Lets take stock of the 5 days in that Beavis’ guys field this week:
Found
Some new friends
One orange torch
One big smelly but well fitting coat
A Tent (there were a few available)
Someone called Shuan gave me £60 to buy/steal my megaphone then buggered off without it.
Someone gave me £50 for helping them up on stage
Lost or Stolen
One Bakerlight Handset that had been rewired as a headphone for mixing made by my missus she is very very angry about it.
One Mini-KP Kaospad a bunch of leeds and rechargeable batteries
Maybe a very tasty bunch of CD’s (not sure yet, a bit too scared to look)
One hat with horns like the devil or a cow
One set of oversize shades I bought on holiday
Dignity on Dancefloor
This is the reason why I didn’t want to go - it costs so much to go to Glastonbury, both personally and financially. In time effort, hard cash, and your best party kit that gets stolen. I always end up losing out. If you found the retro phone handset/kaospad or CD’s, please get in touch will give you hard cash.
TOP ACTS
Manu Chao
Where have you been all my life, we wanted ‘Bongo Bong’ though.
Black Mountain
Ah someone booked a rock band! Aces! Call out the beardo’s! Loved the end of their set - “We are going to play one more’. Cue enchanting 15 minute pink floydesque physcadelica. With some very pacey stage managers.
Neil Diamond
What happened to ‘Girl You’ll be a Woman Soon’? Or ‘Rhinestone Cowboy’? We don’t care about the god songs on the new album. May I also suggest learning the name of where you are: “hellooo Glastonberry”.
The Banjo Circus
The smallest Banjo Circus in the world ever! Made me believe I can do acrobatics. And remind me why redheads are the boss.
Trash City
The random trance of trash city – imagine finding a flaming mad max baddie headquarters at 4am full of crazy midlanders. Could of done with some Lionel Richie though throw a random smack in the middle of it. Nice to meet a 60 year old raver though.
Newton Faulkner
Until recently thought that white guys in dreads only should be allowed to a) sell falafels b) do the lighting rigging, I will now add c) Sing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ to a billion teenage girls with a load of acoustic guitar gimmicks to that list
TOP GRIPES
Glastonbury is full of bullshit and double standards: it’s like getting out of a prison to get in, messages of peace love tidy up and happiness. But all the punters leave it like a dump - disgusting.
Music seems to be painfully music-industry indie-based, not that much experimental music on the main stages. Doesn’t really support the genuine alternative scene in that respect. Feels like a marketing exercise in the same people making the big bucks and getting the exposure.
The big band areas of burger bars and gurning idiots that really need a mirror put in their faces.
Now combine 1 to 3 and you have Jack Penate and friends - (allegedly - legal Ed). They were camped near us. They were rude, self-important on coke (seemingly) and some other camper spotted a lovely crackpipe. They left their camp really dirty and didn’t tidy up anything. Probably got paid a relative fortune and treated everyone around them and the farm with total disrespect. This is the mindset of possibly every fouth camp that didn’t tidy up, got wankered, took drugs and then left everything in a field. Spoilt twats deserved a kicking and offered them it too. Not surprising they snuck off in the morning, one of them even walked off while in his tent so ashamed on his comedown.
Maybe it is time to call it a Day – the Message isn’t working
It is more of an issue now then a spare ticket being sold here and there, of course it is reflection of a wider throwaway culture. But in the build up to Glastonbury I think the touting talk/Jay Z talk/Tent Peg talk all come back to one thing. Respect for everyone on site and that disposable culture can’t be maintained. I would find it hard to justify putting on the festival if I owned it. Why not just have a smaller more sustainable festival?
You can’t organise it and then have some very token gestures on charity donations. There was a sign somewhere that said ‘not just a marketing gimmick’ - but I think Glastonbury’s green credentials are the biggest marketing green gimmick of all time.
How about not having 200,000 burn rubber, fire, petrol, use plane miles, and have endless lines of cars coming to a field? Surely that would be the most effective manner to ‘all do our little bit’, or ‘be kind to the farm’. Maybe I am being grouchy and I have had a lot of great times at Glastonbury, but with every year it seems more hypocritical even having the festival on at all.
So if you have to have another one - this is a festival with almost 200k people every year, about a quarter of them working. So cooking food, sucking poo, performing on stage, making a Wickerman…it seems possibly a third are just there to get ‘tarded up on drugs, steal shit, and then leave it all behind when they pop off back to suburbia. Maybe the festival needs to become a tad more militant?
