Now that you seem to have stopped finding mud in the most unusual of places and the hangover has finally abated, we thought it was a good time to reflect on last weeekend’s shenanigans down on Worthy Farm.

Glastonbury (Photo by Jason Williamson)

I knew Glastonbury was the world’s best festival when I sat separate from a house party and watched the Arctic Monkeys headline slot in 2007. It wasn’t the quality of the music or the groundbreaking performance, it was the atmosphere. Over the next three years I began my slow crawl towards Pilton and eventually lived the dream last weekend. It’s hard to comprehend a festival that you’ve built up in your head for four years (and it’s even harder to write objectively about that event) and I’m aware that I’ve not been to every festival, so to say Glasto is the best may appear a somewhat sweeping statement. Nevertheless it is one I’m going to try and justify.

The Eavis’ haven’t made life easy for the festival goer, placing the site in the middle of rolling green hills that collect rainwater like guttering. As we pulled up at 8 o’clock Wednesday morning (getting the full £200 worth, we’re not silly) Glastonbury was immediately challenging us. When rain strikes at a festival you can usually work around it; heading for tents or just getting progressively more drunk. But during the queue to get your wristband the rain is a relentless mistress, saying to you “Look! Your car is over there. Just turn back now!” Needless to say we didn’t turn back and although the rain persisted until Friday, at Glastonbury it becomes almost a novelty; because once your welly has become lodged in the mud more than twice, there isn’t much further you can sink. And after all the complaining Saturday evening and Sunday saw nostalgic renderings of last year, turning the temperature to eleven. When the rain is bad you get blisters and muddy, when it’s hot you get burnt and sleepy, and there’s absolutely no way to win.

But it’s not the personality of the weather that makes Glasto so great (although it does add a certain charm), it’s the music, the atmosphere, and the wealth of places to explore. I took it upon myself to watch all three headliners as they’re usually our first point of reference when reviewing a festival. U2 were welcomed by inexorable rain on Friday night and saw an almost nervous looking Bono, after rumours circulated to boycott the band in protest to the frontman’s financial decisions. Unsurprisingly this didn’t happen and the four Irishmen delivered a powerful set, opening with four tunes off of Achtung Baby. U2’s only real performance problem is the size of their back catalogue, which is always going to leave some fans disappointed, but the audience were treated to plenty off The Joshua Tree and some newer tracks too. Coldplay left no room for disappointment, and after a risky opening with new song ‘Hurts Like Heaven’, the band played almost every hit. What made things more special was the band’s revival of ‘Everything’s Not Lost’ and ‘Shiver’, Martin’s overwhelmed appreciation and his reworking of the lyrics to ‘What a Wonderful World’, where he sang ‘I see thousands of people covered in mud, who love this place with every drop of their blood’. And Sunday night the queen of pop Beyonce was the first solo female artist to grace the pyramid stage in over two decades. Silencing all the cynics, the independent woman followed in Jay-Z’s steps gloriously, putting on a show of pure entertainment and performing a set of pop songs that have been inescapable over the last ten years. In my opinion, this year saw three exceptional headliners who reinstated their positions as three of the biggest acts in the world.

Glastonbury - Muddier Times (Photo by Jason Williamson)

But Glastonbury is about more than superstars, it’s the little bands as well, to which the festival holds an arsenal. What breaks one’s heart is just how many you have to miss, and I’ll cry myself to sleep knowing that I had to skip Caribou, James Blake, Lykke Li, Jamie xx for the sakes of Elbow, Radiohead, and so on. But it meant I also got to discover the quality of other acts, such as Two Door Cinema Club, who looked to be having the time of their lives. Ghostpoet provided an almost ambient set on the Wow! Stage, creating an intimacy that’s hard to conjure at a festival. Warpaint generated a buzz around themselves, performing twice over the weekend. As someone who could never get into their minimalism, on Friday afternoon I finally ’got it’ and enjoyed their beautiful melodies fluttering over the Park. Nicolas Jaar is also a noteworthy act, getting the whole of West Holts interested in his exciting new sound, which went perfectly with the Strawberry ciders being sold just to the left.

It’s largely commented that you can’t understand the size of Glastonbury until you go there, which is true, but nor can you understand the kind of things that go on there. My friend and I went on a mission Saturday/Sunday morning to find the weird and wonderful Glastonbury, and this lead us directly to the imaginary utopia of ‘Shangri-La’. After a terrifying experience in a club that would allow only the moustached gentleman in, we saw fire breathing stages and plane crashes turned zombie night clubs. A Bono and Edge puppet show caught our attention shortly before we entered an open air club, enclosed within circular walls, completely packed at five in the morning. It’s safe to say Glasto doesn’t sleep. Two areas worth mentioning are firstly (and obviously) the dance village, which showcases the biggest names in dance and electronic music whilst staging new talents alongside. No matter what time you stroll through, the dance village will cater to your needs. Secondly, The Rabbit-Hole also drew attention this year. With an Alice and Wonderland theme, your job was to crawl through the series of manmade tunnels in order to find the stage. A truly excellent/terrifying experience in the early hours of the morning.

Glastonbury festival sets itself aside from the likes of Reading, V, or T in the Park by its sheer size and variety. You can remain at main stage all day and see some of the world’s most exciting acts, or you can wander through tranquil healing fields and take part in a bit of yoga, or you can go to the circus or the theatre, catch some cabaret or comedy, finding something wonderfully unique around every corner. At Glastonbury you can do whatever you want, and that’s what makes it the best festival in the world. And so, just the same as over the weekend you’ve not enough time to see all of Glastonbury, I’ve simply not enough space to write about it all here.

It’s official, then. The unseasonable bouts of rain interspersed with occasional, short-lived slivers of sunshine mean only one thing: The festival season is here. Naturally, we at Muso’s Guide are planning a heavy summer knee-deep in marshland in the name of bands we love, something you may already have gathered from our Vodafone VIP Live Blog coverage (more on that here). We have asked our writers to tell us a little about the festivals they’re most excited about this summer, so over the next week you should find yourself well and truly clued up about the enormo-fests as well as the more intimate events.

