Well, it’s been a little over a month but, if you pardon my language, what a fucking doozy of a month it was…
Last time I was here, I was due to set off to Worthy Farm the very next day for my first ever sojourn to Glastonbury Festival. Landing there via National Express a little after midday on the Friday, it ought to be said that even after hearing from everyone who had been there previously gush about how big the place is, I was still more than a little bemused at the sheer scale of what is easily the United Kingdom’s most protean behemoth of live music events. It ended up reminding me of when I was a child and I was taken to multiple theme parks by my grandparents during summer breaks, being able to walk around and take in so much in a single day and get by on pure effusive excitement, except this was stretched out to the whole weekend and involved a helluva lot more alcohol consumption. Which isn’t to say that Glastonbury is all about getting wasted in a field for the weekend with a bit of live music in the background (no, really); not enough really gets said about the amount of circus performers and live entertainers who slug it out in the sunshine for hours each day to entertain those idly passing by for instance, one of the biggest crowd-pullers being the late-night DJ/acrobatic/flamethrowing marvel that was Arcadia Spectacular‘s giant mechanical spider. However, I can’t deny it was primarily the music that got me there in the first place…
Left my rolled-up newspaper on the coach, didn’t I?
So upon my arrival, I decided to do a little bit of a Glasto-reccie; it didn’t take me long to get to the Other Stage where, to my delight, Amanda Palmer could be found plucking away at her three-string ukelele, despite my reading her having canceled her appearance somewhere online the night before. Though I only made it for her last song, thereby missing what that venerable publication, The Daily Mail, considered the highlight of her gig (which in turn prompted an awesomely ribald response from Palmer when she performed a concert in London a few weeks later), her disarmingly frank stage presence was still as good a welcome to the festival I could have hoped for, especially when she gave a shout-out to Rebecca Black mid-song. After that, it was a long walk to the Park Stage to catch one of the more hyped-up performances of the weekend, as Solange took to the stage with a tight set of wistful soul that included all of her hipster-friendly EP from last year, True, as well as her cover of Dirty Projectors‘ Stillness Is The Move and a brief revisit to her sophomore album‘s singles. Engaging frequently into her impressively airy whistle-register more than once, it was an understated-yet-assured performance that would have had trouble filling the Other Stage on a Friday evening with its subtle atmospherics and humble arrangements, never mind the Pyramid Stage; it’s up to Knowles herself if she plans on opening up her sound enough to provide a more full-blooded performance in the future, but that’s not to say her work isn’t without its gorgeous charms, however modest they are. Having decided to ignore Arctic Monkeys for reasons of personal taste, the remainder of the evening was spent back at the Other Stage to catch Portishead extol their audio misery onto a buzzing Friday crowd; shrouded in darkness, the crowd gamely sang along as Beth Gibbons and company trawled through tracks from all three of their studio albums, the Dummy tracks in particular prompting much audience wailing. And whilst I wasn’t exactly expecting a euphoric love-in from the Bristolians, it definitely proved to be a mood-dampener from all the previous excitement as audience interaction was non-existent, the band content to let the hits do the talking whilst extensive projected animations loomed over them from the back of the stage, one memorable instance being the finale of Machine Gun featuring a thirty-foot headshot of David Cameron glowering down at the audience with red lasers piercing through his eyes. After finishing up with Roads, most of the crowd stayed put for the aforementioned Arcadia show, and seeing as I only had my prescription sunglasses on me to watch any of it in the late-night dark, I decided to cut and run back to my tent to steel myself for Saturday…
To quote Dory: “Hey there, Grumpy Gills!”
Saturday and Sunday actually saw me take in less music than all of Friday though, as it was more spent getting my head around the rest of the site that I hadn’t seen yet (and admittedly taking advantage of the hospitality area’s private shower and spending more time than I should have done charging my iPhone at each of the designated EE tents). The first act I saw properly was Azealia Banks, back at the Other Stage, rightly amassing a crowd of whacked-out danceheads whilst she sang songs from her 1991 EP and her Fantasea mixtape, as well as a couple of tracks from her still-unreleased debut album, Broke With Expensive Taste. And whilst it was nice, even heartwarming, to see the beleagured popstar shed the Twitter controversies and concentrate on delivering an energetically entertaining set, it didn’t go unnoticed that even the songs from her mixtape received a more rapturous reception than both of the album cuts from the audience, though she was canny enough to sing Yung Rapunxel after leading the crowd in a rousing rendition of mega-hit 212, the sheer goodwill of the latter making the album’s lead single sound that much better. After trying and ultimately failing to get a decent view of the UK’s latest bright young things Disclosure in the weirdly-laid-out Sonic tent (I’ll admit, the sheer amount of people would have made it impossible to see anything anyway, but the three-pronged monstrosity it was hosted in certainly didn’t help), it was full steam ahead for The Rolling Stones‘ immense performance at the Pyramid Stage. To describe the two-and-a-half hour set in a couple of sentences is pretty difficult, but needless to say, Messrs Jagger, Richards, Watts and Wood managed to carry the whole affair with enough galvanizing flair to make the whole thing fly past. Put simply, the band have so much hubris and experience behind them, it ought to be more difficult for them to not put on a great show after fifty-plus years together; Jagger in particular was fluttering and hoofing across the stage like he hadn’t aged a day and even Watts had to crack a smile at the whole thing at one point. And from a personal point of view, ever since I first heard it, I’ve always wanted to hear Gimme Shelter sung live by the Stones, so for that alone, all the jokes about how old and haggard they look can be made elsewhere.
