It's become an annual event in our front room. We put on our invisible wellies, set up an imaginary tent, open some for-real drinks and enjoy Glasto from the comfort of our sofa. (BBC Channels). Why anyone would pay money to stand in a field is beyond me.
Much of the hot air that preceded this year's event was about Kanye West being chosen to headline on the Saturday night, with many of the conservative rock fraternity getting terribly fraught about the idea of some rap geezer getting such a privileged slot. By 12.40am on Sunday I had to wonder what all the fuss was about. And why there was no beer left in the fridge.
Kanye West has a lot going for him. He's self-obsessed, wilfully confrontational, and looked great, but ultimately he fell down on the tune side of things last Saturday night. I did enjoy his off-key vocal on Queen's appalling anthem Bohemian Rhapsody, which struck me as him dissing the Glasto traditionalists. But I'm a bit worried about the after-effects of his light show. The missus might want something similar in our kitchen and it'll cost a fortune.
Kanye dig it?
I also think I've finally discovered why Kanye would fall for someone as seemingly ill-fitting as Kim Kardashian: both are massively ambitious and relentless in terms of their careers. He just happens to be the only one of them with any talent. And while Kim wants to be remembered for her massive arse, Kanye wants to be remembered for being one.
His patchy set was pure punk, though. Anything that annoys the rock reactionaries is fine by me, and I just loved the set-up: one man, his ego, and loads of lights. It was just a pity about the content.
Earlier on Saturday, the old codger of Glastonbury award was unanimously bestowed on Burt Bacharach. Even by grey Glastonbury standards this guy is pre-Jurassic. He makes last year's ancient American performer, Dolly Parton, look half her age. Well, if he were also her plastic surgeon.
Now a pretty brittle-looking 87, Bacharach's set was never going to be hi-energy, even by Las Vegas cabaret standards, but it was great to see him play some of his tunes and show off his indelible contribution to rhythm and melody. If you don't like Burt Bacharach, you don't like music, as this is a man whose back catalogue is only bettered by The Beatles.
Despite being quite a contrast, Lionel Richie also reminded me of The Beatles, as in: 'Hello . . .' Goodbye.
Also on Saturday, Later . . . with Jools Holland regular Paloma Faith put on one of the slickest, most showbizzy sets of the weekend. She's a great singer, but ultimately the material let her down. It was far too dull and veered somewhere between Motown pastiche and pub rock. If anything, she would've been just as at home playing The Morecambe and Wise Christmas Special circa 1975.
The Jools Holland vibe was also in the air when Mavis Staples performed, but the John Peel stage drew me in for a look at Years & Years, who have been around for all of five years and under 30, which makes them something like The Kids from Glastonbury.
Like a lot of UK tech-based acts influenced by R&B and rock, they offer a very pleasant dancey sound that includes the odd uplifting chorus. This is what Coldplay would be like if it rained a little less in England and everyone was killed-off at the age of 30, or after selling a million albums.
I took in little of Friday night's fun and games, as I was at the George Byrne tribute gig in Dublin's Whelans, but I did catch a glimpse of Florence + The Machine.
Florence (Machine not pictured)
Anytime I've seen her interviewed, Florence Welch has come across as a very pleasant and fun individual, but musically she leaves me colder than a rainbow trout. At Glasto she just tries too hard; though with her voice she'd have to. The Joan Burton of British rock even manages to make the otherwise uplifting You've Got the Love sound like a dirgey jingle for bio-degradable washing powder.
Probably the best act I caught over the weekend was a band that I've never really admired: The Who. Sure, they've made some great records, particularly in their early days, but quite often they allow their bombastic side to take over, with dire consequences. The less said about the likes of Tommy and Quadrophenia, the better.
The Who
But despite the singularly strange experience of seeing a 71-year-old singing the line, 'I hope I die before I get old,' the two remaining members of the original band lashed through a greatest hits package that included such classics as My Generation, The Kids Are Alright and I Can See for Miles. Pete Townshend can still whack the crap out of a guitar, but at the end of it all I wondered how much longer Glasto can keep relying on Granddad Rock.
John Byrne
