As Doctor Who ends it's third successful year on telly this Saturday, it's been amusing reading the different fan theories about what's going to happen. Though I've steered clear of Outpost Gallifrey's spoiler section (the Hive Mind have their feelers out everywhere), even better has been the discussion on Digital Spy where the 'Toclafane' have gone from being the Time Lords to the Cybermen to the Daleks.
Whatever Saturday brings, whether it's Tennant's regeneration, the real universe Cybermen showing up, all those humans who were bound for Utopia turning out to be the alien Voord, I'll be sure to enjoy the finale.
Especially if the dialogue lives up to the work of THIS RLY BE STEVE whose photo captions (or macros) have kept me entertained for the past few hours:
Click here for the rest of this installment. Or indeed check out the Torchwood ones...
This is from FarmerGeddon - a genius whose incredible DVD covers are second only to his ability to make comedy Doctor Who. The Five Doctors, as it should have been.
Part 1:
Part 2:
Of course for real comedy, you could just watch the whole of Time-Flight.
While this review is comprehensive in terms of what I saw, it is by no means complete. In short, I wussed out on Sunday and left the site at 2pm, where I then got back to Bristol, had a hot bath and went down the pub to sit inside and watch Sky Sports News. I'm not particularly proud of this fact, in fact I'm a little disappointed with myself, but, on the other hand I had to weigh that up against another day of feeling fucking miserable, because a lot of Glastonbury this year was miserable.
However, I did see some cracking music and some crazy stuff, the odd life-changing moment and the spectacle of humanity overcoming impossible odds, especially when they needed a poo.
Without further ado, let's start on Thursday, in the Leftfield and Bristol's finest five-piece...
THURSDAY
FORTUNE DRIVE
Hidden away in a corner from the Pyramid Stage and flaunting a 'fuck-you-I-won't-do-what-you-tell-me' attitude (more on which later), the Leftfield Stage started with some bands a day ahead of everyone else. While I didn't really see enough of Los Angeles cock-rockers THE BLOOD ARM, they did sound a lot of fun and I'll make an effort to see them again. FORTUNE DRIVE meanwhile are a hard-indie outfit from my home town whose self-styled rock attitude seems only tempered by their incredible bad luck at festival gigs. I thought the group had adopted a policy of '2 different types of guitar per song' and 'long drum solos' only to find out from Nick who was nearer the front than me, that the lead guitarist kept breaking his strings. This was a shame, because the band's pounding sound is one to certainly enjoy. I'd change the name of the band though, FORTUNE DRIVE sounds like somewhere your Auntie and Uncle live.
The what-now? Deciding that a band that had played a tour of libraries would be a wacky enough way to kick off the festival, I trudged over to the Other Stage on a wet and argumentative Friday morning. At that point the ground in front of the Other Stage was a sea of green, a lush and verdant sight which would make any groundskeeper proud. I was actually able to sit fairly near the stage while the roadies set up. Mr Hudson is a producer come singer who apparently read English at Oxford. Before you turn your nose up, his brand of self-reflective reggae is actually quite charming and at times heart-warming. This is unique, especially for me, as I hate reggae, but given that the Library boasts some awesome keyboard playing and steel drum action, I found myself being turned. His voice isn't as annoying as Sting's either, so when they support THE POLICE later this year, you may enjoy them more. Great stuff, buy, borrow or steal an album today.
This is their Jazz World appearance from Saturday afternoon.
GUILTY PLEASURES FEATURING THE TOUR DOGS AND SPECIAL GUESTS
So after the enjoyment of Mr Hudson, I had stuff to do. I had to be in Lost Vaguness by one to witness a wedding, well, more than that, I was the best man. I walked from the Other Stage to the Jazz World stage where things were about to get underway. Stopping ahead of the stage all I heard were the words "This is Guilty Pleasures, forty-five minutes of the best pop music ever and this is The Magic Numbers!" And there they were THE MAGIC NUMBERS belting out Dolly Parton classic '9 to 5'. What was this madness? It didn't stop there. ED HARCOURT covered Billy Joel's 'My Life'. Some guy from the BAY CITY ROLLERS murdered the Foundations 'Build me up Buttercup' and then GUY GARVEY performed a lovely version of Chicago's 'If You Leave Me Now' which was only the warm-up to 'TIM-BURGESS-OUT-OF-THE-FREAKIN'-CHARLATANS', who in turn was only a warm-up to SUGGS!
It was a bit crazy to see all this talent at once, even if the covers were a little shambolic at times, it was great fun. Recommended if you find yourself in that part of the festival at that time.
