Glastonbury - Worthy Farm, Somerset - 22-24/6/07
4/5
By: Various Scribes
FRIDAY 22nd JUNE 2007:
What better way to start the festival than with a surprisingly early trip to the Other Stage to catch arguably Britain's best indie band. After shuffling our way to the front we were treated to a classic set from The Cribs, kicking off with 'Hey Scenesters' before racing through songs both new and old (all bona-fide indie classics I hasten to add). All that was left was for a memorable 'Ryan incident', which this came in the form of his ill-advised but ultimately well meant rant about the attitudes of mainstream indie bands being far more of a concern than climate issues in 2007. They finished their set by destroying most of their instruments. Glastonbury 2007 had begun. (Gareth Roberts)
Kicking the festival off for me and doing Cardiff proud on the Park stage early Friday afternoon were Los Campesinos!. The seven (almost) graduates from Cardiff Uni took this little slice of Glastonbury by storm and really started to show the world of what they are capable. The rain didn't put anybody off and handfuls upon on handfuls of friends and even more strangers gathered to watch Gareth Campesinos! show off his shiny new lead singer moves at the front of the stage. But all regalia aside, this show truly marked the distance the band have come in the last year after a number of headline shows around the country to mark the release of their second single 'You! Me! Dancing!' In the space that the band have been given over the last few months they have transformed themselves from a promising young glock'n'roll band into something of an accomplished, tight and highly entertaining stage presence. This fantastically rough set of diamonds have been buffed up to a brain aching shine without loosing a single ounce of charm along the way. They are still as beautifully wonky as ever but put themselves forward with a new confident and zestful anticipation. Closing with 'Sweet Dreams Sweet Cheeks', Gareth leaps into the crowd with all the drama of a hardcore punk show in South Wales as the audience gather around him, dragging them all, instruments flailing, right into the spotlight of the big time. It's world conquering time. (Sofie Jenkinson)
Gogol Bordello never let you down either, as there is still nothing quite like watching a bunch of unhinged Russian gypsy punks in action. You never quite know what you're gonna get, but you always know it's going to be good. From battering the crap out of a fire bucket onwards there's nothing ordinary about this performance, each note and each false move are truly exhilarating. GB leave no stone unturned to get under the skin of every person knee deep in mud watching them, and in doing so secure their spot in the hearts of the Pyramid Stage crowd as one of the highlights of the festival. (Sofie Jenkinson)
Our wait between The Cribs and next band up, Modest Mouse, saw the first heavy downpour of the day, and by now the dreaded mud was beginning to appear everywhere. Even in our souls. In a few minutes the ground turned from an off green into a deep brown, and unfortunately the rain didn't let up during Modest Mouse's somewhat mediocre set. The presence of ex-Smith Johnny Marr provided the real excitement, and whilst they nobly set about delivering their back catalogue with as much gusto as they could muster, it all felt a little tired. There is no doubting the credentials of this band at all, We must have just caught them on a bad day. (Gareth Roberts)
The rain continued to dowse us intermittently as we trudged over to the John Peel stage to catch the spiky pop perfection of Good Shoes. Looking well at home in a surprisingly heaving tent, the 'Shoes effortlessly delivered a brilliant set comprising almost entirely of songs from their debut album. These lads wouldn't look out of place on one of the larger stages, and judging by the crowd's rapturous reaction, next year should be the year that they go stratospheric. (Gareth Roberts)
There were rumors flying about all day, not that that is an unusual thing at Glastonbury. Last time someone convinced me that Cliff Richard had indeed died and I didn't believe that Richard Whiteley actually had (God rest his soul!). Crazy days. This year, however, there was a new part to the already colourful tapestry that makes up Glastonbury and that was Emily Eavis' Park field. It was an amazing little slice of bohemian fun, like the entire Bestival festival had been distilled into one tiny little brilliant field. Anyway, on Friday night the rumour went round that Micheal Eavis was going to open the field with the help of a special guest. The rumour tussled between it being Micheal Stipe (in the country for R.E.M.'s Ireland dates) and Lily Allen. Either way curiosity got the better of me and I went for a look.
