Wednesday - Day One
It’s Wednesday afternoon and there’s what can only be described as a hush over the grounds at the 2005 Glastonbury Music Festival. Whilst the myriad of world class bands are still days away, the view from atop the Big Camping Ground field is of thousands upon thousands of tents, flags and happy punters.
As the evening approaches a haze of smoke spreads over the grounds as families, old friends and new neighbours kick start their campfires to cook whatever they’ve been brave enough to carry from their cars, over the six hundred acres of festival ground to their current location. At this point the only music to be heard is emanating from the Reggae Bar located just a way up the hill from where we’ve set up camp, quite handy seeing as they’re not only offering hot food, top pies and cocktails in coconut shells, but icy cold cans of XXXX bitter, something not seen so far on this journey.
In this midst of the dull roar of over one hundred thousand voices comes a cheer from across the campground. For no apparent reason except the unanimous excitement of all present the call is taken up one by one through the camp until, in unison, one hundred thousand voices all scream like crime victims at the night sky. This is Glastonbury 2005, we’ve never been before but we can be assured that it is going to be one hell of an experience.
Thursday - Day Two
Today starts as any other at a festival would... with a sleep in. By the time we’ve dragged our back sides out of bed it’s after 10am, but there’s still plenty of time to explore. And explore we did. At this point there’s no seething pit of sweating bodies gyrating in front of Coldplay, New Order or The White Stripes, but there’s still a constant stream of people heading up and down the hill near our campsite, off to either watch or take part in whatever is on offer this fine sunny Thursday morning.
After a quick walk via the main-stage we’re treated to a humourous insight into the average reaction to a sunny day in England. Whilst my stereotypical olive skinned fiance Shannon soaks up the rays on offer during this balmy 25 degree mid morning, our English counterparts are gathered in numbers under trees, up against security fences and in the numerous bars offering shade from a seemingly ‘relentless’ sun.
It is after this visit to the Pyramid Stage that we realize the real fun to be had today is elsewhere on the grounds. The Green Fields are offering improvised hillbilly music, Lost Vagueness has already opened it’s Five Star Restaurant, and small tents all over the market place are home to up and coming bands, each of them calling proud new owners of bongos and assorted African drums onto stage, adding to the community vibe of the event. For the next four days Michael Eavis’ farm has become a functioning city of over 150,000 people. Pharmacists, food vendors, street entertainers, buskers, doctors, police and dealers roam the grounds amongst the music fanatics and regulars who frequent the event every year.
On dark we’re introduced to our new neighbours, Malcolm, Carl and Caleb, all of whom are present for at least their thirteenth year. Then there’s the semi conscious Sam, who’s been to every Glastonbury since his parents brought him along as a three month old baby. One thing joins this group of obnoxiously loud pommie’s: their unbending belief that we were about to become a part of the greatest festival in the world.
Many XXXX’s later, and a cask of Britain’s finest Fruity Red, and it’s time to retire for the evening. We’ve managed to squeeze two more into our little community on account of the lack of space, but all is well in our part of the Glastonbury world. The Drinks are flowing freely and so far our biggest concern is whether or not the sun cream is going to last out the weekend.
Friday - Day Three
Absolute pandemonium is upon us. Between the hours of 4 and 6am the festival has received over three inches of rain, and the radio we’ve got playing in our tent is advising us not to leave our tent due to the torrential rain and frequent lightning strikes. All this news aside, our expectation of the weekend is not diminished whatsoever. We’re dry, no water has leaked into our tent, and the festival is expected to go ahead on schedule as soon as the lightning passes.
After venturing outside our tent and cooking a little breakfast of bacon, mushrooms and a cold beer, the devastation of the other areas of the festival become apparent. Caleb and Sam have returned from Lost Vagueness where they have been holed up for the night, only leaving as they’ve been shipped out for the breakfast crowd, and the news is all bad.
Over three hundred tents have been completely washed away. Rumours of disease from the waterlogged toilets are spreading, and the latest report from the in festival radio station ‘Radio Avalon’ has stated that a complete loss of power over the festival may cancel all bands scheduled for Friday’s entertainment.
So what’s left to do? After careful deliberation the little crew of Aussie’s, Pommie’s and our two new Kiwi friends have decided that it’s time to crack open the Vodka and mix some deadly pink cocktails to see us through until such time as there’s something to see. The rain is falling again and a stream of those not so lucky as ourselves are glumly trudging past our campsite for the front door, wet and beaten by the loss of their tents and possessions, and unwilling to face the oncoming weekend of mud and mayhem.
On the other hand, the disposition of those under the newly claimed shelter of a neighbouring pergola is improving by the minute. The pink drinks are coming thick and fast, and power has once again been restored to the festival. It’s at this point that the homesickness sets in, with the John Butler Trio taking to the stage in front of perhaps the biggest crowd they have ever played.