Glastonbury (Photo by Jason Williamson)

 

Glastonbury  (by Stephanie Stevens-Wade)

After hearing everyone’s stories and experiences from the world famous festival I decided it was about time I snapped up a ticket. The slightly tame Isle of Wight Festival and overwhelming T in the Park have filled previous summers with joy and unforgettable memories so this year I’m going to venture to Glastonbury. A festival has always been about the music for me; waking up in a sweaty tent, grabbing a bacon roll and get down the main arena for the first acts of the day. But Glastonbury is going to put a twist on my yearly routine. One of my friends is a Glastonbury veteran and after 10 years he has the collection of incredible photos from Pennard Hill and scintillating stories of the bands he has seen and people he’s met. It’s the festival most music lovers have been to and boasted about. Well 2011 is my chance to discover what all the fuss is about. The headline acts on the Pyramid Stage are a bonus in-between the visits to Shangrila and Strummerville. This summer I’m going to make sure my festival experience is more than getting crushed up against the front fencing awaiting the next band.

Hard Rock Calling (by Helen Szczupak)

A diverse line up beckons as we gear up for London’s Hard Rock Calling Festival, now in it’s sixth year; and what a mammoth headliner bill we have. 2009 headliners The Killers return for the second time to play the festival, as a united band once again following Brandon Flowers’ solo stint. Given their past history of gargantuan festival performances they will surely be ones to watch out for. Next down the bill for Friday is the return of the almighty Northern comeback kids the Kaiser Chiefs, having been a little quiet over the past 12 months they return in force this summer for a string of festival dates. Saturday night sees a return to the UK from US rockers Bon Jovi who are in the middle of a world tour. With hits such as ‘Livin’ On A Prayer’ and ‘It’s My Life’ we look forward to seeing them rock Hyde Park to its foundations this weekend. Legendary hit veteran Rod Stewart takes to the stage on Sunday evening for a performance of hits from throughout the decades, a treat for old and young. Sitting alongside him are performances from Stevie Nicks and the return of the rather eccentrically dressed Adam Ant. Interestingly the weekend will also see performances from the Barenaked Ladies (remember the American Pie soundtrack?), Mike & The Mechanics and The Lighthouse Family. A real selection of genres and decades. What is great about this festival is it promotes a diverse line up of artists, many of whom you will not see at this years other festivals; quite frankly I cannot wait. And when Hyde Park Calls then it is our duty to rock…

Mostly Jazz (by Alex Kavanagh)

Yes, it’s that time of year again. That time of year when the music press wheel out their favourite clichés about dusting off your tents and wellies so you can spend a long weekend drinking warm beer under wet skies, whilst falling about to this seasons amaaazing set from the current indie darlings. I, on the other hand, propose you pencil something different into this years festival calendar: Mostly Jazz. Still just a babe in arms, 2011 is only its second year after 2010’s sun-soaked debut, which featured a Marshall Allen-led Sun Ra Arkestra, the James Taylor Quartet, Quantic’s Combo Barbaro and Courtney Pine amongst others. This year they’ve secured the majestic talents of The Cinematic Orchestra as their headline act, with a line-up that includes Booker T, Pigbag, Matthew Herbert Big Band, Alice Russell, Dele Sosimi, Shawn Lee’s Ping Pong Orchestra and DJ sets from Giles Peterson and Craig Charles. If you want to cast your excited eyes over the full programme, visit their website at: www.mostlyjazz.co.uk. And if you want to show your support to the only UK festival dedicated to jazz, funk & soul music, get yourself some tickets while you’re at it.

Hop Farm (by Greg Johnson)

In an attempt to establish themselves as the festival season’s off-mainstream alternative, Hop Farm harks back to the oft lamented ‘glory days’ of the summer music festival with free child admission and a non-commercial ethos that eschews sponsorship and branding, as a selling point. A less zany version of Rob Da Bank’s Bestival with all the DJ’s and Dance omitted then perhaps? On top of the Sunday headline slot that sees The-O2-Arena-Resident-Formally-Known-As- Prince make his one and only appearance in the UK this year, the entire weekend roster reads like a wish-list dream line-up compiled from a prized and well maintained record collection. The Eagles rule over the Friday with Bryan Ferry, Brandon Flowers and Death Cab For Cutie in tow alongside The Human League, Ocean Colour Scene, The Walkmen and more. Saturday sees Morrissey himself take pride of place at the helm of the listing although it is the prospect of sets by Iggy & The Stooges, Lou Reed and Patti Smith before Mozza that really gets the juices flowing.

Sonisphere (by Paul Caudell)

It is that time again, in less than 2 weeks Knebworth House will be rocked to its very foundations by the world’s largest touring festival, Sonisphere. Despite only being in it’s 3rd year, Sonisphere seems to have snapped up the line-up of the decade that has the whole rock world itching with excitement. Running between the 8th and the 10th of July are a whole horde of big names including the catch of the year, the mighty “big four” which is made up of Metallica, Anthrax, Megadeth and Slayer. If that thrashfest wasn’t enough for you the line-up also includes the likes of Weezer, Gallows, Biffy Clyro, Pulled Apart By Horses, Killing Joke and Japanese Voyeurs. Alongside this feast of music is a sterling line-up of comedic acts that will have you crying with laughter across the weekend including Howard Marks, Bill Bailey and Jackass’s Steve O. Keep an eye out for my beer by beer report on this years chaos. For the line-up in full and information on buying tickets visit the Sonisphere website on: http://uk.sonispherefestivals.com/

Lovebox (by Jason Williamson)

As one of the first London-based music festivals, Lovebox broke onto the festival scene in 2003, offering punters an innovative musical experience without the obligatory no-go toilets, cramped tents and spine-aching backpacks. Although curated by Groove Armada (and named after their fourth album), Lovebox offers much more than electronica, with major acts this year including rock-popsters The Wombats, renowned rapper Snoop Dogg, chart-favourite Jessie J and the unashamedly catchy Scissor Sisters. Other highlights spread across the three-day event include Scandinavian songstress Lykke Li, Gossip front-woman Beth Ditto and acclaimed New York indie punksters The Drums - known for their chaotically energetic stage shows. And let’s not forget Groove Armada themselves, this year performing their audio visual DJ show dubbed ‘Red Light’. Alongside its musical offerings, cabaret, street theatre, a circus and art installations are all on offer, while official after-parties take place at both Ministry of Sound and Cargo. And finally, any festival that advertises with the slogan ‘bunk off early on Friday’ goes down well in my book, let’s just say I can imagine that quite a few office desks will be relocating to Victoria Park this July. Lovebox takes place from Friday 15th July-Sunday 17th July in Victoria Park, London.

