We survived Glastonbury 2017

I have no photos of Glastonbury 2017 other than the one above of the shitty little tent I got from Lidl two days before going.

I only spent about five minutes in it over the four or so days we were there but for the sake of posterity, there she blows. Thankfully there was much more on offer than just this tent although it's taken us until now to piece the narrative together. Still however much was forgotten, I'm never going to forget how much it hurt coming back on the Monday. Sloping back into Tottenham at 10am that morning having not slept for the past two nights and with only a Babybell and the crumbs of a bacon butty as fuel meant for a massive, grizzly ouch. Here is a list of the best things we can (kind of) vaguely remember...

Craig David

Turns out he can kill it on the main stage when he's got a laptop full of big R&B bangers and some pure syrup coming out of his gob. The whole site must blatantly have been pissed when he played on the Friday afternoon as he got tongues wagging for the duration of the festival. It's hardly Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock but whatevs, 2017 isn't as good as 1969 is it?

The Crow's Nest 

Perhaps the coolest spot in the whole place, this bar at the top of the Park gives you a bird's eye view of the entire site and some of the best musical selections of the weekend. We were there on Sunday for the final hurrah which meant some huge chugging techno courtesy of one of Jagwa Ma. It was extreme as minds frayed ever closer to the edge.

Thatchers 

Every other weekend of the year I would say Thatchers is the most disgusting liquid you could insert in your mouth. Even bleach is more appealing. But somehow at Glastonbury it works as the perfect fuel to keep you standing upright when you really should be having a lie down. Nice work Thatchers. You've got a well deserved reputation as loopy juice.

Justice 

Sure Justice haven't progressed their sound too much from the early 2000s but jesus god it sounded extremely large and ravey when they headlined the West Holts on Sunday night. They still smoke, have big lights, a weird god complex and the biggest kick drums this side of Van Halen. The perfect antidote to flagging spirits.

Dancing in tents 

Away from Radiohead and Ed Sheeran one finds oneself dancing to no mark DJs but with big tunes in their bag at all times of the day. Sunday morning was a case in point. Although I've no idea where we were or who they were. Props to the underdogs without any rep. I haven't a clue about your identities but you kept it large and in charge.

NYC Downlow

The best club in the world? Quite possibly, this alive and voguing shrine to the meat packing district raves of seventies down town New York is the one, especially when they crank it up and all you can see are amyl cracking drag queens. Intense, crazy and weird. 

Acting like a caveman 

There's a lot to be said for changing one's pants and socks in the real world. Your rep will be mud if you have stinking toes and halitosis. But at Glastonbury, who cares. I didn't take my shoes off the whole weekend and felt all the better for it. 

We went to Glastonbury in 2015 too and this is what happened...

Come with us down the Glastonbury rabbit hole...

Mud, mud and more fucking mud - that was the mantra for this year's Glastonbury Festival. We landed on Thursday and right from the get go, we were up to our eyeballs in it, which made for a fucking slog make no mistake. But despite that, and the EU shitstorm going on all about us, the vibes were raw, pure and remarkably similar in stench to room odouriser.

The first day was all about going hard thanks to Steve Davis at the Stonebridge bar and Mura Masa in Silver Hayes whose slippery electronica we caught from a fuzzy distance. After we beggared around until passing out in a tent in a smokey haze. It meant we suffered extreme hardship the following morning with the fug of 'brexit' hanging over the whole site like a toxic fart. Despite these bad vibes, rather than putting a downer on proceedings, it meant we redoubled our efforts to go harder than ever.

Thankfully, while the bleak political winter raged outside the festival site, there was plenty of ace music to enjoy - Roisin Murphy, with her hybrid of outlandish outfits and electronics wowed on the Friday, while the NYC Downlow was also popping with Roger Sanchez and Honey Soundsystem totally on it. Saturday was focused on Tame Impala, then New Order and their disappointing set, which LCD Soundsystem counteracted on the Sunday with two hours of musical magic. With plenty of cowbell and disco drums, their performance was something else and catapulted us through the night until our train the following Monday morning. We were back in Dalston for about ten am in time for a Gregg's chicken bake and a lie down for the rest of the day in front of Twin Peaks. Hats off to all who repped. Boo and hiss to all those who voted us out. You need to remember that, much like in the peaks, the only thing to fear is fear itself.

