…And Two Door Cinema Club, first up on the Other Stage, and first band to draw tears to go with the customary goose bumps that come when somebody plays something that feels fabulous. â€œTo the basement people, to the basement, many surprises await you,â€ sing the young whippersnappers from Bangor in Northern Ireland. Thatâ€™s the song for me and my boy. thatâ€™s his future and my past, maybe, sort of, all wrapped up in a not particularly clear, but decidedly poetic and beautiful line. Well it all makes sense to me.
Two Door Cinema Club are how bands should be – young and beautifully talented and genuinely excited to be playing Glasto; How bands shouldnâ€™t be is like Phenomenal Handclap Band, the next stop on the schedule. There is no excuse for crap guitar solos and itâ€™s crazy to do extended, sloppy â€˜versionsâ€™ of your best songs (Baby for example) before most people have even heard the original. Oh it doesnâ€™t matter, I was hopeful, but live they are just not very good.
Unlike Strange Boys, an unexpected treat at the Park, coming on like the ghostly essence of Velvet Underground having a jam with Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Needless to say, after the show, I buy their CD from a man sporting khaki shorts, a straggly beard, a red nose and a huge grin.
And so, via stops for curry goat and some local wine from Pennard Hill vineyard, it goes on.
Dead Weather on the Pyramid are too heavy for me. Alison Mosshartâ€™s smouldering sex kitten act with The Kills transforms into full predatory panther with the Dead Weather. If she simmers with the Kills, here she is the milk boiling over and spoiling all your freshly cleaned surfaces. White is an enigma. Undeniably brilliant but not generally exactly to my taste.
Unlike Foals who totally smash it on the John Peel, transformed from the studious math rockers I encountered early one afternoon on the Other two years ago, into proper crowd surfing party dudes. (To prove it lead singer loses his top while crowd surfing)
Unlike the XX who are so beautifully laid back and atmospheric it almost hurts. But they do go pop for a moment when they are joined by Florence (of the Machine) for their rendition of their remix of her cover of the inevitable â€˜You Got The Loveâ€™. OK, so sheâ€™s probably just doing it because itâ€™s on telly, but these sort of surprise magic moments are what make Glastonbury so special.
We finish the day with the Pet Shop Boysâ€™ quintessentially English, oh so London, arch, knowing, clever, lovely, vulnerable, beautiful, brilliant show that is more disco and modern dance and cabaret than rock and roll but is none the worse for that.
So much greatness and beauty in one place, itâ€™s hard to take it all in. All that and the burning sun making it almost as hard to move and think straight as the more customary mud.