A WEDDING
Anyway on to the main business of the day. Matt and Angela were trying to organise themselves a wedding in the Lost Vagueness chapel. Sadly a load of other couples had the same idea, and even though they'd turned up decked out in full regalia, they were going to have to wait. Agitatedly, Matt decided to ask any old hippy in a top-hat to conduct the ceremony. Luckily there was one right outside the chapel running his own insect circus. Sensing an opportunity that didn't involve a druid or shaman (though getting married by Mr C of THE SHAMEN would have been awesome "Anybody got any veras? Laaaavly!") Matt asked the ringmaster and he kindly agreed. In the pissing rain we stood as Matt and Angela faced each other and I provided the rings. Aww, fake wedding complete. Then Matt goes and gets down on one knee and proposes there and then. For real. A shocked Angela agrees and despite my best efforts to talk him out of it the evening before, Matt found himself engaged. A quick reception at the Brother's Bar and it was back to the music. THE AUTOMATIC
We may have been waiting for the next act, but THE AUTOMATIC were quite good fun to watch. While their indie credentials may suffer from only having one memorable song their two covers of TALKING HEADS 'Life During Wartime' and KANYE WEST's 'Gold Digga' were something to behold. Anyway, best to get on with every Doctor Who fans fave pop song: "What's that coming over the hill? Is it a Monster? Is it a MONSTAHHH?!"
A not-so-loud indie noiseclash from Canada, that made a nice sound, but didn't give anything more than that. In fact at times the band seemed so rooted to the spot that you wondered if they'd been replaced by KRAFTWERK's robots. Even by now the ground by the John Peel Stage was coated in a two-inch thick layer of sludge. A tiny patch of green still existed right next to the fence, but it all honesty the writing was on the wall, the mud had returned and it was not going to be making any allowances.
Take one Glasgow band, a bunch of female friendly singles about love and pining for loved ones, add in some football style chanting for the lagered up lads (and one fuck-off marketing campaign) and you've got some classic pop songs. The band did look a little shy and given the limited nature of the material a lot of the songs seemed to slide together, but definitely the odd anthem lurking here and there. I reckon they're alright, baby, baby, they're alriiiiight.
Wow, I'd been told to look out for an intense experience and I certainly got one with ARCADE FIRE. I'd been told that they were similar to NEW ORDER and there is something about Win Butler's performance that reminds you of Barney or Ian Curtis. It was explained to me that every instrument was on stage to do something specific and that certainly seemed to be the case. ARCADE FIRE was an awesome noise and experience that I felt privilaged to have seen. By now back was aching like buggery at all the standing and I was contemplating a new gym subscription. But anyway, my aches and pains aside, this was amazing. Sod REM, ARCADE FIRE are the new title holders. Go and see, go and listen. Incredible.
Iceland must run some 25 minutes behind us, because that's how long Bjork took to get to the stage, dressed in an outfit that can only be described as Wonder Woman meets Robin Hood. This was always going to be special, with the stage covered in flags and jets of flame spouting from the back. The opening half of the set was quite quiet with Bjork relating stories to us as only she can. "I thought I could organise freedom/How Scandinavian of me' just made me think of Ikea. Then along came 'Army of Me', blowing everyone out of the water with it's sheer heaviness, yet that was only a pre-cursor to what was to come. The video I've posted below is 'Hyperballad' when the set moved from 'comfortable' to 'industrial techno noise attack' - lasers, electronic ouiji boards, dancing, pounding drums, strobes and at the centre, Bjork - an intergalactic space witch creating the chaos on planet Earth. Extraordinary and unforgettable, this was probably my favourite gig of the festival and a great way to round off Friday.
SATURDAY
Saturday began as all the days at Glastonbury did, with the rain. By now the site was the swamp familiar to the readers of national newspapers. It was taking twice as long to get anywhere and twice as long to queue for anything. Getting out of BJORK had been awful, the pathways were coated in two inches of mud and there were thousands of people. This wasn't a relaxing holiday, this was Oxford Street times a million. The thought was depressing me badly. Adding 40,000 more people to the festival had made an impact and to my mind it was a bad one. There just simply weren't the facilities to cope with the vast numbers. I began to hear horror stories about the ARCTIC MONKEYS with it being standing room only across the whole of the Pyramid Stage field. Now while the drainage systems were working and at least the ground was solid under the mud slick, the numbers of people were beginning to worry me. Still I made my way down to the Pyramid Stage to see...
Want to know what Father Christmas does on his days off? He plays three-string blues guitar and has fun while doing it. Seasick Steve won't win any awards for originality, but he's extremely good at the old Mississippi Blues stuff. Gruff.
Awwwww, I love THE PIPETTES. I want all three of them sent to my tent. Sexy, 50s/60s style girl pop who apparently want to put pop music back before the Beatles 'came along and ruined it all'. Beset by some technical problems this was still a great gig, with the girls getting some finger-wagging audience participation going and some booty shaking in wellies. The only problem is it's difficult to see where they'll go next. Now everybody - "PULL SHAPES!"
