Glastonbury festival is probably my event of the year. This year the fun begins before I even get there. The coach journey down to my favourite farm on Wednesday is full of friendly and excited people making for a great start to the festival. I arrive and eventually set up my tent, wander round the site, marvel at the beautiful sunset, enjoy some fireworks, catch up with old friends and make new ones, and chill out in the delightful Stone Circle.
They say that you can attend Glastonbury, watch no bands, and still have an amazing time. The Green Fields may be the best indicator of this. I spend much of Thursday here. This is a lovely area of the festival, a hippy haven with plenty to see and do. My friend and I see the word ‘free’ preceding the word ‘tea’ and promptly follow them. They lead us to a welcoming Burmese tent filled with information, petitions regarding political prisoners and an abundance of free Burmese tea. In the spirit of the festival, we’re sat at a tiny table with some new people to chat to whilst a lovely blend of green tea is served to us in very cute cups. Onwards we stumble, this time across a band of old men in fancy dress singing farm ditties complete with animal noises and Tom Jones covers. The day gets even better as I get my face painted and receive lovely gifts from my friend which she picked up on her travels in India. Better still, as we stop at a bandstand to enjoy a bluegrass version of 2 Unlimited’s No Limits. Awesome. The night belongs to Shangri-La and Block 9- the premier night-life hotspots of Glastonbury festival. Plenty of weird and wonderful sights and raves.
All this before the festival even officially starts. The official start is great though, seen in with hip-hop legends Wu-Tang Clan. I couldn’t look much less ghetto wrapped up in my rain mac and clutching my can of Pimms & lemonade, but the clan themselves are bizarrely dressed in towels and bathrobes so anything goes I guess. They assure us, over and over, that this is the best hip-hop show we will ever witness. Not sure this is entirely true, but it’s pretty good, and Gravel Pit gets the crowd wooping and wiggling despite the rain. Excitement for Bright Eyes is riding high, but nothing prepares me for Conor Oberst’s forest-like cape and the revisiting of so many old favourites. Namely Bowl of Oranges and The Calender Hung Itself, which are real highlights of the set, perfectly flaunting Oberst’s melting pot of mental instability and poignancy. What follows is a decision I’ve been deliberating all day. I’ve been excited to see Morrissey since I got a ticket. But rumours are rife of a secret Radiohead set at The Park. (Note to Radiohead, next time you play Glasto, how about you stop trying so hard to be understated and just headline? Note to Morrissey, I am deeply sorry for not choosing you to begin with. I should have). So I foolishly decide upon Radiohead. Of course, everyone has heard the rumours, and The Park stage- wonderful as it is, is without screens, and does not accommodate a band as big Radiohead, especially for fans as vertically challenged as I am. Realising that wherever I stand I will be unable to see or neither see nor hear, I run through the mud, rain and thousands of people to rectify my decision. I am not one to normally run, particularly in deep sticky, mud, but Morrissey is the light at the end of the tunnel and run I do. All the way across the festival. Twenty minutes later and I make it to Mozza. Totally worth it as I manage to catch a cover of Satellite of Love, a rant involving calling David Cameron a ‘silly twit’, Meat Is Murder, Irish Blood, English Heart and This Charming Man. I am so excited to hear This Charming Man live that I have tears in my eyes. Although the band lack that Smiths sparkle and the guitarist is far from a match to Marr; in terms of vocals and passion, Morrissey is on top form. I find out I have missed loads of Smiths songs which upsets me, so I cheer myself up with a delicious bacon and avocado wrap and head back to The Park to see Caribou for the third time in ten months. I’m not sure what more I can say about Caribou as a live band, except perhaps that they’re so good that they make you feel happy to be alive. Night time festivities take me back to Shangri-La, to Club Dada, which has a host of electro-swing, which might just be my new favourite combination of genres to dance to.