Stay tuned for more festival previews over the rest of this week…

Clichés aside for a moment, Glastonbury is the festival that needs no introduction. Over the last decade it has boasted of being the world’s best, largest, and greenest festival, and has held homage to some of the planets biggest acts. Three of those acts place their shoes (or six inch heels in the case of Sunday’s headliner) on the iconic Pyramid stage this year; they are U2, Coldplay, and Beyonce.

Glastonbury

Now, as the acquisition of any festival ticket is an immediate conversation starter (especially Glastonbury, to which you receive many “ow man, you’re going to Glasto!”) the opinions of the line-up are the first topics discussed. To my surprise, and to the predictability of others, it is U2 and Coldplay who have received the greatest criticism. Beyonce? Quite the contrary. Since Jay-Z headlined the festival back in 2008 it has opened the floodgates for contemporary mainstream pop and hip-hop to play the higher and more ambitious slots; so realistically it was only a matter of time before the Queen of Pop took her rightful place of one of music most influential thrones. The punters, or those of them I’ve spoken to at least, welcome her with open arms, praying to the Gods of Glasto to see her in a pair of diamond encrusted wellies.

The other headliners, Coldplay and U2, have been facing some harsher criticism. Beyond that which usually circulates around Coldplay and U2, the dominant concern it that neither band has really ‘done anything’ in the last six months. This may be the case, but both bands have albums and tours in the pipeline, with Coldplay having recently unveiled a new single, and we’re all perfectly aware that the come-back shows are always the ones to look out for. Furthermore, whether people like it or not, you cannot achieve the global status that these bands have without consistently performing superbly live.

At this point some readers of this article may be cracking the screens of their monitors exclaiming “talk about [insert new band]! THAT is what Glasto is really about!” And of course you’re right. But the wealth of new and exciting talent that Glastonbury throws across those Somerset fields every year is too numerous to mention; and besides, from examining the line up I’m still bitter about all the bands I’m going to have to miss, namely James Blake, Caribou, Everything Everything, and band after band after band. Just revel in the knowledge that all those new bands you want to catch in the pay-on-the-door clubs your local city habitats will ALL be there, as they are every year, drawing crowds the size of O2 Academy audiences.

Is Glastonbury the world’s greatest festival? We’ll have to wait and see. The only challenge is conjuring up 1000 words of objective journalism, and from a music festival this is perhaps a tad unrealistic, so I may just have to get gonzo on it.

Coldplay - A Rush Of Blood To The Head

2002.  The year that Eminem cleaned out his closet, The Streets pushed things forward, Lostprophets’ fakesoundofprogress got a shiny new production job, every other new band was The something and I started college, passed my driving test and went to my first ever festivals.

Ahh, Glastonbury.  My first ever festival.  It was the year of the Super Fence and of Elvis roaming said fence.  Coldplay were daringly installed as headliners armed only with Parachutes and the yet to be released A Rush Of Blood To The Head (they pulled it off).  The big draws for me, however, were the bands at the forefront of the NME’s New Rock Revival (in hindsight, this was a disturbing sign of things to come with regard to the NME’s shameless scene hopping).  The New Rock Revival, coined on the back of what The Strokes had started the previous year, championed the likes of The Cooper Temple Clause, who released the beast that it See This Through And Leave, battering and bruising all comers with the likes of ‘Who Needs Enemies’, ‘Film Maker’ and ‘Panzer Attack’.  The Vines were crazy.  Packing the barely contained lunacy of ‘Highly Evolved’ and ‘Outtathaway’, they also had in their canon the ability to evoke a feeling of isolated melancholy with ‘Autumn Shade.  Their take on OutKast’s ‘Ms Jackson’ at the festival was one of my highlights.

The band that preceded The Vines was Rival Schools.  I had heard the singles ‘Used For Glue’ and ‘Good Things’ on the wireless and went to check them out…United By Fate was the one album I went to buy as soon as I got home – I didn’t even baulk at the £14.49 price sticker.  I still listen to it regularly to this day.  They were THAT good.

At the end of August, I decided to go to Reading.  The day before the gates opened.  I got a ticket legally and all.  Seems strange given that the festivals these days sell out in a couple of days…anyway, I digress.

The aforementioned Strokes were the main reason I jumped the train but the rest of the line up wasn’t too shabby either.  The Hives were briefly everyone’s favourite new band, but it was the cementing of some reputations that were the most memorable points of my festival.

Muse played the second slot on the back of 2001′s Origin Of Symmetry and amongst the rain and lightening played a set that I remember every time the band are mentioned – ‘Unintended’ was both mesmerising and menacing and ‘Plug In Baby’ just took the proverbial roof off.

You almost felt sorry for the band that would have to try and follow – except that band was Foo Fighters.  Reinvigorated by his spell behind the drum kit with Queens Of The Stone Age, Dave Grohl and company released the album that propelled them to the mainstream.  Hyped by the release of lead off single ‘All My Life’, One By One was a bit of a monster – they even had a guest spot by Bryan May and appeared on CD:UK with ‘Times Like These’.

Feeder made a welcome return with Comfort In Sound after the trauma suffered earlier in the year.

Other notable musical bits and pieces from 2002 for me included Queens Of The Stone Age’s Songs For The Deaf (for me it’s THE QOTSA line up), The Coral‘s super-extended version of ‘Dreaming Of You’ at Glasto, driving in my “boat” blaring The Transplants debut and Colin MacIntyre (a.k.a Mull Historical Society) forward rolling across the stage in excitement.

One last note – 2002 saw the release of an album called Up The Bracket by a cheeky young band called The Libertines… whatever happened to them?

Read more:
2000 | 2001 |2003 | 2004 | 2005 | 2006 | 2007 | 2008 | 2009

U2

Good lord. Bono and his invisible private jet will be landing in Somerset to to play next year’s Glastonbury, breaking away from their north American tour (such selflessness) to help the festival celebrate its 40th anniversary.

