Arctic Monkeys by Zackery Michael
Contrasting headline performances from Arctic Monkeys and Elton John bookend Glastonbury 2023.
And so, Christmas For Music Fans has come and gone once again.
As ever, pre-festival conversations were about the negative elements of the event: too many white men topped the bill, the hiked ticket price (enforced after 3 years of prices being frozen) and a general apathy as life in this country is so damned hard right now.
The armchair critics were brandishing their knives and would, in their eyes, be vindicated as the weekend proceeded. But thankfully, Worthy Farm inhabits its own universe during the last weekend of June.
Although political conversations were taking place across the fields, tiresome words like ‘woke’ and ‘virtue-signaling’ were blissfully absent because people actually engaged in worthwhile conversations.
Admittedly, it’s largely preaching to the choir, but it’s at least mature. Elsewhere, there’s treats to be found in the Theatre & Circus tent, the Cabaret area, the Craft field etc, but undeniably the main reason people are here is for the music.
After what seemed an underwhelming line-up (Guns N’ Roses? In 2023? Really?) it feels like speculation about the special guests is rifer and wilder than ever. Notable by their absence are Pulp, who your correspondent was so convinced would be somewhere on Saturday that he was happy to add to the rumours with (mis-placed) confident certainty. Ah well.
However few, if any, were surprised that The Churnups turned out to be Foo Fighters, returning for their only UK gig of the year. A monstrous crowd showed up at the Pyramid and the cheers (along with the sighs of relief) could be heard in Bath as Dave Grohl and his band tore through a succinct hour-long set (a point which Grohl jokingly pointed out on numerous occasions) which balanced their hits alongside material from new album But Here We Are.
For those who travelled over to the West Holts stage afterwards, Foo Fighters were surely immediately usurped as Band Of The Day by Young Fathers, who are slowly but surely winning everyone round.
How to describe them remains an impossibility, but each performer (a more appropriate word than musician) within the group each adds to their unique mix of hip-hop, avant-rock and soul. Breathtakingly powerful.
Alas, Arctic Monkeys couldn’t wrestle the accolade from the Edinburgh mob, with a low-key performance perhaps related to Alex Turner’s laryngitis. A straight bat of a set, it contained none of the surprise inclusions from their stadium shows and was perhaps treated by the band as A N Other festival. It divided those watching at home (who obviously haven’t been paying attention) with reworked versions of certain songs too abject not to be commented on.
However if you were there (beware), it still sounded great, the band doing their own thing (as ever) with little regard for naysayers. Job done, if unspectacularly, and was it a coincidence that they once again opened with Sculptures Of Anything Goes (‘puncturing your bubble of relatability with your horrible new sound’) after opening with bangers in their own shows? As ever, only Alex Turner could tell you.
Saturday brought more surprises, in every sense. Over in the Acoustic Tent, Badly Drawn Boy brought everyone to tears as he paid tribute to his recently deceased brother before a heart-breaking Silent Sigh. Lewis Capaldi may have caught the headlines, but this was no less tear-inducing.
Manic Street Preachers showed no signs of middle-aged malaise with a rip-roaring set including treats for the devoted (of which there were many front of stage) such as This Is Yesterday (accompanied by The Anchoress), an acoustic La Tristesse Durera and the glorious 1985 from the unappreciated Lifeblood.
Old pros, they confidently dispatched A Design For Life mid-set and moved the worryingly relevant If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next to closer, built as it is for a crowd sing-along.
The Park Stage has, for want of a better word, the best vibe of the festival and on Saturday night it was no different. Few of the older generation of rock stars inspire such affection and respect as Chrissie Hynde, proven by the presence of Paul McCartney for The Pretenders’ set.
They’re not short of hits either, with Back On The Chain Gang, I’ll Stand By You and Don’t Get Me Wrong all rapturously received, as was the appearance of former bandmate Johnny Marr for half the set (only at Glastonbury can you have an Actual Smith in the area while nearby a tribute act commits heresy).
Fastly becoming the new Chris Martin, Dave Grohl also made an appearance on skins for an extended Tattooed Love Boys, with the Foo Fighter, Marr, guitarist James Walbourne all taking turns as Hynde watched on generously. Lovely stuff.
Leftfield followed and brought their well-honed blissful electronica to a suitably middle-aged crowd before Fatboy Slim – on his 209th appearance over the weekend – paid tribute to Andrew Weatherall, Maxi Jazz, Tina Turner, Keith Flint and countless others during a euphoric set.
Wisely, he dropped the quasi-sumo wrestler outfit (in tribute to the chap on the cover of 1998’s seminal You’ve Come A Long Way, Baby) before the glamourous Rita Ora stepped out (for her version of Praise You) could show him up.
Another blisteringly hot day, Sunday included a chilled set from Beth Orton (one of two) until Blondie woke the crowd from their slumber with a greatest hits set. A timely reminder of what a fearsome singles act they’ve always been, with Maria and Fun from the more recent (ish) albums sitting comfortably alongside a ferocious opening trio of One Way Or Another, Hanging On The Telephone and Call Me; all ‘now-irrelevant telephone songs’, as Debbie Harry put it.
There was only one place to be on Sunday night (and indeed, an estimated 120,000 were). Queens Of The Stone Age, Alt-J, Rudimental and Phoenix were probably all excellent, but for sheer good times and singalongs, Elton John was the winner of the whole weekend.
After announcing he was bringing on four collaborators, speculation was rife (it turns out Britney Spears wasn’t spotted at Bristol Airport) but, good egg that he is, Reg opted to look to the future to give newer artists a leg up, apart from a waxwork model of Brandon Flowers. Hits galore, the best moment was at the end, with a moving tribute to George Michael on what would have been his 60th birthday before a drawn-out but epic Rocket Man. Not a dry eye on the field.
With a weekend like this, it’s not hard to see why tickets for the festival sell-out in minutes. Wholesome, decadent, uplifting, heartbreaking…there aren’t enough words to describe the festival, so only one will do: Glastonbury.
Same time next year? (As if you’ll be that lucky.)