If everyone was involved, then would they respect what you do more? How about Burning Man’s theme, lets ban money on site, let’s take away the bars, let’s take away the burger vans, let’s take away the headliners and the expensive hitters. Let’s all get involved, get up there on a Wednesday and make some reason to barter for food/drink/entertainment. Let’s ban petrol generators and electricity on site. Let’s all get involved to make it work. Let’s have a production train or two taking the kit off and on site. Let’s make the BBC take down their glittery production. “Get into the festival or don’t turn up” should apply from top to bottom.
Whatever happens, something has to change as the state of the site was unacceptable to do it like this again.
Most of us here at Music Towers are like the Wicked Witch of the West – the prospect of going out in the rain makes us curl up and melt. So when the weathermen predicted dark clouds over London last Sunday, step forward our new guy, Tom Gibbons, for the Love Music Hate Racism Carnival:
Despite a stinking hangover, yours truly dragged his arse to Victoria Park in London on Sunday, to check out the 30th Anniversary of Rock Against Racism – an Anti-Nazi League ‘music festival’ which has renamed itself Love Music Hate Racism.
Upon entering the regal gates we were aurally assaulted by some ANL activists with megaphones, and handed a year’s supply of roach material, cleverly disguised as ‘Vote For Me’ flyers. On May 1st, Londoners will elect both the Mayor of London and the 25 members of the London Assembly, and what better way for ‘Red’ Ken Livingstone to finish off his campaign than with a rally….err….music festival.
It seems that a large proportion of London was camped just outside the entrance to the festival, drinking their cheap booze and such, and after negotiating our way through the midday mayhem we found a friend covered in mud, grinning like a mad man. He’d just been ejected for doing a running ninja slide under the gate, armed with enough booze and drugs to knock-out a small elephant. Surely that’s par the course for a music festival? For an Anti-Nazi League music festival in London, the security were going about their business in an ironically fascist manner. After some full-cavity searches were done with, it was over to the main stage for some music. Except Ken was talking – we were his “brothers and sisters” – and he only just stopped short of “I have a dream……”
When the music did arrive the acts on the main stage didn’t last long. It was one or two numbers and on with the next, and no-one in the crowd had a clue who was playing. So we bought a programme, which gave you a nicely illustrated line-up…but no stage times. Most performances - particularly from The View - were lacklustre and there was a less atmosphere than the aroma of one of Neil Armstrong’s farts trapped inside his spacesuit – mainly down to the bizarre and short performance arrangements, which were interspersed with political sound-bites from Ken and co. Just as the procession of politicos was becoming tedious, it started to rain.
Gigs in clubs are always a difficult affair – the British gig go’ers mindset can’t fully integrate the behaviour of both environments. After al, both have a set sociological procedure to them – at a gig, you hand over your ticket, go buy a drink, browse the merch stand, jostle with strangers to get a good spot, stomach the support acts, watch the main act, go home. At a club, you roll up late doors, have a few drinks, maybe dabble in recreational narcotics, dance like a fupping idiot, before copping off with something you shouldn’t before retreating to the taxi/nightbus/nearest hedge.
Combining gigs with clubnights usually makes everyone feel awkward. No-one wants to dance before the band comes on – their instruments stand unattended on the stage, like a particularly stern parent. At a regular gig they can be ignored – we’re not doing anything other than standing around, we’re not here to interact with each other, and ‘they’ are part of the furniture you expect at a gig. At a club they seem to sneer at us, casting judgement upon our revelry: “Heh! You’re just dancing to someone else’s records, you plebs!”
Well, London indie-student Saturday night stalwarts, the Afterskool club night, have broke with their tradition of just spinning whatever songs get the kids dancing, and last weekend, booked up-and-comers Los Campesinos! to play live. And yes, before the bad comes on at midnight, the place feels just like a particularly crowded gig, rather than a club night.
“Up-and-comers? Shows what you know, Granddad, their album ‘Hold on Now, Youngster’ has been out for ages,” is what I’m currently imagining some of the gig go’ers of last weekend are thinking after reading that. Or perhaps not – any semblance of putting on a façade of indie faux-indifference fades in the face of songs like ‘Death to Los Campesinos!’ It’s just impossible to affect a yeah-whatever-too-cool-for-(after)skool pose when seven people are having such a joyous time onstage.
Of course, fitting all seven members of the band onto that small stage does somewhat focus the fun, squeezing every last measure of juicy chaos out and pouring it out over the crowd in concentrated waves. Keyboardist/vocalists Aleksandra and Gareth have to swap places throughout the gig, depending on which one is singing which song. When lurking back, they each slip into the shadows created by the lighting rig – its not a planned exercise, but it works rather well. They are, quite literally, sharing the spotlight.