Well it’s been a (really) long time coming, but I’ve finally found a bit of time to write a small post about my experience at Glastonbury this year (Revision after writing; I’m warning you now – this is a long and rambling post).
I’ve thought about it a lot – a LOT – and think that it’s probably for the best that I didn’t write this post straight after the festival, as my head was swimming, and to be honest, just about every other experience I’ve ever had paled in comparison. You might be thinking ‘yeah right, that’s what everyone says’ which is what I would have thought, and in fact what I did think whenever I heard, or read, people’s opinions about the festival.
It seemed as if EVERYONE loved it. The whole of the UK is aware of it (the festival is the third largest city in the South West of England for the week it’s on, so it’s hard to miss really), newspapers cover it in depth, as do radios of course (BBC Radio One have two tents there, as well as their DJs playing), and hours of live footage are broadcast on TV. Trust me when I saw you can’t miss it. I’ve never actually met anyone in Denmark who has heard of it, which surprises me constantly when it’s such a mammoth festival. Anyway.
I once had a ticket back in 1996 (and still do, framed, mint condition), but never went as it rained for 12 hours non-stop just before, and I had no money, no tent, and decided at the last minute that I would sell my ticket, which I never did – thankfully. As the years passed, great acts came and went, and although I often thought of going, the steady increase in price and the pretty much guaranteed crap weather kept putting me off.
Eventually I moved to Denmark, and in 2001, I received a ticket to Roskilde Festival as a birthday present. If you remember correctly, it was (until last year) the hottest year on record. It was mind-blowing. I didn’t get swept away in torrents of rain, the music was fantastic, and although I was at first slightly daunted by the size, I quickly found my way around, as really, it’s not that big. In a nutshell; I loved it.
Around the same time, my brother started attending Glastonbury, and other festivals. He quickly became a die-hard fan of Glasto, and has been on my back ever since to go with him. Again, weather and price just put me off it. I didn’t go to another festival until last year – 2009 – when again, I went to Roskilde (I managed to get a free ticket, otherwise I’m not sure I would have, to be honest). Again, it was the hottest on record, and while I had a completely different experience, it was equally as brilliant, if not more so.
It can’t have been long after I came home that my brother once again started pestering me to go to Glastonbury (If you don’t know, Glastonbury has a very special system for tickets. You first have to register months in advance, sending a photo of yourself. If you’re lucky, you get registered, and have to pay £50. There is a deadline a few months later for you to pay the rest of the ticket price by (total this year was £185), and if you have decided not to go, you can get back £40, so it’s not so bad. Eventually, you receive your ticket – totally unique with photo and ID number. So basically, you have to register I think about 8 months before the festival). He was sending me links to possible line-ups, montages of last year’s festival, telling me stories, showing me photos, and reminding me that 2010 would be the 40th anniversary, so it was bound to be a good one. I thought long and hard about it, and realised that the way my life was going, festivals won’t be as easy to attend soon (Babies? Work? etc), and it was the 40th anniversary, and yes, it would get my dear brother off my back if I just bit the bullet and went. So sod it. I half-hearted logged on to the ticket machine, and refreshed over and over and over for about 3 hours until magically, there I was; registered.
Fast-forward 8 months of uming and ering, and I stood, ticket in hand, ready to go. I kept a close eye on the weather forecast, which wasn’t hard to do as most UK websites have a ‘Glastonbury Weather Watch’, and amazingly; it was set to be a record breaker.
My brother kept trying to get me to go for the whole week, and (regrettably) I said that I would only go from Friday morning, to Sunday evening/Monday early morning. I had read horror stories about arriving and leaving (taking up to 9 hours to leave the car-park on Monday, and just as long to get in on the Wednesday), and was determined to miss it all. So I arrived at 10am Friday morning, and was already overwhelmed by the beauty of South West England, Stone Henge, and the unbelievably amount of cars. Luckily, dear bro (let’s name him; Iain) had given me a map with their camp-site marked on it, and also managed to meet me close to the entrance.
I can’t begin to tell you how massive the place is, but overwhelmed doesn’t even come close to describing my mood. It was probably around 30 degrees, there were people everywhere, and as I looked over the festival site, I realised that I wasn’t in Roskilde any more.
I’m going to try to keep things short, as I know I’ve gone on long enough already. You’ll have to forgive me; sometimes I see this blog as a diary rather than a source of…..entertainment (?) for others!
How to keep it short…. It’s 177,000 people. That hopefully gives an idea of the size. Over twice the size of Roskilde Festival, and just over twice the area. You can’t imagine so many people wandering about. You will not see the same person twice, and you will not see everything there is to see, especially if you go, like I did, from Friday to Sunday.
My biggest regret is that I didn’t go for the whole week; who gives a shit about queueing?! Quite literally, about 3 hours before I left, I was discovering whole new fields – big fields – filled with teepees, tents, people, stalls, and food. There were life-size buildings, art installations (BIG installations like a tube carriage that has smashed through the front of a 6 story building; an real aeroplane that has ‘crash landed’ in a field, bizarre metal sculptures – the list goes on and on), whole little covered villages which you trekked through and ended up in another club; I can’t begin to describe it all. You could easily go and not plan to see a single concert; just walk around, and take it all in.
