It's ridiculously early on a Wednesday morning. The sky is murky, clouded by hazy breaking rays and shrouded in minute insects. But it's not any ole' Wednesday; it's the final Wednesday of June. Glastonbury has cometh. Last night I crossed off one of the most inspirational bands in my view who had been staring out at me with bloodshot eyes from my bands to see before I grow old, when the sheer elasticity of skinny jeans could snap my brittle bones: Portland's The Thermals. I caught up with frontman and frantically enthusiastic music aficionado Hutch Harris before the show and I'll get that interview, as well as a review up after the mud's caked off/ sunburn's tended too following this wild week...
Flight of the Conchords once said rappers have feelings too...
I wonder if Jay-Z feels the bereavement of not following on from last year's lukewarm headline slot?! Kanye West is rumoured to appear with tacky UK processed soulster Mr. Hudson. It's in his contract provided the heavens aren't open. Believe it when you see it... If the toys go out the pram, that one hideous song he cameos on would pummel Shawn Carter's mediocrity into the gaping mud slurry Worthy Farm will undoubtedly have become around Friday morning.
See you on t'other side...
