The Glastonbury Festival 2002
In the summer of 2000 I headed off to a farm in Somerset for a weekend - I was a Glastonbury (and festival) virgin and therefore knew not what to expect. I ended up having one of the best weekends of my life. One mistake I made that year was not being prepared for every eventuality, so this time I was determined to prepare myself with earnest. And so it came to pass that we set of for the festival without a tent and with only one warm coat between the four of us.
By 6:00 on Wednesday evening, though, we are on site, having purchased tents en route. An early topic of conversation, as always, is timetable clashes - Badly Drawn Boy and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club sticks out. After a short refreshment break, sitting on the leyline in front of the Pyramid stage, we head up to the green fields, where the festival is already in full swing. During the course of the weekend the green fields will be the scene of shenanigans and strangeness of many kinds. Men play bongos, while women attempt to sell truffles to passers-by; other people juggle fire while one individual dresses up as "laserman" and tells you that he "merely wishes to enhance your drug experience". And apparently you can find your "soul dance" in the green fields. Well, we never did. If this isn't weird enough then head to the appropriately named "Field of Weird Beard", where you can see crazy shit galore to a Las Vegas themed backdrop. Yes there is certainly something for everybody at Glastonbury, even if you're not quite sure what it is yet.
Friday
Friday morning, 7am. Some bloke is staggering around shouting "get up - you didn't come here to sleep". Everyone ignores him and goes back to sleep. Breakfast consists of a can of Economy Rice Pudding. One of the vilest things I have ever tasted, but it only cost me 17p so I'm not complaining, although the greasy fry up the bloke in the next tent is consuming does look tempting... Then suddenly, something ruptures from the pit of my stomach. Feelings of impending doom abound - yes; I will have to brave the infamous Glasto bogs. Oh well, better get it out of the way sooner rather than later. I run from the toilet screaming, my eyes are stinging from the smell and I hurriedly wash my hands before I even consider what I might have touched.
Over and done with, I take in my first band of the weekend. And as if we haven't seen enough weird stuff already, The Shibusashirazu Orchestra look and sound as though they are there to out-weird everyone else. And they succeed. The 50-piece band hail from Japan and while one man bounds about yelling "Come on Grastonbly!" women dance in pink bicycle helmets while a man dressed as a non-descript surgeon looks on. The Shibusashirazu experience is kind of like watching a World Cup opening ceremony, but with stranger costumes. Answers on a postcard to the usual address as to what the hell was going on.
Slightly more down to earth (though not by a long way) is Ed Harcourt whose blend of beautiful lyrics, Hammond organs, trumpets and being ever so slightly pissed, charms us in the early afternoon sun. At one point, he peers out from behind his flop of dark hair and insists "I'm not pissed, honest, it is nothing, I'm fine, it's nothing". As it turns out, the singer-songwriter pulls out one of the early highlights of the weekend. He adds some songs from his forthcoming album to a few from his last, including catchy numbers such as "Apple of my Eye" and "Hanging with the Wrong Crowd". During set-closer "Shanghai", the slightly worse for wear 20-something knocks his stool over, forgets the lyrics, instead singing "I've forgotten the words to my own song. I'm really drunk", then proceeds to parade around the stage with his keyboard on his back before destroying a couple of guitars.
Back to the Pyramid stage now, The Dandy Warhols bore us with their outdated grunge-rock. Their songs rest uneasily in the afternoon haze and you get the feeling that Courtney Taylor and his band take it all much too seriously. Everyone waits until they play that mobile phone selling song then buggers off to see Idlewild. Apart from us - we head over to Jazzworld to catch Lamb. Who are exemplary. This is exactly what festivals should be about. Fun, shimmering music from a group of talented musicians. "What Sound" and "Gorecki" stand out in a set packed with trippy melancholy.
Back to the Pyramid again for Nelly Furtado, who proves what we had already feared - she only has two songs. The fact that she calls us "Glaston-berry" and leaves the site immediately after coming offstage is simply insulting. Don't come back next year love! Quite how I ended up watching her when Queens of the Stoneage (with Dave Grohl on drums) were on the Other stage, I will never know. Anyway, Ash are better - possibly the perfect festival band - they open with "Girl from Mars" and from that point on, the rapidly expanding crowd in front of the Pyramid are loving the ten-years-old-this-month Irish band. The set is packed with crowd pleasers, from the early days of "Petrol" through to the ever popular "Kung-fu" and on to the tender "Candy", they know exactly what to do to get the crowd jumping. Front-man Tim Wheeler even deals with a stage invading Elvis impersonator during "Kung-fu" and dedicates "Walking Barefoot" to "any old hippies who feel the need to walk around with nothing on their feet", nodding at Sandie Shaw mimicking band colleague Charlotte for clarification.
Spiritualized revel in the much-coveted sunset slot on the Other stage. Jason Pierce's blend of gospel, garage-rock and out and out rock 'n' roll is the perfect backdrop to the sun disappearing behind the hills to end a glorious Summer's day. Ranging from quiet and reflective to loud and fast, not addressing his disciples once, his band turn in one of the performances of the festival.
And so to Friday's headliners. Do we plump for Coldplay on the Pyramid stage or Garbage on the Other stage? Neither, because coming up fast on the rails are a motley crew named Ozomatli. The band look as though they have been cobbled together from people found on the streets and this is reflected in their sound. Combining latino influences with traditional jazz, funk, soul and hip-hop sounds, this band certainly know how to party. Their attitude is typified by their set closer. As they leap from the stage into the crowd, they continue playing. Drums rumble, trumpets parp and the crowd join in an old fashioned knees up and sing-along. Band of the people? You better believe it. They carried on playing well into the night, even after the stage had closed down for the night.
