Glastonbury 2009

Ahoy, groupie renters. I write this from the box bedroom of my parents' house in Essex. Top floor, far right window as you look on us from the outside in. The curtains are closed or I would wave. Sorry about that. Anyway, now is the time for a break from catching up on giving the people who read my beloved Kruger free things. It seems summer is the time give things away. The sun makes us more generous souls, I believe. But yes. Not only this but it is also time for a post-Glastonbury analysis. A dissection of the good, the bad and the "do you know who I am?" brigade. My heart and mind remember the weekend just past as one of utmost excellence, although my feet and knees would tell you a rather different story, could they form words and that.

For the most part of the weekend, I wore a bright orange high-vis tabard. This was not a fashion statement, more an obligation should I wish to remain on site. I would like to tell you that Michael and Emily Eavis have introduced a Glastonbury law which says all festival goers must dress in such a way but alas, it was because I was working. Simultaneously raising money for charity, dancing like a psychiatric patient to new and old bands and making sure none of you blaggers and chancers got entry to the festival. Thank you Oxfam for letting me do so, although I would like to take back some of that thanks for making me work through both Maccabees sets. The cheek of it.

But. On to the more important matter of who I did see. The highlights of this seemingly endless list were as follows:

Two Door Cinema Club. So good I watched them twice. Northern Irish synth-pop. Maybe signed to Kitsune. Maybe not. If they are, I want to be them. Perhaps I shall marry them instead. Watch out for maybe some exciting future announcements about Two Door, some other Norn Iron bands and RaG in the coming months. We may have something up our sleeves.

Kap Bambino. French electro. Is my life. Or a vast majority of it anyway. Yeahhhh.

Metronomy. First time without Le Stebbing. Ohhhh Stebbing. Twas good though, apart from the fact their lights are no longer push lights. And that the PA people cut the power before they could play Radio Ladio. Bastards. On a Stebbing related note. I spent most of my second shift making eyes at Michael Your Twenties, who was wristbanding for Festival Republic. I don't think he noticed my eye-making, or at least I do hope else that'd be well embarrassing, innit?

Golden Silvers - Another Universe made me bawl my eyes out whilst outside relentlessly heavy rain killed my tent.

General Fiasco. More Norn Iron-ness. Included in the watch out announcement 2door statement above.

Rumble Strips. Why can't I love you in London? A new song to add to the this-is-how-I-feel-about-Goldsmiths catalogue. Its getting quite expansive.

The Big Pink. Whom I also saw twice, and both occasions without meaning to. First on the way to see Animal Collective, I was diverted by the reverberations of their synthy noise which never fails to make my body shake with excitement. Second, whilst queuing to get a copy of the Guardian the next morning, the acoustic strains of Velvet made me squeal rather loudly OHMYGODITSTHEBIGPINK. And thus, I stayed and watched them and marvelled at how I could actually hear Robbie's voice for once, what with it being acoustic and synth-less and all.

Bombay Bicycle Club. Whom I am now interviewing tomorrow eve. But sadly only, it transpires, over the phone. With Jamie. Who. Is Kirsty MacColl's nephew. INSANE. This is probably good that I'm not interviewing Jack as he does make me literally weak at the knees a bit. Anyway. Park set. Good times. I was loving life whilst burning my face. Yayyy.

Hockey. Good dance routine to Work, is all I'll say.

Passion Pit. Beatzzz. Jarvis Cocker dedications. Sleepyhead.

Klaxons. In fancy dress. I LOVE YOU.

GoodBooks. Last ever show. I got strangely emotional and actually cried in the first four bars. In full view of Max. Low point.

The Soft Pack. Kept giving me strange looks. Ohhhh dear. Blistering garage-rock watched by pretty much no one as everyone else was being stupid and watching Karen O. Soft Pack > YYYs.

Nick Cave. SEXXXY.

Blur. Obviously... the best thing I have ever seen. Somehow two rows away from the front. Odd. But also sweaty and wet and ewww but also, in the words of Oasis, mad fer it. Badhead and Jubilee and Oily Water and Trimm Trabb and NO ESSEX DOGS. Sad times. Damon crying made me cry (even more). Graham did a VERY sexy dance to the slowed down drum intro of Song 2 which they have apparently failed to broadcast to the world via the BBC. I would complain if I were you. It was hot. Ending on The Universal obviously had the predicted effect of making me weep my tearducts dry. I love you Blur. A million times more than anyone could ever understand.

