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- Our Twitter followers review Glastonbury 2010
From Steve Mason to Snoop, guardian.co.uk/music readers keep us in the know on the first day of Glastonbury
@jazm ROFL @ Rolf
•@Rory_Foster The Cheek show potential but material's a bit thin. Think I'll wait for the second album when their songwriting's matured
•@laurenloquax Peggy Sue opened the Park with their usual charm. Ideal for easing us all into Friday while sitting in the sun! Lush
•@lexplex_ The Rabbit Hole is hiding many musical gems, like Bryony Marie Fry who has a record deal imminent
•@lexplex_ Steve Mason was sheer sonic cool. The best of Beta Band and King Biscuit Time in a shiny solo package
•@lba_dub Ellie Goulding v Snoop Dogg cursing game: one "bloody" v ... er, lost count after five secs
•@Wendy_Oloya Snoop offered gin and juice, which he passed to the crowd, reminding us what his m*****f****** name was. Beautiful
•@angelus1981 Perfect Snoop weather. Can't help thinking privileged white kids wouldn't be krunking like this in the pissing rain
•@lba_dub Gorillaz – didn't work for me. Damon's other band were 100 times better last year
•@EcoTrek2010 Can't even begin to do justice to how amazing Florence was. Doubt I'll see an act this weekend that tops that euphoria
•@lexplex_ Mystery Jets haven't skipped a beat since I first saw them in 2004. Really personable stage presence
•@charlierapple Disproportionate number of gingers in the audience for Newton Faulkner. Some don't look natural – I think they are spies #gmreview
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Переслать - Radiohead fill the Glastonbury festival rumour slot
Would it be Coldplay? Or Pearl Jam? Or maybe even Cliff Richard? No! It was (half of) Radiohead, with a rather brilliant stripped-back acoustic set
Glastonbury potentiates rumour. In the pre-internet era, that was because the site felt weirdly cut off from the rest of the country. In the absence of news from the outside world, myths stepped in to fill the gap. So it was that in the mid 1990s, every Glastonbury was beset by the story that Cliff Richard had passed on: quite why the Peter Pan of pop was singled out for an annual exaggerated report of his death remains a mystery. The proliferation of mobile phones and internet access has at least put a stop to people telling you Cliff's snuffed it, but it's made the situation different, rather than better. No sooner have the mysterious words "special guest" appeared on the bill than half the festival takes to Twitter and the message boards to speculate wildly. By mid-afternoon today, the site was awash with increasingly demented suggestions as to who might fill the blank 8:30pm slot on the Park stage. Paul McCartney was going to play. So were Biffy Clyro. And Coldplay. Actually, Paul McCartney and Biffy Clyro and Coldplay are going to have a jam, possibly with Pearl Jam. It's going to be a Pearl Jam jam. And so it went on.
By 8:30pm, there were still people staring at the Park stage in eager anticipation, without actually knowing what they were going to see, a state of affairs not much helped by Michael Eavis's introduction: "Two superstars are here! And I don't need to introduce them because you can see them!" Unless you're at the front, you can't see them, but it turns out to be Thom Yorke and Jonny Greenwood, performing a stripped-down set.
If you can't see them, you miss one of the more remarkable sights that Glastonbury 2010 has to offer: Thom Yorke of Radiohead, playing a slap bass solo while wearing a headband. Admittedly, he's playing a slap bass solo while wearing a headband and performing Harrowdown Hill, his spectacularly upsetting song about the suicide of Dr David Kelly, but nevertheless, it's a sight that would once have seemed as incongruous as Yorke flying around the stage on wires and playing a saxophone while the rest of Radiohead did the Madness "nutty" dance to Exit Music (For a Film).