...And it was indeed the lovely Lily Allen. Although not quite as impressive a special guest as Stipe, she nevertheless came on cider in hand and showed us all that she has a pair of lungs to back up all the hype and attention that surrounds her, not that all of us needed convincing. Rolling out a miniature bunch of hits from 'LDN' all the way through to her cover of 'Heart Of Glass' Allen shows that she does need any of the ornamentation that so often follows her around and that her vocal chords alone (plus some cider) fill the stage all of their own accord, and beautifully. (Sofie Jenkinson)
Whatever mood Bloc Party are in, the crowd are in that mood also. When playing songs from their classic debut, a rousing 'This Modern Love' or a 'She's Hearing Voices' so vigorous we'd all be dancing if we could lift our shoes out of the mud, they're grinning inanely and we're bellowing along. Everyone's friends. When playing songs from their flawed follow up 'A Weekend In The City', the Party look morose, apologetic even. Despite us living with them for a while now, the likes of 'Hunting for Witches' (a song dealing with the London bombings, released on 7/7/07 - a coincidence?) or 'Waiting for the 7.18' fail to generate anything other than polite applause. Like the band, we're waiting for something like 'Banquet' to start, simply for the reason that, with those old (better) songs, both band and audience are incontrovertibly happier. (Tom Hannan)
For a moment it became difficult to know where to sleep at night, given that Rufus Wainwright had stolen all the camp. It was a set that went from the sublime (Rufio's gentle renditions of a large portion of his new album 'Release the Stars', peaking in glorious takes on 'Rules and Regulations' and 'Going to a Town') to the ridiculous, with the now obligatory appearance of a fellow Wainwright (this time Martha) for an under rehearsed 'Hallelujah' and Rufus' attempt at cabaret (the lad dressing up in drag and singing 'Forget Your Troubles, Come On Get Happy', which was really rather cute when it started) both doomed to technical failure. Seeing him struggle only made you like him more, though. (Tom Hannan)
With tonight's Glastonbury set, Arcade Fire achieve what was 'Neon Bible's aim all along - transferring personal suffering in to a universal setting. A stellar set drawing from both of their albums contained everything you would have expected to be wonderful ('Wake Up' and the most off key choir of attendees you'll ever have been a part of, 'Rebellion (Lies)' and its rampant, euphoric yelps, 'Laika' and its premature stage destruction), and a few moments in which newer Arcade Fire songs took their place alongside the greats. The roar that accompanied the church organ's initial appearance on 'Intervention' shows how much that's become a signature tune, whereas the Springsteen homage of 'Antichrist Television Blues' was given such a startling rendition that many of us now hold it as our favourite of all Arcade Fire songs. For about an hour, you felt like you know the deepest thoughts of strangers, and didn't mind them knowing yours either. (Tom Hannan)
She's late, she's shorter than even we expected, and she's got a stupid hat on. She delivers the set of the weekend, and one of the best of our lives. Bjork, aided by a huge, all female brass section, the drumming talents of the inimitable Chris Corsano and tens of thousands of festival goers in fine voice, provides pretty much everything you could have ever wanted from a Bjork set - and it's not often you get to say that about a megastar. It's the perfect visual, sonic and communal spectacle, drawing from each of her seminal albums (a rare appearance of 'I Miss You' and pulverising 'Army of Me' showing how well her early work stands up) and culminating with the laser-aided assault of 'Declare Independence', so heavy that it feels as if the ground might swallow you up and eat you whole. Truly, this was so sensational that it's difficult to think of any other artist currently more on top of her live game than the saintly wonder that is Bjork. (Tom Hannan)
SATURDAY 23rd JUNE 2007:
The Pipettes really need to sort those keyboards out. Horribly out of key they were. However, given that we found it difficult to enjoy the band when they weren't on sonic top form, that must mean that we've evolved from admiring them simply because we want to marry Rose. We must actually like the songs. And, given that when they sort their equipment out and play a brilliant version of 'Pull Shapes' we're totally taken with it, it becomes apparent that perhaps we love the songs even more than we love Rose. (Tom Hannan)
Just like it did at Truck, Brakes start playing and the sun starts shining. Maybe there's some correlation between the appearance of their music, and the appearance of sunshine. If so, book them for every festival ever. When hammering out 'Cease and Desist' they're in full swing, their take on the middle ground between grunge and country working a ruddy treat. Alas, a cover of Johnny Cash's 'Jackson' with guest vocals from Kate Jackson of the Long Blondes (who were due on next) doesn't proceed with quite so much success. (Tom Hannan)
