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Glastonbury review: Friday headliners Chic, Arctic Monkeys and Portishead Glastonbury review: Friday headliners Chic, Arctic Monkeys and Portishead
(3 months later)
Friday officially began with a surprise Other stage set by Beady Eye, revealing hitherto unsuspected humility on the part of former headliner Liam Gallagher, who must be less than thrilled by the crowd's sudden spike in interest every time his new band play an Oasis song. But the first highlight, over on the Pyramid is Haim, a trio of Californian sisters gifted with warmth, charisma and a fistful of great songs that suggest Fleetwood Mac, Michael Jackson and cloudless west coast skies. Bassist Este, who bounces back from a diabetes-related mid-set wobble, says with stunned delight: "I think this is the best moment of my life right now."Friday officially began with a surprise Other stage set by Beady Eye, revealing hitherto unsuspected humility on the part of former headliner Liam Gallagher, who must be less than thrilled by the crowd's sudden spike in interest every time his new band play an Oasis song. But the first highlight, over on the Pyramid is Haim, a trio of Californian sisters gifted with warmth, charisma and a fistful of great songs that suggest Fleetwood Mac, Michael Jackson and cloudless west coast skies. Bassist Este, who bounces back from a diabetes-related mid-set wobble, says with stunned delight: "I think this is the best moment of my life right now."
Savages are presumably excited too, but a smile would spoil their reputation as Britain's sternest band. Their stark post-punk has the unnerving tension of breaking glass and sharpening blades. Like vampires, they don't suit daylight but go deep inside the William's Green tent, and their short, sharp shock of a set feels as if midnight has come early.Savages are presumably excited too, but a smile would spoil their reputation as Britain's sternest band. Their stark post-punk has the unnerving tension of breaking glass and sharpening blades. Like vampires, they don't suit daylight but go deep inside the William's Green tent, and their short, sharp shock of a set feels as if midnight has come early.
Festivals demand a certain energy level which isn't kind to more subtle artists. On the Park stage, Solange is a dazzling presence but her bittersweet R&B doesn't rise above a leisurely stroll until the closing punch of Sandcastle Disco and Losing You, when the crowd finally explodes into life with a palpable sense of release. Mercury winners Alt-J were indie's surprise success story last year, but their milky art-rock on the Other stage could be blown away by a stiff breeze, and a horribly anaemic mash-up of Kylie and Dr Dre does nobody any favours. Tame Impala's insular psychedelia has the occasional soaring moment, but the Australians give the impression that they've been on the road a little bit too long.Festivals demand a certain energy level which isn't kind to more subtle artists. On the Park stage, Solange is a dazzling presence but her bittersweet R&B doesn't rise above a leisurely stroll until the closing punch of Sandcastle Disco and Losing You, when the crowd finally explodes into life with a palpable sense of release. Mercury winners Alt-J were indie's surprise success story last year, but their milky art-rock on the Other stage could be blown away by a stiff breeze, and a horribly anaemic mash-up of Kylie and Dr Dre does nobody any favours. Tame Impala's insular psychedelia has the occasional soaring moment, but the Australians give the impression that they've been on the road a little bit too long.