There’s a look of persistence on the faces that walk by now. Some are rugged up from head to toe with beanies, rain coats, jeans and wellingtons, whilst some of the more exhibitionistic ladies have opted for the ‘less is more’ attitude, wearing only their bikinis... and wellingtons. Regardless of fashion sense, it’s apparent that the rain is not going to beat Glastonbury 2005, and Friday was going to be the first of three days to remember.
Information for the rest of Friday is somewhat sketchy from this reporter, due mostly to the smooth texture of our array of pink cocktails, and the willing support of four English men, all entering their eighteenth hour of consistent drinking. What can be said is that it is best to tackle the problem of water and mud with a level head, especially if one wishes to keep their freshly purchased Australian Jersey Canary Yellow, rather than an earthy brown. On the other hand, viewing first hand the final six songs from ‘The Thrills’ mind blowing set, dancing both vertically and horizontally in the mud, and viewing literally thousands of Englishmen fight their way to the front of the stage with flags hoisted to the tops of fishing rods, flag poles or bamboo rods is a truly eye opening experience.
All that aside, it was decided for safety reasons that the viewing of ‘The Killers’ and ‘The White Stripes’ would take place from the safety of my travel chair, after a wee snooze in what was luckily one of the sole remaining dry tents in the campsite. Even after relentless scrutiny from my companions for my choice of location during both of these highly impressive sets, I stand by my statement that the acoustics from within my two-man dome tent were quite simply outstanding, and I recommend anyone who has the opportunity to investigate this musical anomaly whenever they have the chance. The pink drinks had absolutely nothing to do with it; I am simply a man in pursuit of the perfect harmonic.
Saturday - Day Four
The rain has been held at bay by good fortune, and now the massive lakes of water and floating tents have been replaced by knee deep mud and abandoned possessions. Things start early today with the Rugby Test between the British Lions and the New Zealand All Blacks. Sadly my need for wellingtons has proven greater than my need to watch my two most hated rugby teams battle it out, and whilst thousands flock to the Pyramid Stage for a live broadcast of the match, I head towards the markets to pick up a pair of those shoe saving devices.
Much to my dismay, I arrive to learn that wellingtons sold out quite early the previous day, and that a truckload had only just arrived that morning at 9am. The limited number of boots on sale, coupled with the depth of the mud, have created a sense of urgency among the campers, and my initial mission to ‘pop down and pick up a pair of wellies before the game gets underway’ has been replaced by a rapidly growing lineup for cheaply made rubber boots.
My initial decision to abandon this task was quickly overthrown by the sound of both my thongs (that’s flip flops for the English) snapping in the mud, leaving me hung over, muddy, alone and shoeless. So the rugby was cast aside, and my place was behind the nearly five-hundred-strong crowd of disgruntled festival goers, many of whom appeared to be as shoeless as I was. Some time later (two hours) I was back at the camp site enjoying the friendly banter bouncing back and forth between Nick and Sarah, our Kiwi neighbours, and the once again hung over Caleb, Malcolm and Sam.
So with wellies on foot, chairs in hand, and beers in pocket, our freshly arrived and very clean Aussie compatriots Jacko and Alicia and I, made our way down to the Pyramid stage to claim the highest available piece of ground for the purpose of viewing as many bands as possible, this time without the assistance of pink drinks.
This Saturday morning we were treated to a veritable feast of rock and roll, starting out with Hayseed Dixie, an American hillbilly band covering everything from ACDC to Queen with Outkast in the middle, to Taj Mahal busting out blues like it was a burst artery in his bulging guitar arm, to the Kaiser Chiefs with their energetic stage diving, inflatable dinosaur beating antics, and finally to Ash, an absolute class act, playing everything from Goldfinger to Girl From Mars to their latest and greatest.
It was after leaving the high ground sanctuary of the Pyramid stage that I was disappointed for perhaps the first and last time at Glastonbury 2005. The other main stage, creatively named the ‘Other Stage’, was home to a band that has enjoyed no end of hype from audiences in Australia and all over the world. After traipsing through perhaps the stickiest and most unwelcoming mud of the entire festival, Shannon and I found ourselves closer to the front of any stage as we’d been all weekend, and a mere stones throw from Interpol as they took the stage in front of one of the most animated crowds of the entire weekend.
Sadly all the entertainment at this performance would have been seen best looking from the stage, rather than at the stage; as those out front were restricted to four unanimated men, clad solely in black, standing to attention with their respective instruments delivering almost identical album renditions of their latest world wide hits. True - musicianship from Interpol was outstanding, but there has to be more to a band than simply good songs, and sadly after a portion of the crowd, including myself and Shannon, gave up and made the slow trek out of the mud once more, the sole feeling amongst the group was that whilst good songs were delivered, the flair and energy of bands such as Ash and the Kaiser Chiefs would prove far more memorable.
It was after this small downer that we made our way once more to the main stage, only to find any chance of viewing New Order and Coldplay from any kind of proximity next to impossible. Thankfully, the superb positioning of our campsite gave us a more than adequate view of the band on the three massive television screens, and the additional benefit of comfortable chairs, cold drinks and no sweaty, overexcited Englishmen. With the assistance of a small campfire, New Order exceeded expectations, with variety one comes to expect from a band on the scene for around thirty years, followed promptly by Coldplay, who delivered a well measured mix of new tunes from X&Y, as well as both the popular and slightly obscure tunes from Parachutes and A Rush of Blood to the Head.