Saturday begins with Tame Impala on the Pyramid stage, who start off well with their brand of dreamy psychedelia and a worthy cover of Massive Attack’s Angel, but drift a little and my attention gradually wavers. I wander into what appears to be a big Bhangra party, and don’t hesitate to join. It is a band called RSVP, who are full of exuberance and fun leaving me filled with energy. I decide to channel this energy creatively, and head to the crafts area of the Green Fields. I happily play with some clay and make a snail. I’m pretty pleased with my creation so I put it on display before going to see Graham Coxon and The Walkmen. Coxon is adorable and rock n’ roll in equal measure before The Walkmen arrive in suits, sounding as sharp as they look. There is possibly no better feeling than seeing one of your favourite songs live, so as they launch into The Rat I beam and well up with sheer joy. Strong rumours circulate of Pulp being the special guests at The Park tonight. I love Pulp, but after my Radiohead ordeal, I am not going to make the same mistake again. And anyway, I’m seeing them next week at Wireless. So I make the excellent decision to go and see Elbow. The plan was to leave their set early to try and catch some of Janelle Monaé‘s. But they are so good that I cannot tear myself away. The sun is out, but it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t, Guy Garvey radiates enough warmth and loveliness as it is. If ever there were lessons on how to get a crowd going, this man should be the teacher. ‘Reverse Mexican waves’ creating a rippling effect through the whole crowd, responding to the crowd’s requests to down his pint and an abundance of audience interaction- it is hard not to love this man. But these are all secondary to Elbow’s rousing anthems, seemingly perfect for the time and place. Perfect Weather To Fly, Open Arms and One Day Like This are absolutely gorgeous and surely melt even the coldest of hearts. After Elbow, more running. This time to the Wow! stage in the dance village to see Neneh Cherry, who performs what is sadly a very short set but to a nicely intimate crowd. She appears to have bypassed the ageing process and is ridiculously cool, whether she is stomping around in her wellies to Manchild, tripping over and laughing it off, rapping in Buffalo Stance, or belting out the set’s highlight- 7 Seconds, which even has the security guard singing along. My headliner decision tonight is Big Boi. I have already seen the Chemical Brothers, but walking past them to get to West Holts is painful as they sound fantastic. But thankfully, so is Big Boi. With the aid of a band dressed in matching green Adidas tracksuits, and some very unlikely looking dancers, he rips through lots of Outkast classics with a whole load of energy to a crowd which is filled with a sense of hip-hop community spirit. Afterwards, I make the mistake of having a little lie down. Needless to say I miss out on tonight’s night-life. But tomorrow is a big day. It’s Beyoncé day, and I need to be fresh for it.
After a long slumber, I awake ready to prepare for Beyoncé. My friends and I are sick with excitement to see the queen of booty, and spend a good couple of hours trawling the festival for something suitably ridiculous to wear. We settle upon matching metallic hotpants in varying colours. I opt for gold, they are far from flattering but somehow they seem wholly appropriate for tonight. I split my afternoon between the Noisettes (what a great frontwoman!), Laura Marling (so proud she’s made it to the Pyramid stage!) and Paul Simon (okay, too excited for B to care about anyone else by this point). Early evening is spent making sure our faces look as sparkly as our newly hotpanted booties. The glitter is piled on, and on, and on, until skin is a distant visual memory. Various Beyoncé slogans are temporarily tattooed onto our arms and we are ready to go.
I am trembling with excitement. Beyoncé is one of my heroes and as she emerges onto the Pyramid stage to Crazy In Love I feel like I might explode. This feels like such a special moment. Not only for us, but touchingly, for her too. After a fierce opening, a string of hits including Single Ladies, Naughty Girl, and Baby Boy (which confusingly features Tricky, what is he doing there exactly? Not sure he knows himself) and fireworks, she tells us this is her dream; “Glaston-berry! I’ve always wanted to be a rock star!” she beams. She certainly rocks it. She is so incredible that I doubt whether she is even human. Her elaborate and sassy dance routines would leave anyone else out of breath, but no, she manages to belt out her astonishing voice alongside the moves and all the while she looks insanely fantastic in a dazzling gold jacket, black hotpants and massive hair, maintaining a careful mix of sexy and classy. She takes a moment to ‘soak it up’ mouthing “Oh my god” to herself, which is a humbling moment. Here is a global superstar, who is overwhelmed by her audience. Such is the power of Glastonbury. Her audience interaction is great- “sing it to your ex!”, “put your hand in his face and say woah oh oh!”, particularly in Best Thing I Never Had and Irreplaceable. The audience sound awful in comparison, but they are clearly enjoying themselves. She radiates a deep affinity with music throughout, but makes some strange decisions. A cover of Alanis Morissette’s You Outta Know is excellent, but Sex on Fire I can do without. She is far less annoying than Kings of Leon singing it, but a shit song is a shit song, and the time could be better spent on Deja Vu or Work It Out. She also cuts down the brilliant Run The World (Girls), and yet lets the much weaker 1+1 drag on. Pleasingly though, she does lesser known Why Don’t You Love Me. She asks if she has any Destiny’s Child fans in the house. I scream so loud my lungs almost collapse. No sign of Kelly or Michelle despite rumours, but she performs many of the DC hits in a medley which makes for one of the most exciting moments in my life and the definite highlight of the set. Halo is an emotional end to a mind-blowing set. There is girl-power brimming right from the back of the stage all the way up to the top of the hill. I feel empowered. Tonight Beyoncé confirms herself as the greatest performer of our generation.
I leave reluctantly on Monday, my heart heavy with the knowledge that I must make the depressing adjustment to real life and wait another two years for the next one.
Beret Bird Says... 