Glastonbury Festival 22-24/06/2007

We awake on Friday morning to the one sound we didn't want to hear at Glastonbury.

No, not Mika, something much worse.

Rain. And lots of it. Heavy and constant. We sit it out in the tent, readying ourselves for the day ahead. Planning which bands to see, which sets we'll compromise on so we can catch others. But really, we're waiting. And hoping. Praying even, that that the rain will stop. And stop soon. Not daring to unzip our canvas home less it jinxes us. And while it seems like the downpour will never cease, it eventually does, leaving the site resembling the trenches of an unfought World War. We leave the tent in the direction of The Other Stage and Modest Mouse. At least we think that's the direction we're heading. Turns out, we take a few wrong turns and eventually arrive just in time to miss their last song and hit a crowd of people departing for other stages. It is fair to say, it's not the best start to the festival.

Wandering to The Pyramid Stage for Amy Winehouse, the heavens open again. Then they close. Then open. Then close. The pattern continues for most of her set and while we get soaked, Amy gets on with delivering a polished performance, hints of reggae creeping into the songs. Her voice is soulful, her demeanour comfortable and she seems to be pretty compos mentis for a change. But her stage presence is lacking and only the constant dancing and energy of her backing singers and band stops your attention being swayed by the weather. Finishing with her cover of The Zutons' 'Valerie' she departs leaving a sodden crowd. We're tent bound, desperate to change into some dry clothes.

One swift outfit change later and the sun seems happy. For the sky has cleared and it's rays burst through the blue sky. Torn between Bloc Party and The Hold Steady, we decide the walk’s too far to swap stages if one is crap, so take the safe option and watch Bloc Party on The Pyramid Stage. And it’s a great decision as Kele and co deliver an adrenalised set from the off. They eschew their slower songs in favour of tight, fast songs, working the crowd into a frenzy. It leaves you wandering why they aren't higher up the set and what they'd need to do to get there. True, there's no surprises in their set but on this kind of blistering form, there doesn't need to be.

Whereas Rufus Wainwright is one big suprise. Trudging begrudgingly to The Other Stage to satisfy my girlfriend's love of him, I’m astounded to find myself enjoying him. Less nasal than on record, his voice soars and sways. His flamboyance fitting the atmosphere perfectly. Which is kind of odd considering we're ankle deep in a river of mud. The performance is theatrical, emotional, thoroughly entertaining and Rufus delivers the first magical moment of the weekend. Returning for an encore, draped in a spotless white dressing gown, he sits at his piano and invites sister Martha onstage for a flawed, mistake riddled duet of 'Hallelujah'. Yet despite, the fluffs it's spine tingling. Martha's cracked voice adding a new dimension of emotion to a song occasionally stripped of it through overplay on American teen soaps. It's a mesmerising performance. You wander if it'll be topped all weekend. And then it is. Straight away. The dressing gown comes off, heels and lippy come on and Rufus Wainwrights drags it up for a cover of Judy Garland's 'Get Happy'. A big band backing track blares out across the field like we’re on Broadway. His band, decked out in tuxes dance around as if it's Glastonbury:The Musical. And it's the most surreal experience. Especially as the sound dies halfway through and they have to repeat the whole thing. Equal parts fabulous and ridiculous, it captures the spirit of Glastonbury perfectly.

Something that can't be said, of Arcade Fire. Not at first anyway. They come on stage, a neon bible blinking in the background and the band flicker into life. But something seems wrong. They just can't seem to get started. Something’s missing. They're not connecting with each other and what is normally celebrational and uniting, sounds off kilter and muddled. Your spirit begins to sink. Could it be the first big letdown of the weekend? It seems so. Right up until the organ intro of ‘Intervention’ fires up and somehow kicks everything into place. The band connect for the first time and don’t look back from there. They hit their stride and everything seems to flow naturally. The set builds and builds into a glorious performance. They rise to the moment and finish on a triumphant note signalling that Bjork will need something special to top that.