Once the surprise that two members of Radiohead are playing unannounced – and one of them apparently doing it dressed as Mark Knopfler – dissipates, there's the faintest sense of anticlimax. The first handful of songs come from Yorke's solo album, The Eraser: Balc Swan and Cymbal Rush sound lovely, but with the best will in the world, it's a pretty morose record even by the standards of a back catalogue hardly noted for its ROFLs. Things shift with the arrival of a stripped-down, delicately lovely version of Arpeggio and the peerless Pyramid Song. Street Spirit and Karma Police provoke a singalong. On Karma Police, it continues long after the song itself ends: as he did on the Pyramid stage in 2003, Yorke eventually relents and joins in. It feels like one of those much-vaunted Glastonbury moments: even the most vociferous Radiohead refusenik would be forced to admit that, as conclusions to Glasto rumours go, it's a vast improvement on discovering that Cliff Richard isn't actually dead.
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More FeedsПереслать - Glastonbury 2010: Grace Dent's liveblog from the sofa – Friday night
Grace Dent has the best seat in the house for the first night of music, from Florence and the Machine to Gorillaz and Lou Reed
Beyond doubt, I've got the better deal here. I'm watching Glastonbury all weekend on TV: happy, horizontal, sun-stroke free and lemon-fresh of knickers. Don't get me wrong, I love Glastonbury, I'm just relieved I've not been there since Wednesday, broiling in a Millets two-man tent, camped within earshot of DJ Nut Nut doing his 7am trance set at the Cosmic Cow smoothie stall.
Oh yes, give me BBC coverage instead. Give me red-button access and multi-platform media minute-by-minute wotnot. Give me Lauren Laverne with one hand clutched to an ear filling time while an editor still cuts Pyramid Stage VT. Let me watch the entire Vampire Weekend without someone on "legal e" (aka: ringworm antibiotic/Pro-plus) dragging me two miles overland to watch a strobe-lit forest glade puppet show.
I'll be here from 7pm, starting with BBC3's coverage with Edith Bowman and Reggie Yates. Come and keep me company. (Didgeridoos and laughing gas not allowed).
.
6.07pm: Two. Two. Two. Check. Check. CHECK. Two. Is this thing on? *sound checks with tuneless version of Mustang Sally for entire hour doing 'muso concentration overbite' face*
7.05pm: BBC Three! Reggie and Edith. Quietly hoping for footage of Rolf Harris opening the Pyramid Stage. Rolf is the only person in Britain who should be permitted access to a Didgeridoo, for express purposes of 'bringing In the morning' and heralding 'The Ladies of The Harem of the Court of King Caratacus' only. Sadly, not everyone agrees. Especially not Jonty from Price Waterhouse Cooper who hammered up a tent directly facing yours at 2am this morning and has been parping away ever since.
7.13pm: Straight to Vampire Weekend, a beat-combo directly responsible for making many boyfriends/husbands believe raspberry pink Ralph Lauren yacht shorts, a casually strewn cricket jumper and loafers are an ok thing to wear to ASDA. I shall not forget.
7.20pm: La Roux on BBC3 dressed as MC Hammer with a red Mr. Whippy hair-do. She's 'Bulletproof' apparently, which is coincidentally the SPF level of sunscreen she should have been wearing. Hope someone's got the Nivea Aftersun in the fridge for her.
7.35pm: Bombay Bicycle Club. Right that's it. I can't do this without a drink. Recreating the real on-site feel by walking a two mile detour to the fridge and insisting on warm pear cider that gives me heartburn and machinegun gob. I love you guys.
7.39pm: Florence being interviewed by Edith. Someone once told me that *insert other 'hot' solo female british artist about the same age* calls Florence and the Machine 'Lesley and The Toaster' behind her back. I love Florence. I love her when she's brilliant and I love her when she sounds like the Carrs biscuit factory siren in full honk.
7.48pm: Florence is either wearing the bits leftover from Bjork's dead swan Oscar dress that she found in a hedge. Or she's tried to put a Pronuptia meringue wedding-type dress on in a hurry and stuck her head through the underskirt. You can do this when you're tall and gorgeous. If I did it, a number of people would come and operate 'pin down' on me. It's one rule for one.