Either Fyfe Dangerfield has either been scoffing too many herbal milkshakes or he's lost it. We'll plum for the former, seen as its Glastonbury. He and his band the Guillemots are in playful mood, beginning by ushering dancers on stilts onstage dressed like wandering plant-pots and ending by Fyfe scrabbling around on the floor in his electric red suit fighting the bath chair he's previously been sat in. Yes, wrestling a seat. Bonkers. And the music ain't none too sane either, ' Made-up Love Song #43' is a bewildering rush and 'Trains To Brazil' is just as weird. Lovely. (Sofie Jenkinson)
You have to admire the tenacity of Dirty Pretty Things. They'll keep playing until people love these songs, and not stop a moment before. This is their second, middle of the afternoon Pyramid Stage slot in two days now, and people are finally starting to get it. Whilst Babyshambles might have two tunes that a mass crowd can sing along to (something which DPT sorely lack), Carl Barat's lot know their way around a hook far better, and feed off this skill to tight effect. You'd be surprised, and delighted, at how many Dirty Pretty Things songs you both recognise and truly enjoy, you know. (Tom Hannan)
Resisting the temptation to open with an obvious joke relating to Holy Fuck's name and how blisteringly awesome they are there is one thing that does need to be said, and that's that they really are good enough to pull off a name so silly. There are not many bands that can transport me into the mindset of Fabric in the wee hours of a Friday night when I'm actually in a sweaty tent in a field in the middle of the afternoon, but Holy Fuck are indeed one of them. I blame them entirely for my late afternoon hangover. With all the electronic intensity of knob-twiddlers around them globe they build and build and build, the electronic equivalent of good foreplay, until you explode with molten ecstasy. Hunched over knobs and keyboards like many before them there is a temptation to peer closer to see whether those buttons are actually connected, but a second later and there is no question that this band are making music right here and they are making it hard. They talk about playing The Leftfield stage on Thursday and how they got shut down for being too loud, "What the f**k is that about? Too loud?" And they're right, the only way to experience these sounds is to experience them loud. Only then can you really loose yourself in this soul tickling, spine thumping sound. (Sofie Jenkinson)
CSS appear just as its about to stop being fun (rainrainrainrainrain), and make it fun for that little bit longer. Standing in the rain knee deep in nondescript brown sludge might not be the best way to see them, but 'Alcohol' (which we drank) and 'Lets Make Love and Listen to Death From Above' (which we wished we were doing) were exactly the kind of sentiments we needed to hear expressed right at that moment. Lovefoxx's lovely, foxy sparkly suit helped, too. (Tom Hannan)
What we previously regarded as the travelling freakshow of Babyshambles turn out in fact to be the band who claim our coveted 'most improved' award. It's only when you see proper hero worship in action, when you see the effect of songs that have strived against all the odds to get here work their magic upon impressionable, suggestible youths that the true (albeit overmagnified) genius of Pete Doherty seems to actually exist. It's also the moment when you realise just how much Dirty Pretty Things could do with a chorus like the one in 'Down in Albion'. (Tom Hannan)
On a rare trip to the Pyramid Stage (it just takes too long to get to from everywhere else), we caught another glimpse of our favourite pop princess, Miss Lily Allen. Bounding on to 'LDN' whilst swigging a can of Strongbow, she really is a superstar in the making, if she isn't one already. Her between song banter is sheer comic genius, and while most in attendance are there to hear 'Smile', it's the collaboration with Terry Hall and Lynval Golding of The Specials for a frankly magnificent run through their classic 'Gangsters' that really gets the crowd going. A pivotal milestone in Allen's career, and one that will hopefully springboard her even deeper into the nations' consciousness where she deserves to be, Strongbow and all. (Gareth Roberts)
MaximoPark cement with this performance their reputation as the thinking mans indie band (or if we're being harsh, the Pigeon Detectives it's OK to like) with a charming Other Stage set. Perhaps it was the fact that the sun was briefly shining that had everyone in such a good mood, perhaps it was 'Going Missing' being delivered with nothing less than the fantastically over dramatic fervour than we would have demanded from Paul Smith, or perhaps it was a combination of the two. Actually, it was definitely the combination. Good weather, good music... they're both just good. Combine the two, you get something magical. (Tom Hannan)