So that’s why tickets were released (and sold out) so quickly?

Come on Eavis, tell us some news: “I promised the the best possible line-up for the show next year and the confirmation that U2 will play their first ever Glastonbury – and their first major festival gig since the early 1980s – is fantastic news. “We’ve been trying for years… And now we’ve finally made it happen. I’m sure they will pull out all the stops to make next year’s Glastonbury the most memorable ever.”

Yeah, enjoy that…

As the festival season draws to its inevitable Tierce de Picardie, we’ve been pondering just why we put ourselves through the whole leaky tent/full-of-disinterested-GFNs (good for nothings)/living-in-squalor thing. Latitude, Indietracks and Glastonbury were all noteworthily awesome this year, but the weather was terminal at the former two. That, and the fact that the first was seeped in totally unatmospheric non-joy, more accurately recalled (in terms of y’know, vibe) by a repeated attempt at avoiding stepping on a small child named Magnolia. And then there was the Camden Crawl but hell, don’t start. So why do we love gigs, festivals and general outdoor music stuff? Why do we go to festivals? Hmm? Here’s just a snapshot:

mudfest

STEF SIEPEL
I hate tents. I just don’t see why anyone would willingly give up perfectly nice things as a hot shower and a mattress and label it as “fun”. Here (Amsterdam) for a club gig I usually have to travel two to three hours to get there and back. So why is it worth the train rides, the after midnight walks from the station to my home, or, more dreaded, those toilets at festivals? Because when you are there, you look at the person next to you and you both smile because you’re feeling the exact same thing at that very moment. Which could be the sweaty back from the beer-bellied lad in front of you, which is also a connecting point, or more usually joy, beats, fun, sadness or what not. Live music evokes and connects, in this age qualities that are getting rarer still.

muddierfest

RUSSELL WARFIELD
Playing a festival, in many respects, is bound to be a tough gig. Very few of the people in attendance will be there to see your band in particular; a great  number of the people in attendance will probably never even have heard of your band. People will be drunk, loud and notoriously anti-social (golden rule for festivals, by the way: watch music now, discuss music later). But if people act like this when they’ve paid in excess of a hundred quid to be stood in the rain watching some shit they hate, imagine how less fun a crowd at a free festival is.

I took the trip recently to my nation’s capital to enjoy a set from Camera Obscura as part of Cardiff’s free festival (imaginatively titled The Big Weekend). Before we saw the gentle Glaswegians, however, we managed to catch a set from a charming lady called Ebony Bones who appeared to have dressed from the wardrobe of Lady Gaga and stolen her thumping, sexy electronic beats from Peaches (both, you understand, in the best possible way). The types of people who descend on a free festival, however, seemed downright alienated by such shenanigans.

drunk person

Compromised of around fifty percent family-day-out-types and around fifty percent I’ll-drink-here-cuz-it’s-sunny-and-free-types, were largely unimpressed and unresponsive to Ebony Bones’ attempts at pumping the crowd. Hilarity culminated in a really ill-judged attempt at crowd participation which required people to “jump to the left, jump to the right, jump to the front, jump to the back…” (dissatisfied, Ebony prolonged the agony by “trying that again” for a second time). I stuck around long enough to see and enjoy Camera Obscura and got the fuck out of there before The Lightning Seeds had the chance to try and play Three Lions in front of a few thousand drunken Welsh people.

So, my point: next time you’re miserable at a festival, just be thankful it’s not a free one.

drunker person

DANIEL HARRISON
It’s a scenario that may well be familiar to many a hardy festival-goer: curled into a foetal ball in your leaking tent, soaked to the skin in wet clothes, shivering against the cold as you try to block out the sound of alcohol-fuelled decadence all around you. Well, if you’ve ever been to Oxegen anyway. Similarly, any regular gig-goer will be all too aware of the occupational hazards: artists being drowned out by deafening chatter, people deciding to push in front of you and stand on your toes to get a better view, mobile phones blocking your view for interminable stretches of time, etc. It’s enough to make you lose your faith in the human race, never mind the redemptive powers of live music. And yet we keep going back. We refuse to be defeated. Why? Because despite all the aggravation, the disappointments and the sore leg/back syndrome, it’s always worth it for that magical moment when it all comes together – when an artist stuns a crowd intoawed silence, when hundreds of like-minded souls lose themselves, when the only thing that matters is the moment.

Waterloo

It’s easy to forget when listening to your iPod in splendid isolation, but Rock ‘n’ Roll - nay, music in general – is, in its purest form, a communal experience.

BEN DUFTON
“Where are you trying to get to?!” I exclaim, as the umpteenth bleary-eyed man-child tries to barge through between me and my companions…

My back is soaked from someone’s spilled £4 pint and I’m constantly moving my feet to both keep from sinking into the quagmire and to ensure that I do not end up losing a toe, whilst at the same time ducking down into the shadows created by so many thousands of people to avoid burning the back of my neck.

portaloo

It felt like I had nearly broken my back on the long trek to first the queue and then the treasure hunt that is finding a space to live for the best part of a week.  Don’t even mention getting the tent up in the rain – the relief felt when it finally resembles a bivouac and I can crack open that first beer is quickly tempered by the fact that the beer is warm and I have four more days of drinking it.

The wanderers trip over the guy ropes and the private school kids get giddy over salvia and I finally got to sleep, but all too soon it’s sweltering as yesterdays deluge has given way to searing sunshine.  I can tell by the fact I can smell the long-drops half a mile away.

water gun

I milled around; I ate some beans and we were all ready to go.  I’ve packed my bag with the warmed beverages and, with a walking beer to ease my passage, made my way to my position…

“Where are you trying to get to?!” I exclaim, as the umpteenth bleary-eyed man-child tries to barge through between me and my companions.

“There’s no sp…”

The words die on my lips as the crowd’s Mexican roar surges front to back, heralding the arrival of the first of my reason for standing in the middle of a soggy field in the middle of nowhere – the first band of my festival is on stage.  I sing.  I dance.  I enjoy myself.  Nothing else matters.