Saturday
Saturday dawns and we troop to the Pyramid to see Ani Di Franco. Very much an unknown quantity, she combines folksy acoustic numbers with captivating storytelling and even a bit of poetry. Glastonbury veteran Jools Holland follows her onstage with his Rhythm and Blues orchestra, the highlight of his set being guest vocalist Sam Brown, as her dulcet tones decorate the atmosphere, most noticeably on "Valentine Moon". We stick around for No Doubt for no other reason than to catch a glimpse of Gwen Stefani's toned stomach. But Gwen and her band possess more qualities than her physique alone. They actually have songs and stage presence in abundance. Gwen wears a cropped top and tartan trousers, looking not unlike a trashier Madonna at times. The biggest comedy moment of the weekend comes during the punk-lite of "Just a Girl". Gwen climbs on top of a rather precarious looking stack of speakers to address the crowd, then needs help getting down again when she realises how high the thing actually is. Slapstick moments aside, "Don't Speak" gets a marvellous reception, Gwen looking genuinely overwhelmed by how many people know the words.
Over in the new bands tent Seafood take the stage in front of a group of hardcore fans. They delight in playing us a plethora of crowd-pleasers from their impressive catalogue, especially exciting one little chap sitting on his Dad's shoulders, singing and clapping along throughout. We stick around for much championed cheeky northerners The Music, who excite us with a set crammed full of mangled guitars, early 90's baggy dancing and Stone Roses-esque psychedelia. With a debut album primed and ready to go, you'd better believe the hype, as this band are certainly ones to watch for the future. Mark my words, they will be on the Other stage next year at least.
Continuing in the early 90's indie theme are the ever-unfaltering Charlatans. They've taken a lot of knocks on the way, but now they may be about as big as they've ever been. With their new funky direction and falsetto vocals winning many few fans, we get another set of crowd pleasers taken from every stage of their ever-changing career. Old favourites "North Country Boy", "Just Looking", "One to Another" and "Weirdo" sit easily alongside "A Man Needs to be Told" and "Love is the Key" as the band turn in a euphoric performance which is lapped up by the crowd.
And so it's left to Wales' favourite sons, The Stereophonics, to headline Saturday night. They lack the sophistication and generation-spanning appeal of The Charlatans but they can still rock with the best of them. Kelly Jones hides himself under a chimney-sweep hat and shades. They enter the stage to the strains of "Mr. Writer" and from then on in, it's hit after hit, after hit. "Local Boy...", "Traffic", "The Bartender and the Thief", "Have a Nice Day", "A Thousand Trees", they're all there and they're all perfect. Although never testing any of the boundaries of rock 'n' roll, the trio do more than enough to justify their headline slot.
Sunday
So Glastonbury Sunday arrives once again to the smell of a few thousand smouldering campfires. What now? Oh shit Rolf's on in fifteen minutes. We rush to the Pyramid stage which is packed with a mixture of ironic students chanting "Rolfie, Rolfie" and older people who genuinely love the laughable old Aussie. Indeed, he seems to have pulled a larger crowd than even Coldplay could muster. Rolf enters stage left, like an embarrassing uncle in a hideous pink and blue shirt. He is greeted by banners and flags galore and people dressed up for the occasion, including two scamps pogoing around in full kangaroo outfits. He plays such 'classics' as "Sun Arise", "Tie me Kangaroo Down", "Two Little Boys" and the rather puzzling "All I want is a Proper Cup of Coffee made in a Proper Coffee Pot" and everyone is happy.
The Other stage seemed the place to be on Sunday this year - the highly rated Soundtrack of our Lives and the more established My Vitriol took in the early afternoon sunshine. And Hundred Reasons inspired much crowd surfing from the black T-shirt brigade while John Peel and Seafood's Kevin Hendrick looked on. But it was Black Rebel Motorcycle Club who stood head and shoulders above the rest. They did nothing amazing physically, they didn't attempt to interact with the crowd in any way, but they played us a set of classic Jesus & Mary Chain rock 'n' roll that proved they really are a great live prospect. Elbow followed them on stage and managed to bring on the rain with a dreary set, more suited to a gloomy November day than a fun loving festival crowd. Biggest disappointment of the weekend definitely, but it's not really their fault that their music was not suited to our mood at the time.
And so back to the Pyramid for the grand finale - two old rockers back by popular demand. First up, Roger Waters. The place fills up with old men with beards who were probably Floyd gig-goers during their heyday. What a disappointment then that Waters' set feels like a very flat Floyd tribute. We get excerpts from The Wall, Dark Side of the Moon and various solo albums, all the while stuttering in first gear. Dreary, damp and dull, just like the ever-worsening weather. I actually wanted to kill myself (and various people around me) by the set's end.
As it turned out, Rod Stewart was the perfect feel-good antidote to Waters. Opening slowly with "Handbags and Gladrags" and "The First Cut is the Deepest", Rod quickly casts aside the slow ones and gives us such classics as "Some Guys have all the Luck", "Hot Legs", "Saw her Standing There" and "Maggie May". Rod displays all the tricks and skills (sarcasm alert!) that got him trials at Brentford F.C. while hoofing footballs into the crowd, before saying farewell with "Sailing" and bringing the curtain down on the festival for yet another year.
Glastonbury festival. What can I say, apart from long may it continue? It is truly one of a kind.
Related pages
Official Glastonbury Festivals Website
Don't believe anything about Glastonbury until you've read it here.
E-Festivals
This site is excellent for all festival related, up-to-the-minute news and rumours.
