Glastonbury 2008 review
Glastonbury 2008 review
Also In The News
Thursday, 18, Jun 2009 04:52
You weren't there man; you don't know what it was like...
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inthenews.co.uk's Lewis Bazley looks back at three magnificent days at the best festival on earth.
Friday
After a rainy Thursday night, Kate Nash has the perfect chirpy rhythms to start the festival, though she forgets to factor in hangovers with an overly-shouty Pumpkin Soup. But considering she only dented the radar only 12 months before, hers is a performance of growing aplomb.
The Subways celebrate their long-awaited return with a raucous set with Billy Lunn working the crowd like a pro, his brother Josh in pounding form on the drums and the lovely Charlotte Cooper showing she rocks more than any other woman in the 21st century.
Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong quiver about the Other Stage, with the frontman showing off his very best Ian Curtis impressions on the first of their three shows that day while a disappointingly muted Ben Folds performance follows the first moment of brilliance of the festival, as Vampire Weekend prove that sometimes you really should believe the hype.
To read the inthenews.co.uk review of Vampire Weekend's Other Stage show, click here
Lupe Fiasco has the verbal dexterity to awaken the crowd from a pear cider-induced stupor, though his political slant seems to fall sadly flat on a festival audience still coming to terms to what is seeming could be another muddy year and the less said about the Fratellis, the better, with their pub rock merely a stultifying dull precursor to Kings of Leon - one can only feel sorry for the Editors, whose far superior gloom is unfairly pushed into third.
But, oh, for Kings of Leon - the Followills have finally made good on their destiny and when an atypically talkative Caleb makes reference to their first Glastonbury appearance on June 28th 2003, you can't help but feel that just as the band have evolved and matured from good ol' boys to debauched debutantes to masterful monsters of rock, then we're all very lucky to have been along for the ride.
Saturday
Emmy the Great provides an enjoyably winsome start to the Saturday - though her quip about her new album having taken as long as Chinese Democracy fails to translate to a predominantly female crowd who probably aren't au fait with the trials and tribulations of Axl Rose and co - while Martha Wainwright veers between captivating and forgettable, with a cameo appearance from stunning beatboxer Shlomo the most obvious instance of the former.
There simply aren't enough words to describe how unexpectedly, wonderfully good Seasick Steve's performance is, with his wizened, bayou-toned blues stomper somehow transforming a field of festivalgoers - many of whom look to be very much suffering from the night before - into attendees of a Deep South hoedown. He's staggeringly enjoyable, looking half his age - alright, two-thirds, it's still a big beard - and providing a sumptuous combination of Southern banter, swigs from a bottle of Jack Daniels, and Americana that flows from guitars with a paucity of strings (a one-string delta swagger the crowning glory). And when he segues from telling of his abusive stepfather to staring deep into the eyes of a girl plucked from the crowd for the finely-crafted My Name Is Steve, there's a little lump in your throat that cannot be ignored.
If only the same could be said for Black Kids who, despite being vibrant and immediate on record, sound weak and too small for the Other Stage, with Reggie Youngblood's Robert Smith-esque plaintive vocals failing to reach the back of the field, even on the always outstanding I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You. The Wombats have no such trouble, getting the entire audience dancing to their exuberant indie-disco, with Matt Murphy in fine fettle both vocally and between song, and Dan Haggis' drums providing the meat that was so severely lacking from Black Kids.
Will Young proved a surprisingly wonderful interlude on the Avalon Stage - To read the inthenews.co.uk review of his performance, click here - while Duffy proved she'll be a fixture far higher on the bill next year.
As for Elbow, had it not been for their outstanding Meltdown show - which frontman Guy Garvey admitted to me was the "gig of our lives" - then this magisterial appearance could have been the crowning moment of their career. A clearly emotional Garvey called us "the most beautiful people on earth" as a dazzling sunny evening rises while Richard Hawley's brief appearance for The Fix - the weak point of an otherwise superb album - brings with it an exhortation to "give this band the clap they royally deserve". With immense drums, strings that bring a tear to the eye and an entire field crying "one day like this will see me right", this is a Glastonbury performance of stature and it's certainly looking like a beautiful day.
Though their performance is a welcome surprise - well, if you can see it, with visibility in the sloping Park area a definite problem - the Last Shadow Puppets duo of Alex Turner and Miles Kane are shoddy and under-rehearsed, though Age of the Understatement is as swirling and statuesque as you'd hope, while it's probably best to ignore the sad spectacle of Amy Winehouse's set, which grows steadily worse to the point that she punches a spectator, needs carrying off and makes you feel increasingly sorry for her very talented band, who deserve so much more.
And as for Jay-Z - so elated was this writer by his epoch-defining performance that the Jigga Man's getting his whole own review - To read the inthenews.co.uk review of Jay-Z's headlining set, click here
Sufficed to say - If Noel Gallagher's correct and hip-hop at Glastonbury is "wrong", then I don't want to be right.
Sunday
Newton Faulkner's an engaging presence, rattling through a throaty cover of You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) into his tender rendition of Teardrop before the Del Amitri vibe comes through more than ever on new track For God's Sake, including a passable - and less cringeworthy than it sounds - impression of a theremin.
Jack Peñate's lazy melodies are a suitable tonic for the Sunday crowd stupor, as a funked-up Learning Lines inspires pogo-ing, though he suffers from the 'rubbish Other Stage sound' curse seen by Black Kids.
Rocket Summer bring a surprisingly emo touch to the John Peel Stage, with some winning piano-led rock though the tweeny fans continue to irritate the fire stewards with their in-tent smoking, and Canadian pop greats Stars are as magnificent and grandiose as ever, provoking the disarming sound of a tent of people singing along to such bittersweet lines as "I'm not sorry I met you/I'm not sorry it's over/I'm not sorry/There's nothing to say".
The ludicrously-young Laura Marling, meanwhile, is bewitching in The Park with a baroque and complex flavour to her Joan Baez-esque soul-bearing. Problem is, the irritating slope in front of the stage means you can only see the tiny Reading girl if you're in the pit or standing way off to the side. Note to Emily Eavis - it's already a great area of the festival - improve the view and it'll be an institution.
Mark Ronson is as crowd-pleasing as you'd expect on the Other Stage - though obviously Amy's not well enough to fulfil vocal duties on Valerie - while Crystal Castles go some way to destroying the sterling live reputation they built after April's Camden Crawl, by performing just a handful of songs, irritating the security by clambering over amps and being even less legible than usual - unless it's all some clever ploy and this is a deliberately shambolic performance, in which case it's brilliant. Grr, those pesky kids!
No such shenanigans occur from the Zutons, who rattle through a summery set with the professionalism you'd expect, Dave McCabe's vocals as suitably soothing for your ears as the festival nears its end as Abi Harding's legs are a sight for very sore eyes.
The Verve, unfortunately, fail to live up to the headlining examples provided by their predecessors Kings of Leon and Jay-Z, managing to be anachronistic and dull, when their return should be inspiring and diverting. Luckily, the ground's dried sufficiently for a quick jog to the Other Stage and Groove Armada are an ideal band to close a stunning weekend, allowing the crowd to throw shapes to the likes of Superstylin', as well as permitting considered reflection of three days that have pushed your body, ears and mind to the limit, with festival classic At the River.
All together now - "if you're fond of sand dunes. "