Speaking Smash Hits, Glastonbury’s eclectic eccentricities and pop sensibilities are blown aghast by the rather spectacular booking of Colombian sincere hip shaker Shakira, whose multicultural, multilingual aurous extravaganza was bound to inscribe itself into the festival’s folklore. She even affirms she’ll be experiencing England’s mauling at the hands of Germany “in a pub in East London”. Waka Waka is multinational naivety put to music as vocal gargles last heard regurgitated by Clarence “Frogman” Henry garble over bongos and African chants, and the lucid panpipes of Whenever, Wherever are as enthralling as ever, Shakira shaking her voluminous derrière with more vigour than Victoria Legrand contorts that neck of hers. There’s no sign of Wyclef, nor a single horn for the initial fanfare of Hips Don’t Lie yet that doesn’t stop it providing a moment as riotous as a decade of Notting Hill Carnivals and She Wolf, if a little drab on the decibel front, is exhilarated by the miniscule diva romping atop her monitor. Doubtless there’d be few wanting to lock her away in the closet now that she’s fully breathing, gyrating and sending arteries both male and female (predominantly male) into overdrive.
New York’s Scissor Sisters still are as camp as an oily romp between Boy George and George Michael to settle those differences at Elton’s White Tie and Tiara Ball, as Pyramid-conquering as extroverted pharaohs strapped to Telecasters looking out over the arid lands of Somerset, despite having been almost entirely absent from recent memory. Ana Matronic, domineering as ever, praises the spirit conjured uniquely by Glastonbury amongst perpetual expletives, Jake Shears is more animated than Donkey Kong on chemically enhanced banana peel. Whilst second headliners may have seemed an audacious, and probably flawed booking, it results in an inspired sunset show, calling at illustrious G-A-Y dancefloor gargantuans (deep breath and rack your brains) I Don’t Feel Like Dancing, Take Your Mama, Tits On The Radio, Filthy/ Gorgeous and Laura, besides a slew of material drawn from latest LP Night Work, including the woozy balladry of Fire With Fire and the Pink Floyd-esque Invisible Light. Then there’s the Floyd cover Comfortably Numb. Oh, and then there’s a particularly fleeting Glastonbury debut for Kylie Minogue, synchronising Ana and Jake’s Any Which Way routine in boots made from crushed disco balls before smooching with the pair of them. Stripped down and emanating the deep down'n'dirty outer realms of Block9, the ‘Sisters are still absolutely fabulous dahling. Keeping things ostentatiously flouncy are Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe’s Pet Shop Boys over on the Other Stage, striding on to Heart, lycra box helmets donned. Quite how much of tonight’s aural output is generated here and now remains dubious, although with the likes of Yes cuts Did You See Me Coming?, Building A Wall and Love etc. punctuating the duo’s timeless electro sleaze before a collapsing wall of fused transmission blocks, resistance is as futile as attempting to remain shirted in Heaven. Obscure hits Two Divided By Zero and Why Don’t We Live Together? are then juxtaposed with ingenious covers Always On My Mind and Go West, before the clutch is rammed down and gears are jumped, Lowe revving up New York City Boy, It’s A Sin and West End Girls. A little more in line with a gritty reality away from the cascading blocks and Domino Dancers of these national treasures are Camden’s most famed export behind dodgy dockside dealers, N-Dubz, who wheel out sofas, double beds and a grimy pop repertoire filthier than the dirtiest dubstep Rusko could ever dish. Their presence presumably as perplexing to Glastonbury revellers as it is to the NW1 trio, Against All Odds, they’re headlining the Dance Village’s East tent to deliver their Adidas anthems of contraceptive boo boos, bang bang shoes and faultless infidelities. Rattling through a set slicker than HURTS’ hairdos, Dappy, Tulisa and Fazer’s unapologetically melodramatic music TV musings including No One Knows and Strong Again, telling of their meteoric rise to unthinkably captivating Glastonbury slots are enrapturing whilst Number 1 and Say It’s Over provide pop perfection on a platinum scale. As N-Dubz speed offsite with coordinates set for Cumbria in order to be boxfresh for a gig tomorrow, a night of unforeseeable thrills and hopefully not too many spills awaits down in the hedonistic realms of Block9.
