchy and poptastic.
The Longcut – simply epic.
The Earlies – just as epic in a different, bigger way.
Kasabian – we couldn’t really get as close as we’d have liked, but there’s no denying the quality of the tunes.
The Go! Team – despite hearing raves about their live show, I wasn’t feeling it at all. Finally technical difficulties rounded off the weekend’s biggest disappointment.
Liquid Ross – I know it was early in the morning, but it’s always the right time for high-BPM insanity.
Chris T-T – played a lot of songs from 9 Red Songs and convinced everyone there that the man’s a genius.
The Dresden Dolls – as brilliant as you might expect.
The Dears – the acid had kicked in which gave them a whole new (but still excellent) perspective.
The Bravery – Radeel dragged me directly in front of the bass bins and I found it hard to deal with overshowmanship and having my ribs rattled out of my chest too much so rushed off to the Dance Village.
Ans – squelchsquishboshreally.
Joti Sidhu – nibblenibblenibbleclackwoooooooooshBOOMB
Tristan – blatblatblatlovely.
Son Kite – wohohohooaaaohbeatsbeatsbeatsacid.
Ott (DJ set) – Spannered In Pilton.
On the Sunday afternoon the clouds lurked beautifully as though the world were going to end – a mezzanine of water droplets hung like soldier puppets on strings preparing to bring about armageddon. It was glorious. That night I realised I’ve always been in love with Glastonbury: sitting under the stars in the Green Fields listening to drummers and watching firepoi; wandering through the Lost Vagueness; being serenaded by bubbles and a kid with an electroacoustic after stopping off at some shop on the way back to the tent; the London squat crew emerging from nowhere; hilarious short films in the cinema field; stomping my legs off while on a marvellously pitched hill from where I could see the rolling hills around, the thousands and thousands of tents, the amazing sky, a billion smiling faces and god himself.