Raygun

JOSEPH ROWAN
The answer to this question occurred to me only recently. The reason I still go to, still look forward to, still obsess over the line-ups to festivals is that they provide the best opportunity to pretend that music really is the most important thing in the world. For one, two, even three days music is no longer the thing that punctuates the boring parts of life: it is life itself. It’s what you talk about, think about, and spend all day enjoying and experiencing. Sure, the comedown afterwards is always brutal (at least, if you’re me), but it’s always worth it for that brief period of escapism which, for the most of us, is the closest we get to making music our full-time concern. That may sound depressing, but I really think festivals are wonderful, worthy things for this very reason. Everyone needs to be able to dream.

protalitarianism

PETER HARRIS
No other art form can illicit that gasping, goosebump-raising rush like live music can and no other medium of live music offers a better bang for buck ratio than a festival but for me, the bands aren’t always the most important aspect. It’s more about vibe, good organisation and surroundings and being part of a collective of like minds. For these reasons, large festivals and I shall never cross paths again. After severing ties with the like of V and Leeds/Reading in 2006, I was dragged out of retirement last year for the Muse headlined day of V festival. After pulling a muscle walking back to the car in what can only be described as sticky toffee pudding and witnessing countless acts of tw*tism, I said my second goodbye to this level of festival and no line-up or amount of coercion will bring me back.

mofotalitarianism

Small and cosy’s where it’s at for festivals and me. Supersonic, ATP, End of the Road, Dot to Dot etc – festivals organised by people who care about live music for people who care about live music. Festivals where you don’t have to fear being hit in the back of the head with wee-filled bottles, pitched from the hordes of countless morons.

MITCHELL STIRLING
Here are some rules, to be read out loud to the sorts of people who shouldn’t have be let through the festival gate in the first place.

1. Shut up.

2. If you must talk, do so at a volume in relation to the band playing and so only those who want to hear you can.

tototalitarianism

3. The one-metre gap between me and the person in front of me is not a space. I may be 6 ft. tall but my eyes aren’t 6ft off the ground.

4. Similarly if you are such a twat you need to wear some form of headgear, don’t angle it so the peak adds another four inches to your height or put your sunglasses on top of it.

5. If you are sitting on someone’s shoulders and a bottle of piss hits you, this is called karma.

6. If you are with someone who doesn’t want to see the act then do not spend your time rocking between perpendicular and 10º in order to converse with them.

7. The less you know about an act, the further from the stage you should stand.

8. No blankets or chairs in front of the sound tent.

schmotalitarianism

9. The only  time you’ll find me opening an umbrella at a festival would be if I’d already rammed it down someone’s throat. Wear a rain coat you selfish piece of shit.

10.  If you are a Hoxton haircut type just don’t come.

KENNETH MCMURTRIE
Generally nowadays I no longer get enthused about the idea of seeing a band play live. Fifteen or so years ago this was not the case – I saw loads of gigs in my twenties (is 85 in one year a lot or a little?) and have a bunch of memorable ones from that time; getting lost in Strathclyde trying to find an Inspiral Carpets one, seeing Oasis in Edinburgh with fewer than 20 other punters just prior to Definitely, Maybe coming out, Supergrass being first on the bill in a practically empty Barrowlands supporting Ride on the Carnival Of Light tour, Napalm Death playing loud enough to dislodge a ceiling tile at the Glasgow Garage, the first of a number of Prisoners reformations in London and suchlike.

glowtalitarianism

Even at that time though the desire to cash in on a young band’s first flash of popularity by booking them in the biggest venue possible, with only enough tracks to their credit to last an hour and a one song encore, was clearly evident (and has probably always been part of the game). That combined with repetitious utterings such as “Gee we love the castle” or “Glasgow’s one of our favourite places in the world” and the abject failure of many groups to entertain as opposed to merely perform has therefore shaped my current cynicism, well before the preference to be seated at shows took a grip.

Given the prices charged (plus the grey area of booking fees) and the distinct possibility that what you get is a formulaic stage show I started to think about whether anyone would pay to see me in my day job and why I should be interested in doing so to look at someone else essentially doing theirs. This naturally has led me to pay to see no more than a handful of concerts in the last five years. Turbonegro spring to mind as one of the very few bands I’d rush toget a ticket for whenever they come to town specifically for the reason that they give great value for money.

NBF!

The Horrors are the newest band I’ve been keen to see and paid whatever was asked (not actually over the odds due to a sensible sized venue being used) but that was nearly two years ago and since then no-one’s sparked enough interest in me.

That said I’ve enjoyed the shows Muso’s have sent me to (Herman Dune in particular) – I’d just not have gone off my own back, especially given some of the ticket prices. Which brings me to Festivals. Attending a festival, particularly one of the new breed of urban ones (think Camden Crawl or Stag & Dagger) puts the value for money aspect squarely in the hands of the customer – you can shell out and see enough bands to make it work out at a very few pounds per act or you can get smashed in a field and not remember seeing anyone. I managed tenacts or more at the Glasgow Stag & Dagger so a paying fan seeing as many would have been doing so at £1.50 or less per group.

ahoy, its Jeremy Beadle (R.I.P.)

Summing up then this is not to say I avoid live shows completely as I’ve my eye on a couple I’d like to review plus have actually bought tickets for two gigs later this year, as I’ve wanted to see Devildriver for a couple of years now (plus at £18 for a five band bill it sits well value-wise) and on November 28th the criminally under-successful Goldenhour are reforming to headline a Mod All-dayer in Glasgow, I just choose more carefully and think that generally you risk seeing the same thing all the time and that many bands are actually better on the stereo than in person.

we've run out of puns, please insert your own

MATT BROWN
“Yes, yes, yes, it’s the summer festival, the truly detestable summer festival,” sang Edwyn Collins quite accurately, according to some. What makes us return to such events that can often resemble survival weekends and have us discussing the toilets as passionately as the bands we saw? Why do wear our plastic wristbands like badges of honour embarrassingly long after the event so we can share Masonic winks to fellow wearers in the bars and on the beaches for the remainder of the summer? Why do we pledge each year to remember to take a head torch in place of a set of juggling balls, only to make the same mistake next time?