Conversely, acts that sound bluntly simplistic on record draw huge crowds. The Lumineers, essentially the US franchise of Mumford & Sons, capitalise on Britain's strange new appetite for hootenanny stomping, old-man hats and wood-crafted hokum. Over the past decade, Dizzee Rascal has mutated from thorny grime upstart into hip-hop's most shameless ham this side of will.i.am, and it's paid off spectacularly. The more ridiculous his Pyramid set gets, the bigger the reaction. There are genuinely terrific songs, including a rowdy trio from his debut and a cover of Disclosure's White Noise with vocalist Aluna Francis, along with ones that make you marvel at their sheer gonzo idiocy, notably Arse Like That. "This is dedicated to all the ladies who are fat-arsed," he says, for the benefit of anyone who might find the title too mysteriously poetic. An hour later, Francis is back to sing White Noise with Disclosure themselves. Their guest-vocalled house music so perfectly captures the chart sound of the summer that the Sonic tent overflows in all directions.Conversely, acts that sound bluntly simplistic on record draw huge crowds. The Lumineers, essentially the US franchise of Mumford & Sons, capitalise on Britain's strange new appetite for hootenanny stomping, old-man hats and wood-crafted hokum. Over the past decade, Dizzee Rascal has mutated from thorny grime upstart into hip-hop's most shameless ham this side of will.i.am, and it's paid off spectacularly. The more ridiculous his Pyramid set gets, the bigger the reaction. There are genuinely terrific songs, including a rowdy trio from his debut and a cover of Disclosure's White Noise with vocalist Aluna Francis, along with ones that make you marvel at their sheer gonzo idiocy, notably Arse Like That. "This is dedicated to all the ladies who are fat-arsed," he says, for the benefit of anyone who might find the title too mysteriously poetic. An hour later, Francis is back to sing White Noise with Disclosure themselves. Their guest-vocalled house music so perfectly captures the chart sound of the summer that the Sonic tent overflows in all directions.
You pick your Friday headliner according to the mood. Chic turn the West Holts field into an open-air disco, delivering million-selling hits with the regularity of a jukebox, including ones that guitarist Nile Rodgers made with the likes of Diana Ross and David Bowie, although not, disappointingly, Daft Punk's Get Lucky. After the rough treatment it suffered at the hands of Professor Green earlier in the day, that song deserved a more dignified airing. For indie-rock business as usual there's Arctic Monkeys on the Pyramid stage. They sound confident and powerful but still lack that instinctive bond between band and crowd that makes a truly great headliner.You pick your Friday headliner according to the mood. Chic turn the West Holts field into an open-air disco, delivering million-selling hits with the regularity of a jukebox, including ones that guitarist Nile Rodgers made with the likes of Diana Ross and David Bowie, although not, disappointingly, Daft Punk's Get Lucky. After the rough treatment it suffered at the hands of Professor Green earlier in the day, that song deserved a more dignified airing. For indie-rock business as usual there's Arctic Monkeys on the Pyramid stage. They sound confident and powerful but still lack that instinctive bond between band and crowd that makes a truly great headliner.
The smaller crowd at the Other stage confirms that Portishead are a strong-black-coffee kind of band. They're not for everybody, but hit the spots nobody else can. Having come a long way from the smoky hip-hop noir of 1990s debut Dummy, the Bristol band are formidable musicians who can turn on a dime from tremulous torch songs (Roads) to roaring post-punk techno (Chase the Tear) without losing momentum. There's even a political moment, during the brutally heavy Machine Gun, when the video screens broadcast anti-Trident slogans and, in an unexpectedly comic touch, the face of David Cameron firing lasers from his eyes.The smaller crowd at the Other stage confirms that Portishead are a strong-black-coffee kind of band. They're not for everybody, but hit the spots nobody else can. Having come a long way from the smoky hip-hop noir of 1990s debut Dummy, the Bristol band are formidable musicians who can turn on a dime from tremulous torch songs (Roads) to roaring post-punk techno (Chase the Tear) without losing momentum. There's even a political moment, during the brutally heavy Machine Gun, when the video screens broadcast anti-Trident slogans and, in an unexpectedly comic touch, the face of David Cameron firing lasers from his eyes.
But the dominant mood is emotional bloodletting. No British singer of her generation can express hope, heartbreak and vengeful fury with such unwavering conviction as Beth Gibbons. She doesn't address the crowd until the very end of a murderously heavy We Carry On. "Thank you so much!" she says cheerfully. "I hope it was all right!" It's a charmingly down-to-earth note on which to end 90 minutes of otherworldly intensity.But the dominant mood is emotional bloodletting. No British singer of her generation can express hope, heartbreak and vengeful fury with such unwavering conviction as Beth Gibbons. She doesn't address the crowd until the very end of a murderously heavy We Carry On. "Thank you so much!" she says cheerfully. "I hope it was all right!" It's a charmingly down-to-earth note on which to end 90 minutes of otherworldly intensity.
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