Glastonbury - Saturday

We return to The Other Stage and discover that yesterday’s carpet of slop has miraculously hardened underfoot. The mid-afternoon sun begins to burn the low hanging cloud from its stronghold, suddenly the ice cream vans begin to look appropriate, someone flies a lovely, fluttery kite overhead and overly-confident Verve fans can be seen forsaking upper-body clothing. It’s going to be a good day.

To celebrate, Saint Eavis blesses Worthy farm with lavish Eightie’s-inspired sex-pop in the shape of much-blogged, MySpace superheroes Black Kids. In a divine instance of serendipity, the hotly tipped Floridians play out their sun-blessed kitsch under expanding stretches of glorious blue sky. Reggie Youngblood and co. flirt outrageously with the merry onlookers, a team of pop stars of exotic beauty and rare glamour. That said, in the endless steppes that lie before Glasto’s second biggest stage, the tunes seem to saunter rather than sizzle. The easy, sultry sound rendered on their E.P begins to flounder as the wind picks up. Maybe in these early days their star isn’t fully in the ascendant, not enough at any rate for them to fully inhabit such a big-hitter slot.

Neon Neon arrive and restore calm with electro-pastiche so leisured that Gruff Rhys, after making the coolest James Blunt dig of the day, sings the first five songs sitting down. Underground L.A. hip-hop producer Boom Bip completes the pairing. It’s an intriguing act – brainy, genuinely hip and sophisticated – and despite undoubtedly missing a whole pile of deft touches, they provide incredibly appropriate listening for Glastonbury’s balmy fields. For the final few tracks the one and only Har Mar Superstar emerges to ply his falsetto sauciness over some fittingly pervy grooves. Soon the irony-dial is angling towards the red-for-danger mark!

We make it back to the transformed John Peel Stage in time to see Black Lips unleash their singular brand of diabolic ‘Flower Punk’. It’s just the thing to chase off any rogue hippies who’ve strayed too far from the falafel stand. The pathetic turnout means that AU enjoys its first ‘intimate gig’ of the trip. The stage is decorated with disembodied pigs heads mounted on sticks, the significance of which, is anyone‘s guess, but its looks totally cool anyway. As does guitarist Cole Alexander, malevolently cloaked in a black hijab, and of course there’s Ian St Pé’s gold-minted grimace. Black Lips are indeed some righteous trash.

Like the 21st century sons of The Kingsmen, they slur through a raggedly sweet ‘Dirty Hands’. Then pandemonium breaks out as ‘Oh Katrina’ segues into ‘Navajo’. A kind of circle-pit forms and a girl dressed as a banana is pushed in the back, resurfacing from the brouhaha with her yellow fur looking a little less yellowy. Having golf-carted it from The Other Stage, cameo-Specialist Har-Mar invades the stage for ‘Bad Kids’. After an attempt to impregnate the drum kit, His Funkadelic Majesty hightails it to sexier pastures leaving the Lips to race to a turbo charged finish with a rendition of ‘Juvenile’. It all concludes in a startling ‘what the George W. Bush was that?!’ moment as the band ignite fireworks on-stage. Brilliantly resembling Butch the Bulldog with his string of sausages, St Pé looks on nonchalantly, a stick of dynamite dangling from his chops.

For this reviewer’s 150 bucks, it was Hot Chip that became the real event of Glastonbury 2008. With twilight beckoning, Redbridge Brass Band played a medley of the band’s songs. Watching these elderly men with their elderly instruments beautifully interprete the saddest dance tune ever conceived – ‘And I Was A Boy From School’ – well, it’s a both a poignant primer and a reminder that such special little moments can still occur at Glastonbury.

Then dance music’s most unassuming superstars shuffle to position behind a banquet of electronic and analogue machines. Right out of the gates a primal ‘Shake A Fist’ and contorted ‘…Boy From School’ set in motion the best communal experience of the festival. Guest spot of the year goes to Wiley who bounds on stage to perform ‘Wearing My Rolex’. As far as the eye can see, people are going crazy, singing “usually bubble” in their best East London accents, the chemistry between the Grime Overlord and diminutive lab coat and spectacles sporting, uber-nerd Alexis Taylor, bizarrely perfect.

After, the one-two punch of ‘Ready For The Floor’ and out-and-out modern classic that is ‘Over And Over’ have laid waste to several thousand eardrums, these self-confessed Prince-junkies bring an end to proceedings by playing Sinead O’Connor’s version of ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’. After the “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” of collective recognition there is an appreciative sigh of contentment from the audience, many of whom are moved to tears by Taylor’s impassioned vocal.

With Jay-Z planning Glasto villainy on the Pyramid Stage and Massive Attack just too cumbersome a prospect in our post H.C. rush, we elect instead to head for the hilltop-situated Park Stage and the day’s best double-whammy; Battles followed by CSS.

Bathed in white-light, American math-rockers Battles come at us with a juggernauting demonstration of inhuman brilliance. They are determined it seems to take us to the furthest reaches of outer space. The manner in which the mechanics of anatomically mind-boggling futurism unfold is awe-inspiring. Magnum opus ‘Atlas’ is flawlessly executed, the band whipping up a perfect storm of avant-garde mastery. N.A.S.A called, they want their rocket back.

Headliners CSS bound on stage resplendent in silver jumpsuits and Sub-Pop tees. They perform a typically anarchic set, the stage overflowing with gigantic balloons and sexual frisson. On the eve of their second full-length release, the Brazilians are clearly hell-bent on topping last year’s career-defining appearance. Aggressive renditions of their still scintillating older material culminate with them dismantling their instruments at the close of ‘Let’s Make Love’. John Calvert

Issue #51 - I Told You This Would Be A Good Issue

Featuring Biffy Clyro, Of Montreal, Duke Special, Frightened Rabbit, Cold War Kids, Jay Reatard, Pat Mills, and more.