Couldn’t get a decent pic of the Stones, so here’s Miss Banks instead…
Preceded by some late-night shuffling down at the Shangri-La area in one of the darker corners of the Glastonbury site, Sunday brought me one last live performance from Swedish folk-pop sister-duo First Aid Kit, whose winsome mix of skin-tight harmonies and Americana-drenched country-isms provided the sunny morning with its fair share of feels and maybe a few tears (mind you, I’m always emotional the morning after a dozen pints of lager, a little more besides and having a dodgy chorizo-halloumi wrap upon waking up). Looking a touch more glamorous than usual, their set mainly consisted of their darling sophomore album The Lion’s Roar, and also squeezed in an affecting version of Simon & Garfunkel‘s America for the small-yet-fervent crowd at the imposing Pyramid.
“I’ll be your Emmylou and, I’ll be your June…”
By the evening I was back in London, having absconded the chance to catch The Posh Farmers and suffer the Monday-morning-London-commute-versus-Glastonbury-guest traffic in preference for a balmy Sunday evening back in my own bed after walking around in very uncomfortable water-proof shoes for three days. To sum up, the whole weekend was as glorious as the weather really; thanks to everyone who made it so, particularly the peeps in the picture below. Who’s up for 2014?
D’aaawwwww…
And yet, there was more, but for the life of me I can’t really get into it in detail, so here we go…
The Sunday after Glastonbury, I went to see Blondie at the Roundhouse. It was alright, not great.
The Friday after that I went to Wireless Festival at the Olympic Village in London. It was pretty terrible. Definite end-of-year grumping to come on that one.
Then the second Sunday after that, I went to Somerset House to see Basement Jaxx rather than wait to see Lil’ Kim not turn up to Lovebox. It was fucking amazing.
Also fucking amazing was French zombie soap-opera Les Revenants; if you didn’t catch any of it, seek it out.
But all that for another time, as it’s time to crack on with some more of 2013’s best new music. So, as ever, courtesy of Spotify and Mixcloud, may I present:
01) Your Sword Is Your Silence // Saa >> English/Norwegian producer-singer/songwriter duo collaborate online for a plaintive mix of ethereal R&B and ambient electronica; a popular genre trope right now, however their self-titled EP is one of the more gorgeous examples to be released this year.
02) Kingdom // Slow Knights >> The cutest member of Scissor Sisters continues to forge ahead post-indefinite-hiatus with his own 80’s R&B-pop throwback project, receiving a helping hand from the likes of Bright Light Bright Light among others in the process; the result, Cosmos, is one of the most quietly impressive pop releases of the year.
03) Cherry // Chromatics >> Standout track from the After Dark 2 compilation courtesy of über-hip independent label Italians Do It Better; album also features choice cuts from the likes of Glass Candy, Desire, Appaloosa and label co-founder Mike Simonetti.
04) Daddy’s Groove // Röyksopp >> One of two new tracks from the Norwegian electro-duo to be found on their recent Late Night Tales compilation; the rest of the mix contains tracks that range from psychedelic alt-pop, European chamber pop and even a cut from Vangelis‘ masterly Blade Runner soundtrack.
05) Moag // Ten Walls >> More ambient electronica courtesy of this white-hot, brand-new outfit who’ve got the dance-world falling for their hypnotic loops and synths; the Gotham EP is a little bundle of electronic joy.
06) Versions // Moderat >> 1/3-Apparat-2/3-Modeselektor supergroup return to the fold after their eponymous debut from 2009. More propulsive than Ring’s solo work and more contemplative than Modeselektor’s previous, the least imaginative thing about II is its title; everything else about it is absolutely gorgeous.
07) Sea Legs // Run The Jewels >> Having got on famously enough to produce a whole album together last year with the critically-lauded R.A.P. Music, Killer Mike and El-P return with another shock to hip hop’s system with their Run The Jewels mixtape, which you can download for free here.
08) Sentients // Fuck Buttons >> Harsh, uncompromising electronic drone from Bristol-based duo, who enjoyed some exposure last year when their singles were tapped for inclusion in the 2012 Olympics Opening Ceremony; third album Slow Focus has already proved successful enough to break the Top 40 in the UK.
09) Wanna Fight // Cliff Martinez >> Despite its assigned film taking a critical drubbing on its premiere in Cannes earlier in the summer, Martinez’s score for Only God Forgives still managed to receive universal applause for its overbearing marriage of electronic beats, orchestral swells, theatrical organs and Thai karaoke; like the film, it’s definitely not Drive.
10) Warm // Eluvium >> As taken from the epic double-album Nightmare Ending from instrumentalist Matthew Robert Cooper; definitely the kind of dreamscape-prompting stuff reserved for late-night introspection.
11) Phantom Rider // Daughn Gibson >> My Crush Of 2012 is back little more than a year later with his second solo album Me Moan, embracing a poppier, more eclectic sound after signing with Sub Pop late last year; rest assured though, all of the American Gothic darkness, as well as that unmistakable, sexy baritone are still intact.
12) Sun Can’t Be Seen No More // David Lynch >> The legendary filmmaker has a second stab at the pop album game with the follow-up to 2011’s Crazy Clown Time; and whilst this time Lynch appears to have actually tried to write some songs this time, The Big Dream is thankfully still about as poppy as an album from Lynch could possibly be.
And, fade out… See you next time! xxxo
dibdersbooth 