Week 25 - Friday II

Glastonbury - Friday - Part II

“Those aren’t Pillows!”

Candy’s late arrival had been forced by work commitments (those shower curtain rings won’t sell themselves) but he arrived at precisely the most awkward time imaginable; moments before the headliners began. I’d intended to meet him but by the time Cousin Bish and I arrived at the Pyramid Stage there was little room for manoeuvre. I gave up and decided that meeting was impossible, just as we reached an ideal position in front of the sound stage.

After ignoring several phone calls and laughing at numerous desperate sounding answerphone messages from the Candyman, I instructed him to head toward the Pyramid Stage (“It’s the one shaped like a pyramid”) and he did so. Manfully carrying his rucksack and holdall through the rain, Candy made one of the most timely and remarkable Glastonbury entrances of all time just before the first drumbeat. He even befriended a family by the side of the stage, in a way only he can. By force. 

U2’s entrance wasn’t quite as impressive. I’d confidently predicted that a certain legendary Irish front-man would prove once and for all that he is indeed God, and would fly onto the stage in a holy beam of light. Much to my amazement it wasn’t to be, and instead Paul walked on stage like a mere mortal, as did the greatest of great guitar heroes, Dave. The other two probably did as well, but who cares?

U2 are amongst the most divisive acts in the world. Few bands have more fans, few bands are more hated, and few bands have sillier nicknames (as if anyone’s really called Adam Clayton). They were easily one of the biggest talking points beforehand, having not played any festival in over two decades and having never played Glastonbury, despite existing since the dawn of time and being arguably the biggest band in the world. 

Yet, it seemed, a lot of people would be watching in spite of themselves. As P. Mushy said, “They’ve got some tunes, and you know they’ll put on a show, but I just can’t stand Paul.” There was also the alleged tax evasion to throw into the mix, and a protest that led to a giant balloon being erected among the crowd bearing the slogan ‘U pay tax 2’, but we don’t pay attention to such issues in Gigaweek, especially with Sandro’s history of tax evasion.

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While U2 are renowned for the spectacular, they weren’t on home turf here. They had a couple of extra screens either side of the stage, but there was no claw, and there were no multi-million pound additions to the Pyramid. They are rich enough and old enough (sorry Mum) to have retired to their eco-mansions across the Atlantic long ago, and the audience here were music fans, not just U2 fans, so it was something of a gamble for them to play Glastonbury. 

Did the gamble pay off? Cousin Bish and I thought so, whereas Sandro was delighted that he disappeared in time to miss ‘Get on Your Boots’. The rain didn’t help, minimising movement among the audience and for Paul on the slippery stage, but they opened well, with a dramatic drumbeat leading into ‘Even Better Than The Real Thing’ which was accompanied by a video by Damien Hirst. 

The classics were there, with ‘One’ a particular highlight early on. ‘Pride (In The Name Of Love)’ had the majority of the crowd singing along as they finished the  main part of their set, as did ‘With or Without You’ when they returned for their encore.

Paul described their show as being like a pilgrimage, and sung ‘Jerusalem’ before ‘Where The Streets Have No Name’ which was nearly as impressive as when Dave joined Muse on stage last year to cover it. That song also included the ‘bah da, bah da, bah, da da da!’ refrain from ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ which was slightly odd but always welcome.

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There were plenty of other Glasto specific flourishes that Paul seemed particularly proud of, including tributes to the other two main headliners, with a nod to Beyonce via a blast of ‘Independent Women’ during ‘Mysterious Ways’ (which also involved Paul making some weird grunting sounds) and an a cappella version of Coldplay’s ‘Yellow’ during their encore. 

Primal Scream’s ‘Movin’ On Up’ also popped up during ‘I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For’ which would have gone down well with those who’d agonised over which of the two to see, and even The Clash weren’t safe from Paul’s plundering, ‘Garageland’ lyrics popping up during ‘Vertigo’ which also began with a bit of The Beatles in the form of ‘She loves You’. 

Paul later unfurled both Irish and British flags on stage, single handedly uniting the two divided countries. What a hero. After ‘Yellow’ they played a couple more songs which underwhelmed all but the hardcore U2 fans present, with ‘Moment of Surrender’ and then ending on their first ever single ‘Out Of Control’ rather than my suggestion, ‘City of Blinding Lights’ which would have been perfect for Glastonbury.

Paul then allowed Dave to make one important announcement, before they left the stage to more rapturous applause. “Hello Glastonbury!” Dave said through his Britney style microphone. “If there’s a fella called P. Mushy present, tell him I want my hat back!”

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I was shattered, and after taking an age to get back to the tent, carrying Candy and his gear, we settled down with Flappy and P. Mushy for a quiet catch up and a spot of barbershop quintet practice. Just as we were set to hit the hay, Barlow arrived covered in mud, and he wasn’t alone. For reasons known only to him, Barlow had gone on his own to see Newton Faulkner earlier on, and he’d managed to save a girl called Al from a muddy grave. 

They’d bonded over a shared love of ginger dreadlocks and stuck together for the rest of the evening, arriving just after we’d finished a perfect rendition of ‘Mr. Sandman’. Al was suitably impressed by the hundreds of Tim Vine jokes that followed from Cousin Bish and P. Mushy, my masterful Liam Neeson impression, Flapjack's solo performance of Neneh Cherry's ‘Don't Be a Stranger’ and Candy’s generosity. 

It turned out his holdall had been full of essentials: bottled water, Penguins and Monster Munch. I was aghast that he was willing to share his ‘Flaming Hot’ bags, but it was okay, he assured me, “It’s a multi-pack.”

After Candy had changed into his tennis clobber, we joined a sleeping Sandro in the tent. The prospect of sleeping between Sandro and Candy wasn’t one I’d been looking forward to, and my worst fears were realised when I woke after ten minutes with Candy’s arm around me.

“Candy. . . Why did you kiss my ear?” I said in exhausted confusion,

“Why are you holding my hand?” he replied awkwardly,

I shuffled uncomfortably.

“Where's your other hand?” I asked in alarm,

“Between two pillows,” he replied defensively,

I clenched.

“Those aren't pillows!” I squealed, and leapt up and out of the tent in horror, hobbling towards the safety of the long drops.

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To be continued. . .


June

4-10 - The Subways & Gomez - ✓
11-17 - Marcia Griffiths - ✓
18-24 - Glastonbury - ✓
25-1 - Glastonbury