Perhaps it’s the hope that the festival will provide that little bit of magic that we could ever experience anywhere else. Seeing a band we previously never cared about, waltz on and 30 minutes later having us vow to track down every white label import they may have even sneezed upon. Or casually watch an act that unbeknownst at the time turns into some iconic global market dominator and we can 10 years down the line shrug and say “Yeah, saw them warming up for Nitzer Ebb in ’94 in the Noisepain Tent…they were much better then.”

Perhaps Edwyn was right after all…

After discussing our favourite gigs of 2009 so far, we’ve gotten all nostalgic and decided to reminisce about the first gigs we attended. We’ve been completely honest about it as well – possibly to our detriment. Get the violins out…

Jethro Tull

JANE WHYATT

Jethro Tull, Bristol Colston Hall, 1974

It was my first week at university and my first live concert, but actually I was a bit underwhelmed. I liked the album Aqualung, mainly because my boyfriend played it very loud (on vinyl, on his new stereo) when his parents were in the house and we were upstairs in his bedroom having other kinds of fun! Hearing it fill the Colston Hall, watching him really getting into the music and totally ignoring me was a frustrating experience. Ian Anderson frolicked around the stage with his flute, floppy long hair and velvet trousers. His voice sounded thinner and more whining than it does on the album. We all knew all the words, so we sing along and left the gig feeling hoarse and drained as though we’d been to a football match that ended in a goalless draw.

The Quireboys

MATT POACHER

The Quireboys, Hammersmith Odeon, 1991

My first ever gig was The Quireboys at the Hammersmith Odeon in, I think, 1991. They were a bar-room band that played sore-throated raucous blues, ripped wholeheartedly from the flayed corpse of the Stones and Humble Pie. The band were at least a six piece as I remember, but they were led by Spike and Guy Griffin – two craggy waifs who wore bandanas, rank eye make-up and cowboy boots, and traded in a kind of social club sleaze. They’d just released A Little Bit Of What You Fancy and were creating something of a stir.

I was only 16 and turned up in a hideous flowery shirt, a sin in itself, only compounded by the fact that I then went and bought a band t-shirt and put it on. What I can recall is minimal: tyre-waisted rock hags screaming at Spike, equally ragged men, all creased skin and sun-bleached bandanas. And my dumb mate and me standing at the entrance to one of the stairwells on the balcony and jumping up and down a lot. Even from this critical distance I’m annoying myself.

Glastonbury 1995

ALEXANDER TUDOR

Glastonbury 1995

In 1995, I scammed my school out of a travel grant to attend the “Glastonbury Festival of Performing Arts” (and even managed to win a small prize for my first piece of music journalism). Technically, the first band I ever saw live were akshly kinda hip and Wire/Plan B-friendly: The Boredoms. Mind-blowing stuff: Eye leapt off the drumkits (plural) repeatedly, and the music seemed to spiral in front of us. There was a place, away from the stage, where the compression-waves from the bass-bins met and made you feel like your bones had turned to jelly. I was still young enough to be intimidated by “weird music” but I loved every minute of The Boredoms. Otherwise, G’bury ’95 was very Britpop, with a distinct sense of history being made, unlike (say) Spike Island, by all accounts. Oasis debuted most of Morning Glory (cue: stampedes where people were trampled), and Pulp reached their apotheosis (genuinely epiphanous; the spacecraft landed, as Jarvis sang; you could feel how magical it was for them to be here after so many years; ‘Common People’ was destined to be an anthem forever). The Verve were dull… not half as fun as Menswe@r, although neither looked set to last. During The Cure’s set, some girls shared their whisky and weed with us, with the result that (later on) the USS Enterprise seemed to be coming out of the screen at the open-air cinema.

It wasn’t until autumn ’95 that I saw my first proper gig – Garbage at Brixton Academy, and the next year (Lost Britpop greats) Subcircus at the Garage (first sticky-floored and dank indie gig). I knew I’d be getting home late from the latter, so I borrowed a masterkey, which meant I could sleep under a desk at school… all of which means that whenever I’m asked about my first gig, I tend to think of waking up at dawn, walking through the woods, and woozily meeting a deer that seemed to be a way of the universe saying “Hey! You’ve arrived”.

A1

NATALIE SHAW

A1, Birmingham NEC, the ’90s some time…

Well as it goes, my first gig (I think) was at the Birmingham NEC with my parents as a way-too-cool pre-tween. I’d been brought up on a musical diet of such delights as Craig McLaughlan, Mel and Kim, Luther Vandross and Whitney Houston (before I discovered Blur and Pulp), so it was no surprise that I was dragged kicking and screaming (not really – in fact not at all) to see a Pop A-List of the Year including, wait for it, A1 and Scooch. I have a feeling 3T may have played there too, maybe also 911 – they were so seminal that they merely fused into a conglomerate of Hermesetas Gold. Note how I’ve used more commas and brackets than usual; this is to make it read more like a stream-of-consciousness as opposed to a memory I’ve savoured in all of its gloriosity.*

*Of course if you ask me nicely, I’ll be able to provide you a setlist and tell you the middle-name of 911′s drummer. Oh, wait…

Nicky Wire of MSP

PAUL BROWN

Manic Street Preachers, Newcastle Arena, 1998

As a band who shaped my musical upbringing more than any other have so far, it’s quite fitting that my first gig happened to be the Manic Street Preachers in December 1998. It’s probably not a tour that will go down as a classic chapter in Manics history. They were touring This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours which, as much as I like it, isn’t their most thrilling of records, and it also saw Nicky’s brief, inexplicable, and ill-fated experiment with a skipping rope. As well as that, it was in Newcastle’s cavernous, echoey Metro Radio Arena (or Telewest Arena as it was then). But, in spite of the odds against it, the gig was an electrifying experience. Even now, some ten and a half years, and three stones later, I still get goosebumps whenever I hear live recordings of ‘You Love Us’ or ‘A Design For Life’, and it’s because of that night. It cemented my love for the Manics, and made sure that for better or worse, I’ll always be a hopeless fanboy.