7.56pm: Florence performing something from the Twilight soundtrack that I would rather be feasted on by winged accomplices of Satan and spend eternity living by daytime in a bubonic plague burial pit than ever hear again, if that's ok, cheers.
8.01pm: Florence is doing a version of The Chain by Fleetwood Mac so arduous on the ears I am sorely regretting signing up for an entire evening here and wondering if I walk as far as Camber Sands and leave a pile of clothes on the beach The Guardian might believe I am dead.
8.13pm: I wish there was a bit on Glasto coverage like on P Diddy's Starmaker where they whisked them off stage and they were forced to watch a playback of what it sounded like on telly with Diddy just staring at them for ten minutes doing his Weekend at Bernie's corpse expression. I don't think Florence would go through to next week.
8.21pm: I'm being told *clamps hand to ear* that feelgood summer songster Thom Yorke is playing a secret gig in 15 minutes. It can't be that secret. I'm one hundred miles away eating a Monster Munch sandwich and I know about it. Have been trying to watch Kele on 'red button' feed but I have a real aversion to weight lifter's singlets in a non-sport situation. He's starting to look like Meat from Porkies. Enough.
8.32pm: I've been playing with the red button. Fnar. Sometimes when I look at Kele I wonder if he's been hypnotised by Derren Brown for a really long extended prank on C4's Mind Control and he's going to wake up in 3 months and go. 'HANG ON, I was on the cover of Attitude in shorts with a waxed chest? Oh Derren man, you got me, BIG TIME.'
8.43pm: Thom Yorke is apparently on the Park Stage now with Michael Eavis. I will always have a softspot for Mr. Eavis, not through any real affinity with Glastonbury, but mostly because he has hair only round the bottom of his face which would make him really easy to win with if your opponent had him in Guess Who?
8.57pm: Back on BBC3. I'm assuming this is Mumford and Sons as there is about eleven of them and they appear to be Elizabethan. I refuse to interact with this band as their name puts me in mind of a dreary 70's Sunday night sitcom which I'd only be allowed to watch half of as it was bath night and I wasn't even supposed to stay up for That's Life.
9.01pm: Hot Chip on BBC3- hooray. I love how they basically just took the front cover of the 80's video Revenge of The Nerds, gave it to a stylist and said 'This, please.' Hot Chip are living proof how you should never give the school geeks who spend every break lurking in the music room too many wedgies as one day they'll play Glastonbury and then you're pretty much shafted for AAA passes.
9.14pm: I actually can't believe James Corden isn't on stage for this Dizzee World Cup performance. I've turned my telly on and off three times but it's not a malfunction. I can only imagine Dizzee has had his phone turned off for four days and someone has drugged Corden like they used to do with Mr T before flights.
9.37pm: Edith has just gone on an extended mind's eye ramble to Dizzee about what if England play the World Cup final and, well, what if Dizzee was asked to play his amazing supercool anthem at the final and, well, would Dizzee say yes!? 'Yes,' said Dizzee. Interview over.
9.49pm: Snoop on BBC3 saying so many m****r f*****s in three minutes I'm surprised someone from the BBC Trust hasn't pulled a massive plug out of the back of the stage and replaced coverage with a kitten chasing wool. I love Snoop. And it's hard to love a man in Pochahontas plaits who's calling me bitch every thirty seconds. But I do.
9.55pm: Damon All-Bran on the side of the stage for Snoop, in 28 degree heat, in a leather flying jacket wearing an expression like he's watching a school sack race and his child is losing. If you've not got a Chinese opera, a kids choir and half of Sesame Street honking along on stage, you're nothing to Damon. Trufact.
10.00pm: I love how Snoop has an enormous silver plate-sized bumper-bar on his left hand with his name on, just in case he falls backwards into a trough toilet on day 3 and needs to be identified.