But then, it’s Bjork, of course it’s gonna be special. And it is. She bursts on stage with ‘Earth Invaders’, the stage blazing into life with a dazzling light show. And it’s awesome. She follows with a delicate take on ‘Venus As A Boy’ and treats us to what is essentially greatest hits set. And it is great. Lasers splice through the sky. Bjork’s voice sounding as gorgeous live as you’d imagine. The songs sound beautiful as the band recreate every intricacy of the records with brass adding extra flourishes and transforming ‘Army Of Me’ into the best Bond song there never was. A nagging feeling she’d have been better suited to a Sunday night slot is the only negative on what is a stunning spectacle. So good that for over an hour, you forget the numbness of your feet immersed in cold muddy water.



Saturday starts as Friday did. With rain. So much so that we opt to miss Seasick Steve and only reach The Pyramid Stage for The Pipettes’ last two songs. But it’s enough to see they’re still doing what they do. And it’s a good way to start the day. Nothing too testing, just simple, happy songs performed with a knowing smile.

No such luck for Guillemots though whose eclectic mish-mash performance veers from brilliant to bizarre. ‘Trains To Brazil’ and ‘Made Up Lovesong’ sound great but come amidst a barrage of songs that either lack coherence or deconstruct themselves to the point of noise. And it’s just too early in the day for that and a feeling of disappointment grows through their set. But they seem to be enjoying themselves onstage and the sun is inching out of the clouds, so it’s not all bad.

We hang about for Dirty Pretty Things hoping they’ll kick start the day but they don’t. Neither terrific nor terrible, they just exist on stage. We wait for the hits, enjoy them, then struggle to remember much else they played. Each song seeming to just blend into the next, no deviation from the template.

Moving over to The Other Stage in time for Klaxons, we take our place near the sound desk in what now resembles more of a calm sea of muddy water than an actual field. The wind distorts the sound but not enough to lose the sheer excitement of performing that the band convey. They may well be the happiest band on site. Both shocked and elated to be in their position, they blow any cheap genre tags out of existence in a blur of tunes that you can’t help but dance to. Finishing with ‘Not Over Yet’, they whip the crowd up and score what could be the song of the festival.

We hang around to catch Babyshambles. And wish we hadn’t bothered. They play like it’s their first time on stage, seemingly rehearsing as they go along. Pete Doherty discards singing in favour of incoherent mumbles and the whole thing is just abysmal. Kate Moss appears onstage for a verse that’s not so much blink and you’ll miss it, as strain and you’ll hear it. Yet the amassed crowd lap it up, blinded by celebrity.

Refuelling at the tent, our ears prick up as Bat For Lashes drift over from The John Peel Stage, sounding so good we wish we’d made our way to see them. But they finish as we slip back into our wellies, so we fight our way through the sticky mud back to The Pyramid Stage for The Kooks. Kicking off with album opener ‘Seaside’, it becomes clear they’re in the right time at the right place. Everything slots into place perfectly. The suns out and their feelgood songs capture the moment. The crowd sings word for word to songs the band have clearly perfected live. You can’t help but feel your spirits lifted and even the new songs are received with rapturous adoration. Of all the bands who could have stolen the festival, who’d have thought it would be The Kooks?

Or that The Killers would be such good headliners? Yet they are. They’ve honed their songs for big shows and treat the main stage crowd to a performance that’s slick, exhilarating and just damn good fun. Appearing like a Vegas C3PO, Brandon Flowers works the crowd like a true showman. The songs sound big, filling the field, reminding you how many great pop singles they’ve crammed into just two albums. There’s fireworks early on, a Joy Division cover and an atmosphere that just builds and builds. They’re truly great, worthy headliners and with every member of the crowd united by the singalong ending of ‘All These Things That I’ve Done’, Saturday ends on a high.



Sunday is overcast and miserable. Everyone looks tired, dazed and weary and there’s a near constant drizzle. That fine rain that soaks you through. Not that it’s bringing Noisettes down. Rocking the John Peel Stage to the core, they’re wound tight and let rip with some good old garage rock. Loud and raw, Shinai’s vocals are as awesome as ever and they give the day a much needed kick start.

