As skin cells fade from fluorescent to mild tan and gallons of mud are soaked away from tents, tipis and T-shirts, the grim reality of Glastonbury disintegrating away into the Somerset hills for another three hundred and sixty days becomes harrowingly apparent. The world of Worthy Farm was rocked by the devastating news of the demise of the King of Pop, the first major musical loss perhaps of this Millennium and bar the odd sour jab (largely spurted from the overtly foul mouth of the John Peel Tent’s druid compère), a sombre note resounds within Glastonbury’s walls. R.I.P. Michael Jackson.
The Wall of Celeb Death & DestructionDespite destructive downpours, storms sounding as if the sky was cracking/ God was chomping through a fair amount of Kit Kats (depending on your religious standing) and the fickle clay ground underfoot, this year’s festival went off without a hitch. Despite the Stone Circle not being half as ancient as it may appear, Wednesday night sees traditions upheld as a bleary-eyed bunch scale the hills, alighting lanterns and necking the finer concoctions of juice cartons hijacked by spirits before warm cider takes the reigns. And so with Glastonbury inaugurated, let the festivities begin...
Thursday was this year officially incorporated into the musical end of the weird and wonderfully skewed spectrum that Eavis has refracted through tie-die beards over the past few decades, as Maxïmo Park’s afternoon slot on the Queen’s Head stage draws a monstrous rabble. Their brand of lightweight intellectual indie is anthemic enough but maybe the recently reformed East 17 would have been a more bountiful kick-off. As spirits are gradually raised throughout the evening, so too is the eccentricity of those guitar-slingers signed away to prolong their hedonism for the sake of an extra show or two; Golden Silvers’ spangling funk-pop sees them sparkle more effervescently than ever, Kap Bambino kick and scream their way through a categorically cacophonous ramshackle show and Metronomy’s synced saxophonic blasts run rejoicing into the night with spanked bass lines. The dominoes are up and they’re condemned to fall.