Natasha Khan's infectious beauty overspills the John Peel tent in all directions. The sensibility in which all of Bat For Lashes hold themselves is a sublime and mesmerizing thing to be in the presence of, as always. As the mysterious and ghostly tales are weaved around the feathers in their hair, they spin out above the crowd as wisps of smoke sending everyone into a gentle trance. 'Wizard' and 'Horse & I' stand out as flawless beauties in an already sweet smells bed of roses. The true originality and electrifying ethereality mark Bat For Lashes out as the stand out band of a generation they deserve to be. (Sofie Jenkinson)
It takes an absolute sodding age to get anywhere at this festival, because you're tired, you're probably drunk, and most limiting of all, your feet feel three times heavier than they're meant to be. As such, on your way to see something you actually desire to be in the presence of, you're made to walk past sound you wouldn't normally submit your ears to. In the normal course of a festival, this scribe would avoid Editors like the plague, but there simply wasn't a way of getting to The Glade to see !!! without passing them. As it happened, they seemed to be playing one of those 'nailed it!' sets that every Travis / Coldplay / Keane / Snow Patrol / Embrace type act gets one of at Glastonbury, and didn't sound that appalling at all. A similar trek to see Beirut had us pass Mika however, who had me screaming absurd swear words and death threats at the little prat at the top of my voice. Seriously, unforgivably awful - that's his performance, not my wholly appropriate behaviour. Things like this are the reason the world hates the west. (Tom Hannan)
!!!, along with Battles, are perhaps the best soundtrack you could have to a party. They're both bands whose incredibly dense music, full of inventive ideas and sonic trickery, can be dissected til kingdom come, but whereas Battles look to enjoy their party music because they're thinking very hard about it the whole time and revelling in their own intelligence, !!! just go absolutely bloody crazy. And even though we're surrounded by serene visuals, funny draping and beautiful trees (this stage is called The Glade, and it's beautiful), we all do exactly the same. Its dry enough to dance in here, you see. The band however are intent on going further than even our elaborate moves, climbing different parts of the entire tent, threatening to launch themselves off before remembering that they had early flights in the morning and should probably restrain themselves from such flamboyant acrobatic tendencies. Not particularly rock and roll, you might think. But it was dance as hell. (Tom Hannan)
Taking a moment out and wandering away from the masses at Glastonbury can be one of the most liberating and exciting things to do. Forging your own Glastonbury experience and creating your own adventures is truly the only way to live at this festival. The ultimate side step away from the thronging masses of Killers fans is the salsa infused side step over to the Jazz World stage we took for Rodrigo Y Gabriela. In a miniature quandary over what to do with myself on this, the Saturday evening of Glastonbury I decided to seek advice from above, and so turned to the canvas of the John Peel tent and asked what to do. I lost count of the number of times I saw John Peel loosing himself at the front of the Jazz World stage, and so there was only one answer really. And it was by far the best decision I made all weekend. Rodrigo y Gabriela gave one of the most breath taking and brilliant performances I think I ever will see. The sheer talent and presence of these two Mexicans is electrifying. It's the breath of fresh air so often needed in a time of stale lyrics where rhyming cat and mat now seems to be acceptable. As someone who is naturally drawn to the lyrics of a song I find the lack of them here simply directs the focus even more towards the speed at which their fingers seem able to move. Amongst attempting to dance in the knee high mud, singing along to various segments of well known songs ('Stairway To Heaven', 'Wish You Were Here' etc) and generally being mesmerized, there was also plenty of time to truly connect with every note. Although quite obviously the most middle class place to be on site apart from The Guardian Lounge, Rodrigo Y Gabriela never once slip into the mediocre 'world' music so many people seem scared of (although this rarely happens on this stage it has to be said.) They remain sexy, determined and over flowing with talent within every second and had it not been for a technical hitch at the beginning of the set there would have been a whole lot more of them to enjoy. Watch out - they're on the brink of taking over the world. (Sofie Jenkinson)