And the sun even makes an appearance for Cold War Kids, a band who seem to get better and more impressive with each performance. Loose and comfortable, the songs groove in their jazzy way and Nathan Willett is in fine voice. Struggling with a crowd who seem slightly nonplussed they brave on, eventually winning them over. Set closure ‘Hang Me Up To Dry’ getting hands clapping and cheers calling out. It’s the last truly great set we see all weekend.

Looking over the line up, we figure it’s time to give the music a backseat and take in the site. We wander for a couple of hours. Up to the Green Field, round the Healing Field, past Banksy’s portaloo Stonehenge and stop off at the Stone Circle before heading to Lost Vagueness. It’s a bizarre corner of the site which really only comes alive at night but we rest up in a 50’s style American diner with dodgems as tables and chairs. We notice a tiny stage with about 30 people crowded round, wander over and catch Jamie T finishing a short set with ‘Sheila’ which alone on an acoustic is actually quite endearing.

Returning to The Pyramid Stage, we find we’ve missed Shirley Bassey and the rain is starting again. Cue the Manic Street Preachers. They tear through their back catalogue, treating us to ‘Faster’, La Tristessa Durera’ and You Love Us amongst a smattering of new songs. Nina Persson appears for ‘Your Love Alone Is Not Enough’ which is only mildly more bearable than on record, while ‘Imperial bodybags’ actually sounds half way decent. It’s a good reminder of how vital the band used to be and with James Dean Bradfield being chatty and affable, serves as a good festival set.

Not that you could say the same thing about Kaiser Chiefs who seem to be getting too big for their boots. Feeling in the minority amongst the adoring crowd, it all seems a tad too bullish and overbearing. Every song is turned into a boring singalong and Ricky Wilson’s ego seems to be dragging him so far up his own arse he’s in danger of becoming Robbie Williams. And that is not good.

So it’s down to The Who to rescue the evening. Which, on first impression, they might just do. 'I Can't Explain, 'The Seeker’ and 'Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere' open the set in style and show why the band have survived. But after that, the set gradually descends into a parody of a great rock band. The songs are played stodgily. With extra lumps. They’ve become so competent at playing the songs that there’s no feeling to it any more. They’re just going through the motions. ‘My Generation’ starts off well but turns into an extended, excruciating rock out. And as for Pete Townsend’s continued claims to have invented the internet, well, words fail us. We wander off as they return for an encore, an execrable version of ‘Pinball Wizard’ fading away as we escape the quagmire that has become The Pyramid Stage.

And we think that’s it. Festival over. That is until we get to The John Peel Tent where The Gossip are getting down with the bulging crowd. We get close up just as Beth Ditto hikes her dress up and whips her pants off. Yet after 3 days caked in mud, surrounded by all sorts of goings on, it doesn’t seem out of place and we get on with getting down to some dirty licks and awesome vocals. The crowd adore The Gossip and hang on Beth’s every word. ‘Standing In The Way Of Control’ ends Glastonbury in fitting style, descending into chaos as Beth leaps into the crowd, losing the mic. The band play on regardless and it’s glorious. It clears the memory of The Who and we head to sleep satisfied and worn out.



It’s a long festival. A dirty festival. We missed more bands than we saw. Saw things in toilets that will never be discussed again. Ate overpriced food. Struggled through mud. Got drenched. And we loved every single minute of it. Glastonbury is as good as you’ve heard. Same time next year? Same time next year !

Bjork - bachellorette (live at Glastonbury Festival 2007)

Amy Winehouse - back to black (live at Glastonbury Festival 2007)

Dirty Pretty Things - bang, bang, you're dead (live at Glastonbury Festival 2007)

Bloc Party - banquet (live at Glastonbury Festival 2007)

Arcade Fire - intervention (live at Glastonbury Festival 2007)

Hot Chip - over and over (live at Glastonbury Festival 2007)

Rufus Wainwright - going to a town (live at Glastonbury Festival 2007)

Arctic Monkeys & Dizzee Rascal - temptation (live at Glastonbury Festival 2007)

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