Green Day

JOSEPH ROWAN

You may struggle to believe it now, but I was pretty uncool in my early teenage years. Hence this gig, which I attended as part of a friend’s birthday, and which what I believe was the second encore (it seemed to go on for ever, anyway) so that we could get a lift from his mum. Hardcore! But, seriously we had possibly the worst seats in the house, and I hardly recognised a single song, even the really famous ones. Thankfully, it was before Warning came out, so while we did get ‘Minority’ (I think), the set was weighted towards Nimrod, the only Green Day album I have ever owned. Sadly, or perhaps fortunately, I don’t think this gig had any impact on my later muso-ing. I’ll leave that to Muse a few years later, with a girl who fancied me who turned out to be a lesbian. So uncool…

The Bluetones

CATHERINE WILSON

The Bluetones, Middlesbrough Town Hall, 1999

As a teenager, my musical taste was considered to be quite strange by my peers. Indie music wasn’t exactly fashionable back at the turn of the millennium, as the sexy Strokes hadn’t come to everyone’s attention just yet. Fair enough, I did have a mild Kula Shaker obsession, but if you weren’t listening to So Solid Crew at the time then you were classed as a tad odd. The thought of seeing music live hadn’t really crossed my mind until I spotted a billboard for The Bluetones, who did a good turn in jingly-jangly mid-90s Britpop, playing live at Middlesbrough Town Hall.

Maybe I should have known better, having just turned 14, but the first few notes of The Bluetones’ set shocked me: what’s stuck with me since is that I remember thinking they must have been miming (thanks, CD:UK) as opening track ‘Last Of The Great Navigators’ sounded just like it did on record. Singer Mark Morriss’ charm and aplomb combined with a raft of catchy singles made for a solid performance. Possibly not as cool as nailing The Sex Pistols at The Free Trade Hall for your first gig, but not half bad.

Franz Ferdinand

DAVE McBURNIE

Franz Ferdinand, Glasgow SECC, December 2004

Whenever I listen to Franz Ferdinand on record (which is, admittedly, now not very often) I come away with the feeling that the last 40 minutes of my life would have been much more enjoyable had it been live. Unfortunately, after several weeks of cajoling my parents and a road trip to Glasgow, I left ultimately disappointed that my theory had proven misguided. Their live show, to my 15-year-old mind, lacked any sense of departure from the album. The songs were played in a familiar order and lacked the extra energy that I had expected from seeing clips of other bands live.

This tour was in the wake of the eponymous, Mercury-winning debut album and perhaps this was the cause of my disappointment. I could theorise that perhaps the band lacked confidence in performing to such large crowds as a reason that there was little crowd interaction, possibly due to their startling rise to headlining status, however I feel this would be judging the band slightly harshly. What seems like a more likely cause is that the majority of the crowd seemed to lack knowledge of the majority of the album tracks, and as such they only ever seemed to enjoy the show when the radio friendly singles ‘Talk Me Out’ and ‘Matinee’ were played.

Perhaps the memories of more recent gigs have pushed the good memories of the night to the back of my mind, and as such have left me with an overly critical recollection of the gig. It certainly didn’t put me off wanting to see live music, and thus can’t have been as bad as some of the gigs I eventually saw; but I guess I just expected more from my first time.

Since we’re currently reliving this year’s Glasto with reports from every day of the festival, it feels appropriate that from this morning you can register to attend next year, on the festival’s 40th anniversary, here. That’s just registering mind – there’s no tickets on sale yet or anything. It might be wise to start saving now.

Glastonbury 2010 will take place at Worth Farm, Somerset from Wednesday, 23rd June to Sunday 27th June. rumoured headliners include Radiohead, Muse, Bob Dylan, Foo Fighters, Michael Jackson’s re-animated corpse, Status Quo (again) and The Saturdays. Michael Eavis has cryptically promised “… some headliners who haven’t played for a few years and some who have never played here”. Exciting!

First Aid Kit

Saturday 27 June

We head off to the very top of the festival site to take some early morning shots of the temporary city of Glastonbury below us, except we left camera in tent. A 30-minute walk to fetch it and then rescale the hill serves to use up the time before First Aid Kit’s set up at The Park. We watch transfixed by the harmonies that these two Swedish teenagers wearily (in a good way) sing. We also notice that Elbow’s Guy Garvey just behind us is as impressed by their definitive version of Fleet Foxes‘ ‘Tiger Mountain Peasant Song’ as we are. We are expecting big things from them.

We’re not sure if it’s the potential for seeing a Michael Jackson tribute from Rolf Harris that has seen us arrive at the Jazz World stage; we arrived just in time for Mike Skinner leading The Streets through a version of ‘Billie Jean’ yesterday so who knows. The Aussie does indeed mention him but sticks to his own well-worn song collection, and as we slowly start to fry under the lunchtime sun and some strong cider, we’re all having a good time singing along to ‘Two Little Boys’ and ‘Tie Me Kangaroo Down’. The fact that the compere introduces him by starting a chant of “When I say ‘ROLF’ you say ‘HARRIS’. ROLF” will still amuse me over a week later.

After deciding that I wasn’t going to get to Spinal Tap at the Pyramid for the start of their set, I opt for authentic Glastonbury wander. I take in more of the sights around the market place, sampling curries and other food not from the main caterers, see Tony Benn talk about the Labour party, watch some jugglers, see some tribal African dancing, don’t look at the naked children of naked hippies and sit down with a beer to watch Jeremy Hardy deliver half an hour of laughs out of the sun.

My wandering continues up to the Chess Club stage in the Greenpeace field,, for half an hour from Blue Roses. Laura Groves is fast becoming a favourite of mine and it’s a real treat to see her in such intimate surroundings so soon after Brighton’s Great Escape, when it was so packed that our feet were practically on the stage at. Her voice soars and sails through ‘I Am Leaving’, ‘Does Anyone Love Me’ and ‘Rebecca’. We humbly recommend her to anyone that’s a fan of Kate Bush, Joanna Newsom or Joni Mitchell.

The sun is getting lower but the burning sensation on the back of my neck isn’t going anywhere. I have friends to meet after they’ve been to Kasabian and Pendulum (no thanks!), and end up walking right across to The John Peel Stage. Florence and The Machine are due on; it’s under a tent top so although I’ve seen her before and been so-so on her, I go with it anyway. She looks great when she comes out in a swishy black number and proceeds to make me follow my steak pie up with a humble flavoured one. She’s on stage doing everything right, leaping and climbing the rigging for ‘Kiss With A Fist’, putting her all into ‘Girl With One Eye’ and remarkably getting a large sing-a-long to ‘The Dog Days Are Over’. She seems quite emotional at the response to it all, some of the loudest cheering I’ve heard all weekend. Depending on how well Jackson’s sales hold up this week, she may have bagged a number one album with this performance.