The Guillemot is a member of the Auk family that lives at sea and enjoys sheltering from the rain in close groups on windswept locations - which is precisely what I did during this tedious indie come carnival rock act that couldn't decide if they were one thing or the other. One point for the fit bird (ho, ho) on double bass.
Yay! CSS was a great deal of fun. They look fun, they sound fun, they even covered L7's 'Pretend We're Dead' which is taking fun to new levels. Fronted by Lovefoxxx (Luise Hanae Matsushita) who stripped from one glittery trapeze outift to another, the band jumped, bounced and gave the crowd free bubble making equipment. While CSS may be the most famous thing to come out of Sao Paulo since extreme poverty they are carving their own niche on the international pop stage and should be applauded for bucking the trend. According to wikipedia Lovefoxx is dating Simon Taylor-Davis of the Klaxons. More on those muppets below.
Alright, I watched THE KLAXONS from a distance because by this point the entire festival had woken up and decided to descend on the Other Stage. Described as a rave outfit THE KLAXONS are in fact a bunch of middle class rich kids trying to act tough. Though a cover of Uncle Oakie's 'Not Over Yet' shows promise the rest is pretty much noise. I've got the album and I'm going to give them another chance, though to be honest just writing about them is filling me with sort of rage I ought to be reserving for
Do us all a favour and take your smart-arse cover versions back to the States and fucking stay there. I HATE YOU. There are a thousand kids all over the world working on computers and drum machines making more interesting stuff than you'll ever concieve, but they'll never make it cos they didn't have the upbringing, connections and money you did. Playing in the dance tent (east), Ronson proceeded to play records he'd produced, introducing each one over the mic. Throw into that a few hip hop anthems that would get even a geriatric crowd moving, Ronson looks like he seriously believes he's the saviour of music. His final tune, just to add grevious insult to horrifying injury is to play 'Killing in the Name Of'. Here's a hint kids, being on the front of the Guardian Guide with Lily Allen, discussing how rich and famous you are and then trying to get away with playing THAT record just makes you pretty much the biggest cunt in the world. Just fuck off, fuck off, FUCK OFF.
Overly camp power-pop from some sort of man-child. Disturbing - though you can see why the gays and old women like him. Harmless fun really. Though he should stay away from 'You've Got the Love', records like that don't need covers.
Thank god, someone with sense of decency and some funny drawings. 'Big up the Welly Crew!' annouced Mr Scruff's display screen. It was possibly the nicest thing I'd heard all weekend. The genius of Mr Scruff's djing is that it allows you to boogie without you ever feeling threatened and making you still have a sense of fun and interest. I was really enjoying this set until some arsehole decides to drop his glowsticks into the quagmire in front of me and then WIPES THEM ON ME. OK, so I don't care how many pills you're on, but for God's sake man, have some manners. That single act pretty much cemented in my mind that I was going to get the hell out. I left the dance tent angry and in need of a drink.
Which was handy really as being angry and having a drink put me in the perfect frame of mind for dealing with the punk prototype of THE STOOGES. This gig involved the most bizarre moment of the whole weekend when Iggy invited the crowd up for a stage invasion. Cue sixty or seventy people getting on the stage, trying to hug Iggy, getting punched by security ("You can't punch a clown, man" says Iggy, "This is Glastonbury") and refusing to leave the stage. Iggy keeps asking nicely and eventually the crowd disperse after the audience tell them to. You then have one pissed off band and an act that runs out of time. They did do 'I Wanna Be Your Dog' which was worth it. THE GLITZY BAG HAGS
The final band I saw was at 3am in a tent in the Green Fields. Having stayed up specially for them, the GLITZYs did not disappoint. Delivering a unique brand of comedy-skiffle they covered subjects such as eBay, David Hasselhoff and even dropped some drum and bass in there. I reckon they could open the Pyramid Stage no problem.
SUNDAY
So I awoke on Sunday morning still pissed-off as the rain chucked it down. The ground out side our tent was a swamp, my boots covered in shit. I took the executive decision that I was pulling out. While I am sad to have missed THE CHEMICAL BROTHERS, PENDULUM and THE GO! TEAM, these are all bands I've seen before and will probably see again. Packing up my tent with Matt's help, I trudged back down the path to the bus station point. I got on one that went straight to Temple Meads and within 90 minutes I was in a hot bath. Which was bliss. Maybe I'm getting old, but I just felt so angry and betrayed that Glastonbury had turned into a mudbath again and that the weather had been so awful. It's a bit difficult to give a toss about WaterAid when it's relentlessly pissing down from the sky. Even though the evenings were nice it had become cold. Add to that the sheer numbers of people without the facilities increase, the fact my phone didn't work most of the time because Orange's network was screwed, so I couldn't contact friends and loved ones and it's difficult for me to want to go back. So I think I did the right thing by leaving. So much for the English Summer and so much for Glastonbury 2007.
Now, apparently my flat is leaking on to the flat below. Will it never end?