10.17pm: On request, I am watching Willie Nelson. My dad loves Willie Nelson and used to pick me up from school discos wearing a stupid hat playing Georgia on My Mind loudly through the window of his Volvo. Oddly, most elements of my parents terrible record collection become 'hip' at one point. I'm pretty sure within the next decade Engelbert Humperdinck, The James Last Orchestra or Klaus Wunderlich and his Amazing Organ will do the Pyramid Stage. This is actually rather lovely. Willie Nelson is one of those whimsical afternoon acts where everything goes sadly amiss and you settle down on the grass and have 4 pints of cider and get drunk from the legs up and end up in the Magic Loungabout tent getting a Henna dragon on your bum crack.
10.47pm: Being told by the good people below that James Last is actually BACK BACK BACK. OK: Gorillaz. I'm enjoying the nautical theme, although Damon needs to remember that the last man who pranced around dressed as a Captain was Robert Maxwell and this was not a happy ending. And who was that man who looked like an angry janitor who staggered on for one song? Had he just come from unblocking the tour bus toilet? Gorillaz are like UB40, there's about one hundred and fifteen of them on the books and hardly any of them have jobs. I'd have them audited by the inland revenue.
10.54pm: Things have gone VERY quiet on the 'tweets and messages' side from Glasto. How odd? I can't image what my friends are doing? They must have been powerfully overcome by the joy of music. I hope they're ok.
11.07pm: Groove Armada on BBC4 are really very good. This may have coincided with one having 2 large glasses of Tattinger and putting my bra on a looser notch. I am literally HAVING it.
11.25pm: Ok. Ok. Ok. having my first real sharp pangs of 'I've been left at home' now. And it's during Fogma by Groove Armada (of all things). And since a phone-call just got through from someone speaking in some sort of tongues burbling 'nooooo iphone battery shlurpy snuff-snoogle wah we all missssh you! goin to Shangri La, wah squelch snorrt' And then there was silence. *lip wobbles*
11.31pm: Some Kind of Nature- Gorillaz and Lou Reed. This, any chalk, is a bloody terrible racket. I invite the word to argue with me. There is no defence. I can only imagine people let Lou Reed on stage with them as he's such a terrible curmudgeon they're too scared to say no as he will NUCLEAR sulk them. Yes, this is the reason.
11.37pm: I am being beaten to number 1 in the 'Most Viewed charts' by a story about a set of false teeth being lost in a glastonbury toilet. I am literally chopped liver around these parts. CHOPPED LIVER.
11.47pm: Damon and some woman are now doing a wonky version of Save Your Love by Renee and Renato, backed by Raw Sex from French and Saunders. People on death row would rather have an earlier appointment than sit through this twice.
12.03am: Snoop with Gorillaz. Amazing. And well done for standing up to Damon on the 'Nautical dress code' request. Everyone else looks like they were dressed out of Clockhouse at C+A circa-1988. Mick Jones is just realising his guitar was never plugged in. Poor love.
12.09am: Turning off Flaming Lips. This song makes me introspective to the point of wanting to sit in the bath and have someone throw a plugged in toaster in.
12.25am: Rolf Harris should come back on Sunday night when everyone's on a massive pin-eyed comedown and do a very slow version of Two Little Boys with Lou Reed. That'll put life in perspective.
1.03am: I have a feeling this is not the textbook state of mind to be in charge of the Guardian live blogging system. *eyes struggling to focus on the screen, slurping booze* And as this is the third time I've seen Hot Chip it may be time for bed. Ah 'bed'. A REAL bed. One I can get to without a 57 minute round trip via the Bingly-Bongly tent on a wild goose chase to see Joy Orbison DJ, a near broken ankle on a guy rope and the gentle wake up call of someone urinating on the side of my tent. Then a shower in the morning, with soap, leaving me unclaggy of armpit and pant district. Staying at home is amazing. Thanks for keeping me company. I can't believe how much we rule.
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