All day I’ve been told to go to Bruce Springsteen even though the thought of standing with a bunch of middle-aged men and their small children, Bobby and Mary, while ‘The Boss’ plays an hour of tracks from his last two albums is enough to make me glug motor oil. No thanks. So I’m back at the John Peel Stage for someone we at least know Peel liked, (Fucked Up being the only new band on that I could imagine learning about from the late DJ first) Jarvis of Cocker. The morons start to dissipate when they realise he’s not going to do ‘Common People’ and leave what ends up being a rather sparse crowd for a headliner on a stage this size. Not to worry though, Jarvis rattles through ‘Angela’, ‘Big Julie’ and best of all ‘Leftovers’ throwing shapes like he was still in his early thirties and displaying a confused nonchalance when an interloper presents him with some champagne; he declares, without a hint of irony, that Cocker brought “a touch of fucking class” to Britpop. We bounce along to ‘Fat Children’ and sway to ‘Don’t Let Him Waste Your Time’, and he leaves us with ‘You’re In My Eyes’. There are calls for an encore that go unanswered no doubt to curfew issues. Jarvis comes back on stage to apologise and confirm this. A true gent. No Jacko mentions, mind.

We wander, again, up to The Park for tea and cakes (we quip that after today, the delicious blue frosting on ours is the icing on the cake) and are treated to The Blockheads playing to about fifty people in the Rabbit Hole tent at 1am. One of those little moments that doesn’t seem like it actually happened now. Along past the Stone Circle and then it’s the long queue to get into the top left of the site.  It wasn’t a good idea to do all that walking and then attempt to have a big night out at Trash City and Shangri-La. For one it’s completely full to the point you can only shuffle about, secondly my feet ache so much I can barely think about anything else for more than twenty seconds. It’s a wonderful experience though, to see so much strange stuff in this Mad Max/Blade Runner dystopia. I decide enough is enough around half three when as walking through the alleyways a drug-addled reveller freaks out that the “carpet is moving under my feet”. It’s the mud under red-strip lightning. Next time I won’t have the big night out on the day I walk around most of the site.

Slow Club

26 June, 2009

Morning papers are arriving on site to confirm what a few hadn’t believed in the evening, far too many texts, Tweets and calls about MJ meant it was into the Orange Chill ‘n’ Charge tent for a bit while friends go to Dan Black (Their review: Alright). As I cut past the Pyramid Stage, Gabriella Cilmi is on; most of her songs aren’t up to much but she has a voice and style to do more in the long run.

Late lunch is tea, cake and newspaper in The Guardian Lounge waiting for Slow Club. As seems to be customary at their shows, the floor is there to be sat on on ’til Rebecca bosses the crowd on to their feet. In a heroic effort, one guy leads the whole tent in putting on their dancing shoes for ‘Giving Up On Love’, and well done that man.

The Park always seems to be the one stage that suits our tastes the most so we tend to camp close to it to keep some of the walks to a minimum. On the way, we’re pretty darn pleased with what a large crowd The Maccabees haved pulled on The Other Stage (much bigger than the one The View end up with later on). And we’re now at The Park for Secret Guest #1 who we already know are going to be Hot Rats, a.k.a. Danny and Gaz from Supergrass with help from Nigel Godrich. They have an album of covers on the way and as the sun breaks through for the first time since I arrive, they deliver a fun set. Despite the odd technical hitch or seven you can’t complain about being regaled by hearing covers of The Sex Pistols, The Kinks, Roxy Music, Beastie Boys, David Bowie, Elvis Costello and best of all, Gang of Four. Certainly hoping the album doesn’t disappoint. After the aborted trip to Pyramid stage, we come back up the hill for Secret Guest #2. Not Libertines, Radiohead, Muse, Coldplay, Arctic Monkeys or The Rolling Stones, but in fact, Jack White’s The Dead Weather. They bore me stupid. The Kills have never been good, The Raconteurs’ second album was a complete snoozefest and only when White comes off the drums do excitement levels reach yellow. They cover Dylan’s ‘New Pony’ and as nice as they look, their own songs are doing nothing for me.

We’ll admit to having a quick peek at Lady GaGa in order to: (a) see what she’s wearing, and (b) see if she is an elaborate Kaufman-esque satire on popular music. Not sure there’s another explanation for her really, but we’re fully behind her. We waddle the long way round to the Pyramid (because it’s better on that side) for The Specials. We could moan about the lack of Dammers here or complain about other things but simple fact is the band are playing some of the best songs of the weekend. From the majority of their first album to the Thatcher recession anthems of ‘Do Something’ and of course ‘Ghost Town’, they sound more relevant and vital than most acts here.

We only get to British Sea Power in time for ‘Waving Flags’, after cracking open the cans we liberated from our tent on the way. It’s the best performance I’ve seen from them since Oxford early last year; there’s no problems with volume and the fans have foliage at the ready. A shame that sets like this don’t get on the BBC’s red button but that is part of their charm. It’s definitely a highlight of the weekend so far.

Rounding off the music for the day are Animal Collective back up with the very young crowd at The Park. We spend the wait feeling smug for having seen Neil Young in Aberdeen on Wednesday and not having to worry about missing ‘A Day In The Life’, the fake endings of ‘Rockin’ In The Free World’ et al by seeking out the second best thing to come out of Baltimore, Maryland. (Ironically The Wire’s Dominic West was watching Neil Young at the time!) After a slow start with a lacklustre ‘My Girls’ disappointing many, the set starts to pick up with ‘Summertime Clothes’ and some catchy new songs in the middle. Maybe it’s the cider from the day or the joy at the lack of heavy rain we’d been waiting for, but despite wearing wellies and a rain poncho we dance the entire duration of closers ‘Fireworks’ and ‘Brother Sport’. I look a prize tit, but if you can’t look like that at Glastonbury, where can you?