Since all of team Noisey - along with 90% of ticketholders - have been here since Wednesday, we were starting to forget that live music was a part of Glastonbury at all. So it came as quite a nice surprise when all these bands showed up yesterday. We saw the best (and the worst) of the Glastonbury sunsetters and headliners. Here's the deal:
Run The Jewels
Killer Mike has shown emphatic empathy with a few important struggles of late, most recently trying to tackle problems head by attempting to run for Georgia’s state congress. But today he displays his support for a different kind of maligned group: the uncool Glastonbury dad. In oversized brown cargo shorts and a black T-shirt he wouldn't look out of place grooving at the real ale tent. But, attire aside, there is nothing aged about Run The Jewels performance - it's one of the most high-octane shows Glastonbury's ever seen, a reminder of how staid the rest of the festival can sometimes be. Highlights included El-P basically calling all politicians peadophiles and a furious version of "Close Your Eyes (And Count To Fuck)", which saw thousands of hippies with gun fingers in the air.
The Libertines
The band that was never allowed to play Glastonbury, having been twice had performances cancelleddue to prison spells and break-ups, finally had their moment. It would be hard to call it a glorious debut - at times Pete’s solos sound like someone losing at Guitar Hero - but for those still enamoured by two broken men sharing a microphone and the sheer unbridled enjoyment of hearing “Time For Heroes” and “Don’t Look Back Into The Sun” in a field full of other dumb Libertines fans, it was hard to feel hard done by. New song “Anthem For Doomed Youth” is truly abysmal, like hearing a once great poet trying to read from memory and mangle all the lines. Still who cares when you get to scream “Boys In The Band” back at a rugged looking Carl who these days seems to be made of about 90% hair grease.
Mark Ronson
It feels like people don’t always rise to the sense of occasion for Glastonbury in the way bands once did. When you’re playing 30 festival shows a summer it’s hard to make one feel extra special. But Mark Ronson on the Other Stage truly pulled out the stops. First came a stunning guest turn from Boy George, who sang “Somebody To Love Me” and then threw in a version of “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me”. Then a raw moment, when Ronson, instead of bringing in a guest singer to do Valerie, just played Amy’s original vocal, in tribute to the singer “we all wish could be here.” Amy’s spectacular vocal take was drowned out by the crowd bellowing back, in a moment that felt both ecstatic and genuinely moving.
Finally the song everyone had been waiting for, and not one to rest on his laurels, Ronson out brought Grandmaster Flash, Mary J Blige and George Clinton for a multi-generational rendition of “Uptown Funk”. Mary J Blige did Bruno Mars vocal more than justice and something that could have been a corny festi moment became a truly impressive performance.
Florence and The Machine
After news broke that Florence Welch had been drafted in due to the Foo Fighters' drop out, the internet was awash with skepticism among Glastonbury-goers whose musical tastes have moved on since 2009. Yet, here is a woman who was born to headline Glastonbury: she invented the fucking flower crown, for god's sake.
Flo was in her element on the Pyramid stage and her the performance was a Bacchanalian orgy of all things "boho", "Glasto" and "festi". Admittedly, the set got off to shaky beginnings, with some visible nerves, unusual for a woman used to hurling herself around any stage that will have her. But by the fourth song – a version of Rabbit Heart that saw her find her stride, she never looked back.
From here, came a cover of "Times Like These" to honour Dave Grohl's poorly leg, before building up to Drumming Song, which went down with the audience about as well as an MDMA punch at a year 11 house party. 50,000 girls with glitter on their faces screamed Louder and Louder" in pure ecstasy. She responded in kind, telling everyone to "be free" and ripping her own clothes off like a sexy religious leader. Standing there in her bra as the crowd cheered for more. for one felt 16 again, like it was the sweet, sweet summer of 2009.
Rudimental
Is there anything more depressing than standing in a muddy field listening to drum and bass played by a live band? I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, never mind the thinning crowd of Glastonbury revellers who seemed unaware that they could be watching Florence, Bunji Garlin or Jamie XX. Truly the nadir of live music.
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