Train beers 

Entering NYC Downlow

Roisin Murphy in the house 

Tame Impala bring the sunshine 

Sunday at the Beat Hotel - aka 'On one' crew 

Celebratory 'we've made it' Gregg's - chicken bake obvs 

Glastonbury - love the farm, leave your tents

This year marked our first Glastonbury Festival experience. I know. For those who realise how much we love a good pillage it must seem weird that we've left it until now to visit but previously the organisational demands have always proved too much. Plus when you're left with the BBC experience and think the festival is mainly about the hemp-stuffed, mumsy gnatterings of Jo Wiley, and Mark Radcliffe from the BBC hot tub it's not that appealing. But the reality is a more full on experience than the wildness equivalent of choosing a different kind of hummus from Ocado.

Our recent jaunt to Worthy Farm was through the filter of work. But that in its own way had a weird charm. It didn't get in the way of drinking heavily throughout or really going for it once dark had fallen. Plus our tents were fully erected (weeeeeeeeeyyy) when we arrived, there was a free air bed, plus they even sorted out the choo choos there and back. Shitloads of things went down and we saw shed loads of great stuff. Here are just a handful of the many thing we learned...

Cider - it's delicious!

The festival offers one official lager and one official cider - Tuborg and Thatchers respectively. Outside of events such as this, the former would be the slightly more appealing choice but here on the farm, cider is the only thing worth necking. Somehow it's an inconspicuous drinking friend for days on end, although when it eventually explodes inside your mind, you (and everyone around you) knows about it...

Let's get gnarly

It's not all about healing, the Dalai Lama and love. Although his mightiness was there to bless the festival. But a lot of night time Glastonbury (and subsequently the early mornings) are given over to 'going large mate' and as such you see all sorts of weird and not so wonderful things. A puddle of blood on the bus queue on the way out was prangworthy. The strange party with the gimp flamingo and bearded man miming anal sex with a fake polar bear on Monday morning was well trippy.

Hot Chip are one of the best things ever

Like the best bits of Prince, Talking Heads, LCD and Chic all rolled up into five nerdy white nerds, Hot Chip stopped being geeks and brought the funk on the Friday night of Glastonbury. Their bro-in with Caribou over the Boss's Dancing in the Dark was one of the greatest tings ever. Bravo Hot Chip.
 
It's (a bit) massive

Before you go all you hear is everyone bleating on about how huge Glastonbury is, how many people there are and how many different types of falafel one might be able to procure. It is indeed gigantic compared to any other festival you've been to meaning finding chums can be tough once you've enjoyed 15 ciders or night's curtain has dropped. At the same time, if you wait for everything to wear off and daylight to land, then you can get from one side to the other in ten minutes. Fact.

Lionel Richie has got it in spades

This year's old fogey's slot was taken by the man himself Lionel Richie. After the let down that was some of Kanye the night before it was down to the Commodores dude to bring the party. And party he did. If there had been a ceiling, the whole Pyramid stage field would have been dancing on it. Instead it felt like the greatest wedding disco ever...

Libertines

Night

Morning Pimm's

Arcadia Sunday night

Glastonbury early Monday morning

The back of a gurning Idris Elba

Going round Luke Solomon's gaff

Last week me and my work buddy Carl got on the Northern Line and didn't stop until we got to the end. High Barnet is the final destination of the northern part of the tube and it goes on and on and on until you're in what seems like the countryside. It's definitely green and full of trees. 

These are the ends of Classic Music Company DJ and producer Luke Solomon. It's leafy, suburban and about as 'unhouse' as you can possibly get. However, our trip was all about interviewing LS in his home studio and having a right old manly geek off about his equipment, gear and records.

After knocking on his door and finding a hungover chap ('Derrick was over last night' As in Derrick Carter - oof), we soon got to waffling in his laboratory. He was incredidbly genial about my technical incompetence with the video camera being waved in his face and Carl did a mint job of stitching our ramblings together into something positively coherent. Here are the fruits of our labours.


There was so much of our chat going on, we had to split it into two parts...


If this all a bit too techy for thee, you can also stream a riotous late night set from Luke and his buddy Rob Mello below. It's from this year's Glastonbury sometime on Saturday night/Sunday morning...