Whilst the finale was enjoyed from the acoustic splendour of my tent, Coldplay proved a fitting conclusion to Saturday, and left all with a positive outlook of the remaining rock to be had.
Sunday - Day Five
I’m almost beaten. My clothes are dirty as hell. I’m wearing the same pair of shorts I’ve been in since Friday afternoon, and the top up hangover I’ve been treating myself to over the last five days is reaching breaking point. It’s at this point that the decision is made, much to all our disgust, that in order to be back in London in time for work tomorrow, it is necessary to pack in the towel a little earlier than expected and begin the epic journey of removing a rental car from the site without having to dip into our insurance excess.
Luckily, there’s still so much that we can squeeze into our Sunday morning. Dancing spread like an infectious disease through the campsite as the ‘Yeovil Town Band’ (Yeovil being a nearby town much like Glastonbury) brought forth renditions of the English National Anthem, The Baby Elephant Walk and even the theme from The Muppets. It is possible to notice a shift in the entertainment on Sunday, as ‘Local Day’ sees numbers jump up by a good few thousand people. In a show of good faith and generosity to those locals who annually put up with the noise, chaos and general tribulations that come with an influx of 150,000 people, Michael Eavis and the organizers offer heavily discounted day passes to locals in the area, turning Sunday’s festivities into a very family orientated affair.
After the ‘Belly Dancing Superstars’ and ‘James Blunt’ delivered their offering, Jools Holland continued the family vibe, busting out an array of blues standards that once again proved unexpectedly popular with both the family crowd, and the general beer swilling, dancing public. By this point the sun was out, the crowd was swelling by the minute, and a literal sea of flags from every country imaginable ebbed and flowed through the ocean of thousands gathered in front of the Pyramid Stage. And not easily would they be moved from their crusted patch of mud, not even the now searing 27 degree heat could persuade them to step aside for we Aussies - so attuned with the nature of Ultra Violet rays.
So it was that the final act of our Glastonbury experience was viewed from our freshly packed up campsite. And lucky it was that additional arse shaking room was available, as he who can only be described as the legendary Van Morrison took to the stage. The first album I ever owned was a copy of Van Morrison’s Greatest Hits, and it lived in my room, my disc man and my car until I left the country two months ago, and I thank my lucky stars often that I was able to gain an appreciation of such a musical genius. There could have been no greater finish to a festival than the selection of songs put forward by Van the man. It was all there, from ‘Bright Side of the Road’ to ‘Baby Please Don’t Go’, and then the most amazing finale of ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ and ‘Gloria’.
Six months ago I never thought that I would have been sitting on a sunlit ridge, sipping the remains of my cask of Fruity Red from a peach halves tin, watching a man who had been playing world class music for over thirty years at arguably the world’s greatest festival. And I doubt that in six month’s time I could invent a better story than that we were lucky enough to be a part of over the last week. It was the wettest Glastonbury on record, the fields were spewing with mud, food spoiled, toilets stank, bands were cancelled and some people spent the entire week in the sanctuary of the festival chapel. But the biggest problem everyone talked about all weekend..?
“Shit, what are we going to do now that Glastonbury isn’t on next year?”
Shannon's Thoughts:
Well, what can I say after that! Glastonbury was by far the best 'festival' of the four. For me it wasn't so much about the music, which was awesome!, but about what else there was to see. At Coachella there had been very little on sale and all of a sudden I'm confronted by street after street of stalls! So, needless to say for the first few hours i shopped! Found great pants, socks, wrap and more fun yet unnecessary stuff! Also Glastonbury was more about the stuff that wasn't on the main stage for me. There were the Vagina Monologues, the Ghost Train, the Greenpeace area, the Cabaret tent, the Cirus tent! I spent most of my time hanging out around these areas being inspired. As a creator and performer some of the people, acts, costumes, shows made me want to renounce my travelling life and join a company then and there!
I was most impressed by three things. Number one: the MC in the Circus tent, she was a sword swallower and when it finally came time to swallow the sword, the crowd with all it's heckling and so on she was brilliant! A really good sport and a rareity too.
Number two: Carnesky's Ghost train. This is what solidified my want to drop backpack and take up costume. I waited for nearly two hours to go on the ghost train not knowing at all what to expect. It was superb. We circled a track approx 10 times each time being presented with a different image. I won't give any more away but it wasn't 'scary' in a normal ghost train sense, but the more you thought about what the 'story' was the more the images kinda f***ed with your head! Brilliant work, I would love to be a part of something like that.
Number three: The Dresden Dolls. Once again they put on a brilliant show, and despite the flooding that had occurred at the festival making the area around the John Peel stage a mud pit, they still came out and met people and signed things and were wonderful for their fans.
Glastonbury rocks the arts!
Jacko's Thoughts:
Alicia's Thoughts:
