Glastonbury
As a rule, I don’t pay much attention to Glastonbury and the hype that surrounds it, and I avoid the TV coverage, in large part because of the team of usual suspects who introduce it. Just the music is fine, thanks. This year, I dipped into the BBC coverage on iPlayer and am slowly working through the things that interest me and a couple of acts who were recommended on Facebook.
It began when I tuned in to watch Alison Krauss and Robert Plant, whose music I’ve enjoyed on CD. They delivered exactly what I expected – seductive music from a haunted swamp. It didn’t contain any great surprises, but I didn’t really expect any.
Paul McCartney is, as any fule kno, a national treasure who delivered a near-3-hour set with verve and stamina that included newer material when he could have just played through his greatest hits at leisure and still filled another couple of hours. He included heartfelt nods to John Lennon and George Harrison, and made my night by playing a lot of Abbey Road, probably my favourite Beatles album. As many have said, we won’t see his likes again.
I knew St Vincent only from an appearance a while ago on Graham Norton and started to watch out of curiosity, but stayed because she and her band were really, really good. Annie Clark is a very fine guitar player, but this was a complete band performance, highly stylised, angular, spiky, inventive and drenched in soul. I caught echoes of a number of artists, but this is a musician, writer and performer hitting a rich streak of mature form. And how she managed to stand on that fence in those boots I’ll never know.
Wolf Alice I will give immediate attention to any band named after an Angela Carter short story, especially a band that’s as determinedly cross-genre as this. Aside from Ellie Rowsell’s flexible voice (that occasionally reminded me of Annie Haslam), what caught my attention was how they’ve absorbed elements from so many styles, from folk to rap to alt-rock to funk to thrash, and turned them into their own sound.
Olivia Rodrigo was good with a great band – and her duet with Lily Allen in response to the US Supreme Court’s overturning of Roe -v- Wade was a joy. In the end it isn’t for me, but talent is talent.
I had never heard of Mitski until a friend on Facebook said it was worth checking out her set. I was mesmerised for the whole thing and plan to watch it again soon. I caught echoes of Bjork and echoes of Natalie Merchant, but this was another singular woman’s voice and another great band – who, unfortunately, she forgot to namecheck at the end.
In amongst all the alt-rock, Herbie Hancock delivered a well received set that explored the post-bop/fusion/funk soundscape he’s made his own. McCartney may be the oldest Glastonbury headliner, but Hancock is 2 years older and just as sprightly.
My cd and LP shelves are no stranger to either Paul McCartney or Herbie Hancock, but Mitski, Wolf Alice and St Vincent are now on my list for a deep dive into their music. However, I have to finish by saying – and I will brook no argument on this – that the Pet Shop Boys were utterly fabulous – almost as fabulous as their audience. Were I in beard-stroking mode, I’d say that you can discern a direct line back from Pet Shop Boys through Giorgio Moroder to Kraftwerk and – and bear with me here – some of the shifting sequencer patterns on Tangerine Dream’s Rubicon. None of that matters, of course: the only important thing is they make joyful, life-affirming music to dance to like there’s nobody watching.
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In other news, Nicola Sturgeon made her speech again.
Oh, the record’s stuck again
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