The only problem was that after walking around such a massive area for so long, getting from one thing to another, dancing, drinking and eating all day (in 30 degree heat), that come 11pm, I was knackered, and of course, that was just when a whole other Glastonbury was getting started. The latest I stayed up was 2am, and when I went to the toilet at 5.30am, not only was it daylight, but it could have been 4 in the afternoon; people everywhere. Extremely disorientating!
Come Sunday (England infamous defeat in the World Cup), I had to take a break. I sat in my tent, drank water, and just tried to gather my thoughts. To be honest, right then, I was exhausted. Mentally and physically. My head was completely saturated with things I had seen, music I had heard, smells, people, and emotions. My body drained of energy by the constant heat, the constant moving, and the lack of total peace and quiet. I was looking forward to going home, I can’t lie.
In hindsight, I wasn’t prepared. I’m not sure anyone is when they first go. It can’t be explained. It really is a phenomenon. It’s a world apart from anything I’ve ever experienced, and I realise that it can’t be compared to Roskilde, but I’ll come to that in a bit.
I left, late Sunday evening, and was home by 1am. I showered, and fell into my bed at my parent’s house. It took me a long time to really realise what an experience it was, and how daft I was to have missed the first 3 days, not only to explore, but to adjust! I had leapt in to my first Glastonbury blindfolded, on the day it all kicks off. If I had to give one piece of advice to Glastonbury virgins; go for the whole week. Explore and adjust. Trust me.
That said and done, I can cover the music! The full line-up is here, but from what I can remember…..these are the acts I saw:
Rolf Harris, The Stranglers, Hot Chip, Mariachi El Bronx, Mumford and Sons, Ellie Goulding, Broken Bells, The xx, Beardyman, Nneka, Muse, The National, Reef, Coheed and Cambria, I Blame Coco, Paloma Faith, Nora Jones, Faithless, Temper Trap, Grizzly Bear, Kelis and Miike Snow.
I have no doubt at all that I have left some out. No doubt. Sometimes I remember acts I saw, but forget them just as quickly. But the best I remember of course. They were The xx, Mumford and Sons, Beardyman, and Muse.
Beardyman played at Arcadia; something that can not be explained, and this video does not do it justice, but it’s all I have;
Beardyman at Arcadia 2010
The xx blew me away, although I’m not sure why. They were incredible live, but I think it was the atmosphere in the tent. Moved to tears.
The other band that made water come out of my eyes was Mumford and Sons who were so clearly overwhelmed by the number of people and the response they received. It was an unforgettable concert, and I hope so very much I can see them again soon.
Muse, of course, were headlining on the Pyramid Stage (the one permanent structure of the festival). They were, as you might expect, almighty. I knew it was going to be good, but I did not realise just how good. See them if you get the chance.
There were many other bands I wish I had seen, as it always goes at festivals. Yet, there is just no way – especially at Glastonbury – that you can see them all. Frustrating sometimes, but it all works out fine. There is so much to see, that occasionally you find yourself stuck in The Tiny Tea Tent, and not down raving at Annie Mac. But it’s OK. Because it’s Glastonbury, and that’s exactly what it’s all about.
There were a few things that occurred to me over the weekend, a few things that made Glastonbury even more different from Roskilde. There were;
Dry trees – yes, at Glastonbury, despite having 177,000 people there, so let’s say approximately 88,500 men, you could quite happily slide down a tree, or post, or boarding, and no be smothered in piss. There is an incredibly effective self-policing system, and men peeing anywhere other than a urinal is a no-go. It left me flabbergasted. They just don’t do it, which is a welcome relief from Roskilde, where you see more penises in one hour than the average hooker does in a week. Not to mention the stink of piss…
No camp-site parties – I’m not sure if this is a result of the size, and never-ending amount of things to see and do, but camp-site parties don’t exist. Maybe a few, but nothing – nothing – like the kind you get at Roskilde. I know that this is part of the festival, but man, to some people, it’s just a pain the arse. Sorry.
No noise when you slept – no camp-site parties is one thing, but the sheer size of the festival area meant that you quite literally couldn’t hear the music when you slept. I used ear-plugs, but that was because our site was next to a path, and people did not stop walking up and down it. It was amazing.
So there you have it.
No, I didn’t compare the festivals really. But as I said; you can’t. It’s like comparing Århus to New York. Or Uckfield to London. It just can’t be done. Yes it might ‘only’ be just over twice the size, but it’s what you do with it that counts, right? Roskilde is amazing – don’t get me wrong. I love it. I do, but it just can’t be compared.
I would love to hear from anyone else who has been to both, and has anything to say.
I apologise for the rambling of this post. It’s a hard thing to write. I should have written it sooner, but it’s been a very, very busy year, and apparently isn’t slowing down.
To end, I’d like to give Glastonbury a big, fat thumbs-up. Go. Pay the money (virtually the same cost as Roskilde, just sayin). Go for the week. Suck it in. Breath it in. Experience it. Get lost on purpose – you can only get so lost. Eat different meals every day. Drink different drinks every day. Speak to and see different people everyday. It’s an entire city, self-policing, full of music, full of sights, full of experiences, full of energy, and full of love. Seriously.
My photos – which don’t do it justice at all – can be found here.
Glastonbury, I love you.