A few things take place in a little pub called the Old Queens Head, which isn't really a pub, but a big ol' tent with a pubs name. Of these few things, we saw a few of them, and few acts this weekend contained more promise than was shown in the few songs we caught of sometime Basement Club UK anti-folk stars Noah and the Whale. On a completely different tangent, said venue also saw The Horrors provide a show of surprising volume, resolve and purpose - we'd previously written them off as, well, rubbish, but it's fantastic to be proved wrong from time to time. They are in fact so entertaining that we forgo the first few songs of Iggy and the Stooges' Other Stage headline set in order to try to figure out their haircuts, until a short walk (even short walks take and age, due to the mud) reminds us never to worship false idols. Iggy has more charisma in his sixty year old wrinkled todger (which very nearly makes an appearance, due to the man's flat out refusal to wear a belt, ever) than the Horrors have in all their hairdos combined. Very few things are wrong with this Stooges set. In fact, the only two things that are wrong are that there are no songs, absolutely none, from 'Raw Power', and that some people deemed it a better idea to see the sodding Killers. Otherwise, it's perfect - 'TV Eye', '1969', 'Now I Wanna Be Your Dog' twice. Few gigs are as good as getting to see 'Now I Wanna Be Your Dog' performed twice, but one of them is seeing Iggy deal with a self instigated stage invasion, telling each one of the four hundred or so people who took him up on the offer, very politely, to get off the stage. "Oh kaaaayyy, baby... I like your glasses... move outta the way please, baby....". F**king leg-end. (Tom Hannan)
Saturday night saw perhaps the finest 1 hour of music I have ever witnessed, first of all the Horrors set about destroying the Queen's Head tent with their raw and awe-inspiring garage rock mayhem, then just a stones throw away we had the chance to witness a legend at work. Iggy and the Stooges' gig was a typical whirl of ace tunes and brilliantly enthusiastic stage craft. One minute the Peter Pan of rock is rolling around banging out 'Now I Wanna Be Your Dog' like its 1969, the next he invites practically half the audience onto the stage for a life affirming run through 'No Fun'. He may have got more than he bargained for, as he spends the next 10 minutes walking around trying to persuade said stage invaders to make some room, but it all added to the uniqueness of the performance. My personal highlight of the weekend. (Gareth Roberts)
SUNDAY 24th JUNE 2007:
The Park stage is a very good idea, a new haven of slightly less muddy pastures up on a hill set up by Emily Eavis. However, few people seem to know about it yet, and there's also little mention of it in the listings. As such, many people miss out on things they would have loved to have seen - us, for example, had no idea about that Damon Albarn-led collective's improvisational set which would have made our entire weekend. Others had no idea that long-time Rockfeedback darling Richard Swift was playing to a tiny, intimate audience in probably the best sounding stage in the whole compound (the sound problems on the Pyramid stage this year for example have been well documented). So hardly anyone showed up. Shame, if they had, they'd have been treated to some of the best work of any singer songwriter performed in the most professional and yet humorous and far from laboured manner we'd witnessed since we traipsed up to the very same stage to see Ed Harcourt the day before. Kindred spirits, those two. I wonder if they've met... (Tom Hannan)
Surely 'Hang Me Up To Dry' by those Cold War Kids has the most fitting opening line possible, given the setting? "Careless in our summer clothes, splashing around in the muck and the mire" they sing, as young girls in mud-caked Wellington boots and hot pants roll around and pretend they're anywhere else. Though they and us might be dreaming of less damp settings, wherever we were we'd probably settle for this as the soundtrack - a fantastic live band, if they can ever transfer the power of the likes of that aforementioned signature tune, 'Saint John' and 'Hospital Beds' on to a record, they'll become a life long obsession. (Tom Hannan)
The last day of any festival is always tinged with the realisation that real life is beckoning, and at Glastonbury that feeling is 10,000 times worse. It was with an increasingly heavy heart then that I watched Cold War Kids on the Other Stage. With an armoury of songs that bands which have been established for years would be proud of, its clear to see why things have taken off in such dramatic fashion for them over recent months. They knock out the tunes in a ramshackle fashion, yet this only adds to their appeal. They may appear to have the personality of a used wet wipe, but when the songs are this good it doesn't matter one bit. (Gareth Roberts)
It was then a case of gritting the teeth and making sure the wellies were nice and tight as we set off to the John Peel Stage for our one last time. By this time the mud was beginning to congeal into a tar-like composition whereby if you stood still for than 2 seconds you could find yourself stuck there for the next 2 hours. Anyway, we made it eventually with some realisation of how climbers who reach the summit of Everest must feel. Thankfully it was more than worth it as The Rumble Strips delivered a faultless set made up of crowd pleasers like 'Hate Me You Do' and 'No Soul', plus a few tantalising snippets from their forthcoming debut album 'Girls and Weather'. A classy performance from a band whose future is looking very promising indeed. (Gareth Roberts)
