Glastonbury Mk IV

My first Glastonbury in 2003 didn't really count, as I hadn't a clue what I was letting myself in for. I went down on the Friday morning with a couple of old schoolmates and their friends (most of them doctors, whose drug intake didn't fill me with confidence in the future of the medical profession), people all wanted to watch different things and I spent most of the time wandering around alone. There were some great sets from REM, Radiohead and the Flaming Lips in particular, but I didn't come away thinking I'd gotten the full Glasto experience.

At least it was dry that year, which is more than could be said for my return date in 2007. Fortunately, I was with my good friend who leaves nothing to chance when planning musical iteneraries and we roamed around the whole site taking in as many bands as possible. Getting there on Wednesday evening helped too, giving plenty of time to explore the further-flung nooks and crannies of the festival.

I was eager to go back for 2008 despite the much weaker lineup (no Arcade Fire or Hold Steady this time) and the overall experience was better still. Glastonbury now felt comfortable, familiar, and we camped with a lovely bunch of people in what turned out to be a great spot up behind the Pyramid Stage. It was mostly dry, Jay Z was surprisingly triumphant, and realistically this was the peak of my Glasto days.

We weren't planning on going this year, but the temptation to see Springsteen, Madness, Blur and the Specials was ultimately too much to resist. Things didn't start off too well though as we ended up camped way out beyond the Park, miles away from the centre of things. Then on Thursday night, not only did we miss East 17 when their start was put back to 10:30 after we'd got there at 6, but thunder and lightning struck shortly after. We did then go and watch Ferris Bueller in the cinema tent, where some drunken berk was trying to start a preposterous rumour that Michael Jackson had died. As if!

Friday arrived with a relentless grey drizzle but I put my positive hat on (not a real hat) and, remembering that I'd survived the quicksand-like mud of 2007, resolved to enjoy myself. And thanks to Bjorn Again (camp), the Rumble Strips (tight), the Maccabees (in "not sounding half as good as on record" shocker), Fleet Foxes (diverting), the Specials (skank-tastic), Ed Byrne (Irish) and Q-Tip (would be called Cotton Bud if he were English), I did just that. We also witnessed the portly vocalist from Fucked Up smacking a glass over his head and climbing halfway up the John Peel stage scaffolding, all during their opening song. I'm worried he may have peaked too soon.

Saturday featured Rolf Harris (who drew by far the biggest crowd of the weekend to the Jazz World stage for the ultimate feel-good set), an assured performance from Dizzee Rascal and a lovely set from Badly Drawn Boy in the Avalon tent. Seeing folks play on these more minor stages is arguably "the real Glastonbury", as the man said - and he even closed on a cover of I Wanna Be Adored. Still, the day (and possibly the festival) was really all about Broooce. Going in, I didn't quite know what to expect - I wasn't familiar with large parts of his catalogue but I'd always been impressed by the raw energy of what live footage I'd seen. If he played Atlantic City and/or Dancing in the Dark I'd leave a happy man.

So we're right near the front, Badlands is second up, Bruce is constantly running down to play right in front of the already pumped-up crowd... however, he's doing an awful lot of songs I don't recognise, my leg is cramping up, and my disappointment levels are steadily rising. Then comes the customary "sign collection" request part of the set - the E Street Band launch into Because The Night and I'm suddenly hooked. Now hit follows hit. The River! ("Lately there ain't been much work/On account of the economy") Waitin' on a Sunny Day! Lonesome Day! (he probably won't play The Rising now though, right?) Hey, The Rising! Radio Nowhere! Thunder Road! Born to bloody Run! The encore arrives, and soon we're into last song territory. He just has to close with Dancing in the Dark. Aargh, it's Glory Days! Surely no more time left... but what's this? "Hey Stephen, what time is it?" "Curfew time?" "No man, it's Boss time!" (I'm paraphrasing here.) Yesssssssssss!

This turned out to be a fabulous set. Springsteen and his comrades have been playing together for so long you get the feeling they could churn this stuff out in their sleep, and yet they hit you with so much darn energy it's impossible not to get swept up. Still, after that and the bout of early-morning Guilty Pleasures dancing which followed, I was knackered.

Consequently, Sunday was something of a mixed bag. We loaded the car up at lunchtime and then enjoyed the Penguin Cafe Orchestra, a nice pint of proper ale, Tom Jones and the mighty Madness. I certainly didn't enjoy the toasted sandwich I purchased before seeing Nick Cave, which may have been my downfall. Cave's set was somewhat average - much like the E Street Band, the Bad Seeds will never just go through the motions, but a certain spark was missing. Plus I was starting to feel rotten by this point, my guts beginning to churn and varying degrees of sunstroke, dehydration and sheer tiredness were all taking their toll.

Somehow the original plan to sit at the top of the Pyramid field for Cave and Blur had fallen by the wayside, and my body duly gave in forcing me to leave the front around halfway through the latter's headline set. Despite my discomfort, they clearly played a blinder and looked like they'd never been away. What the music industry wouldn't give for a new band to come along with one tenth of their wit, invention and sheer charisma.

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I turn 30 in a few weeks. If I hadn't considered it a big deal before, Glastonbury has certainly rectified that. We deliberately did far more chilling out and sitting down this year, and yet the effects of spending 5 days at this most gargantuan and exhausting of festivals seem to accumulate year on year. Much older people than me still attend religiously, though I imagine these are the sorts who set their chairs out in the Pyramid field and don't stray too far from their spot. Who knows, maybe that constitutes "the real Glastonbury" for people of more advanced years. All I know is my body was clearly trying to tell me something on Sunday night, and it sounded suspiciously like "for the love of God, no more festivals!" And yet, something about Glasto does tend to lure you back.

2010 will hopefully see me in South Africa for the World Cup and 2011 is likely to be one of Michael Eavis's rest years, so it's a decision I won't have to make for a while. But if Arcade Fire's rise to the top of the musical firmament culminates in a Pyramid Stage headlining slot in 2012, I'll no doubt see you there.