I return to the old London tomorrow afternoon, phone Jamie BBC, go to Asda to stock up on strawberry cider because I don't think I can handle going cold turkey, maybe go see Deerhoof or maybe instead go see Jamie T. Who knows. You will. After it has happened. YEAH.

Ohai, Sentinels (RaG Weekly Update #3)

Dear reader,

I write this from under my covers, having now been awake for a full 43 hours. I took some sleeping pills; they made me feel more awake. The irony. Anyway, I'm ridiculously happy because, for the best part of 24 of those hours, I have been internetless and now, finally, I am not. Thank you Goldsmiths IT geeks for apparently working on a Sunday.

This aside, this week has been pretty ok. We've handed in dissertations, discovered how to walk from Brick Lane to Liverpool St (and not via Aldgate! Success), spent far too long listening to one song, actually literally dreamt of Glastonbury and done a bit of political debating too. Win.
Shows attended: 2. First, Official Secrets Act at Rough Trade East. The best thing I can tell you about this is Lawrence's make up is fucking amazing. That, and er, the album's, like, well good? Yes. Maybe a bit overlong, but good nonetheless. Secondly, Instigate Debate at the Boogaloo. Politics and music combined. Essentially, good for the fact that we actually got well into our given topic (inequality) and had a proper nice discussion, which, let's face it, is not likely to happen next time we go down the pub. Alas, we didn't win the gig at our house or a "flip camera" (whatever the fuck that is) but we did get to see Kieran Leonard (best bit = WILL YOU FUCKING LISTEN), Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly (not that great, soz) and Fionn Regan (beautiful beautiful beautiful) play short sets. After watching the Jungle episode of the Mighty Boosh last night, I would like to point out how much Fionn Regan looks like Tommy but, y'know, with less cheese and more hair. This is not meant to be an insult. But it is. I think.

Last time I went to sleep, I had a literal dream about being at Glastonbury. It was quite bizarre. I was wearing a tshirt not dissimilar to my newest Tellison one (green with pink image/text) apart from it said Alexander Lee Perry on it. I have absolutely no idea who this is. Peter Doherty was headlining the Other Stage. The wristbands were blue. You had to pay a pound to get a wristband. I somehow got through without getting one and set up my tent then had to go back and when I returned to my tent found some randomer sitting in it. Which didn't bother me in the slightest, I just pretended they weren't there. I met some girl and she gushed over my tshirt. I went and lay in front of the Pyramid Stage and woke up. On the basis of this, I'm predicting blue wristbands for this year. They looked pretty lush in my dream so I hope I'm right.

Talking of which (kind of), Reading & Leeds line-up announcements tomorrow! Rumours are Kings of Leon, Arctic Monkeys and Radiohead are headlining. Opinions: KOL - not bothered. Never seen them, can't be fucked now they've gone all MOR FM arena rock. Arctic Monkeys - never seen them due to utter ridiculous reasons like family holidays, age restrictions and shit internet connection at the worst possible time. Would very much like this rumour to be true. Radiohead - not a fan (cue everyone looking absolutely shocked because.. what? I have an opinion of my own and it is that Radiohead are mostly overrated and boring? Sue me). So. 1 out of 3 ain't bad, I suppose. I mean, last year I didn't watch any of the 3 main stage headliners so its an improvement. Anyway, the smaller tents are obviously where its at. Los Campesinos!/Johnny Foreigner in the Carling tent last year was fucking beyond belief incredible. Which moves us on to...

I think I mentioned last week about new JoFo songs. Ghost the Festivals is officially my new favourite song. It reminds me of the last night at Reading and going to see JoFo at Club NME at the Rivermead and then walking back to the campsite in the early hours feeling so very much in love with that band. I do kind of miss waking up with my face wet from the condensation on the side of the tent and how you hardly even think about eating all day for near enough a week because you're far too busy having a wicked time watching bands. Summer can't come soon enough.

Right. Listen to new Johnny Foreigner then, and Line & a Dot, My First Tooth, Jose Vanders and the Big Pink. I'm off on a culinary adventure. Just before, mind, a tip - porridge, strawberry jam and banana is a bad idea. I'm about to try out tuna and cheese omlette so I'll let you know about that one.

Kisses.