The mud around the Pyramid was such that once you'd made it there, you didn't really have the strength to leave, and when Dame Shirley Bassey is about to take to the stage, why would you want to? Admittedly, I was there for the novelty value, but that didn't take away from an enjoyable performance that left everyone in brilliant mood. It was worth the entrance fee alone to see her belting out 'Diamonds are Forever'. (Gareth Roberts)
Next up were the Manic Street Preachers, and whilst the sight of a 40-odd year old man wearing mascara and sporting peculiarly dyed hair (that's you, Mr Wire) is still slightly off putting, there is no arguing with a collection of songs like theirs. 'You Love us' and 'Motorcycle Emptiness' are joined by newer material including smash hit single 'Your Love Alone' to make up a set brimming with classics. Bradfield's annoying tendency to sing the songs in a slightly different way was winding me up a little, but still, a great performance in anyone's book. (Gareth Roberts)
Despite the adverse conditions (we would shut up about them, but honestly, they're everyone's overriding memory), Beirut's main man Zach has been enjoying himself (those vocal wobbles speak volumes, boy) and thanks to his beautiful music, we're enjoying ourselves again too. Nobody knows any of the words, but they want to feel a part of this so much that they start singing along to even the brass parts, the Jazz World Stage audience swaying with appreciation at each and every sumptuous melody Zach Condon and his frightfully talented backing band casually unleash upon us. One of the highlights of a trying weekend. (Tom Hannan)
Glastonbury 2005 was the launch pad for the Kaiser Chiefs career, where aided by an inflatable dinosaur they managed to become Britain's biggest band. This in effect was akin to a homecoming, a celebration of everything they have achieved in the past two years culminating in a main stage performance in front of the largest crowd of the whole weekend. Could they deliver? Well, yes. Crowd slaying pop monsters like 'I Predict a Riot' and 'Ruby' are perfect for mass sing-alongs, unfortunately much of the set was diluted by weaker new material. Still, they had enough big tunes to more than see them through. Headliners next year? Don't rule them out. (Gareth Roberts)
The Go! Team deserve nothing more than for us all to bow at their feet and apologise for not appreciating them enough the first time round. The reason that they are not the biggest British band in the world right now is unclear, although it could possibly have something to do with their intense and massive sound not always being quite at home in some of the smaller venues around the country. But there is no doubt that when given the stage and space they deserve, as they are on The Other Stage, The Go! Team are one of the most talented, exciting and intensely brilliant British bands around and by God I don't think they are going to let us forget that this time round. Ninja, as always, steps up to the plate as coolly and calmly as possible, whipped up a storm while strutting around the stage masterfully. When given a moment away from weaving words around words down the microphone she tends to improvise stylishly, during final song 'Ladyflash' dropping to the ground for a low key tipple at break dancing. (Sofie Jenkinson)
Back over on the Park Stage and electro-folk maestro Adem plays to a handful of sun-dried, poncho sporting punters. This really is what Sunday night at Worthy should be about, soggy-feet, soggier pint and majestic soundscapes. Backed by a super-accomplished bunch of pals Adem sounds like sundown; peaceful, spiritual and fantastically otherworldly. (Sofie Jenkinson)
Whatever The Who remind you of, whether it be your misspent youth, your dad or that moment in Almost Famous where the big sister tells the little brother that playing 'Tommy' by the light of a candle will change his life, they are steeped in expectation. And by heck did they deliver. From the incredible light choreography to the constant and performance enhancing audio-visuals the regalia that surrounded them on stage was impressive. Zach Starky took to a headline Pyramid slot for the second time in four years to provide a ground thumpingly solid backdrop to the musical tales The Who spit out. Although Townshend (Pete) was still as accomplished on the steely strings as ever before Daltry's voice seemed a little weaker than in their heyday, but spread thickly over the Pyramid Stage field with the impressive sound it brought forth there the set was nothing but impressive, whatever your generation. Despite not playing the one about the spoons (how dare they!) the majority of the classics were rolled out one after one; 'Baba O'Riley', 'Who Are You', 'Pinball Wizard' etc. And it was all as super fantastic as most people had dreamed about judging from the amount of shining eyes and wide toothy grins beneath all the hoods/umbrellas surrounding the bright shining pyramid. An incredibly satisfying, beautiful and fitting end to a muddy, glorious, gloriously muddy weekend. (Sofie Jenkinson)
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