Sunday overview

If anything, the weather is worse today; the rain is unrelenting - alternating between the fine stuff that gets you really wet and heavy stuff that gets you really really wet - and is now joined by a strong wind that makes it feel like October, not August 19th. It’s tough going, and it’s clear that many of the V Festival punters have decided that there are two ways to deal with this.

There are a huge amount of people carting their stuff from the campsites to their cars ready for a swift departure as soon as the festival is over. Many of them take the opportunity to sit in the vehicles for longer than needed in order to recover.

But the main mechanism is more straight forward – get mashed until you no longer care. And there are plenty of people the worse for wear today, some unfeasibly early – one man vomiting on his shoes at 1:30, another being carried away by the paramedics. I can’t help thinking that the ban on bringing your own booze into the arena contributes to large amounts of drunkenness. Outside the gates people are necking back their supplies before an early start, whereas if they had a bagful of cans they could drink at their leisure. Beer sales would still be brisk – you rarely see a quiet bar at Glastonbury. Of course, it might be that, as one of those taking the go home option after the last note has played, my ‘lairy festival goer’ tolerance levels have dropped.

So anyway, I take a look at the line up for the day, and see that right now there are a few bands I haven’t heard of, and one of my old favourites, The Proclaimers. A no brainer then, so I head off to watch Craig & Charlie Reid, via the loo. As I move from bog to boggy field I hear cheering from the Channel 4 stage. ‘Blimey’, I think, ‘this band 606 have brought quite a following’, but the music sounds quite slow and ponderous. I later find out that this was in fact the Foo Fighters, doing an acoustic set.

Later in the day, I completely miss out on the news that Babyshambles are 4 hours late for their slot, and end up playing on a smaller stage. I decide, on reflection, that it’s probably just as well that I am not a full time journalist.

The Proclaimers were fun, as usual, with guitarist Zach Weir still throwing licks like he’s in Sabbath rather than in a melody driven and fairly gentle band. Still, his pedal steel play on the majestic ballad ‘Sunshine on Leith’ is exemplary, so we can forgive him.

The rest is, well, ‘no bad’, to coin my Edinburgh raised Dad’s phrase. ‘Restless Soul’, ‘There’s a Touch’ and a cover of Wreckless Eric’s ‘Whole Wide World’ entertain enough, but don’t really get the legs moving for a cold day warm up. Until the last song of course.

I loved ‘500 Miles’, but recently it’s become a little less palatable, simply because it was everywhere, so I was about to find out whether it was ruined for me. I’m pleased to report it’s not. The crowd stomp and sing, and I join in with them, gleefully.

When a band has a career defining song like that, they can either celebrate it or try to move on. James tried to ignore ‘Sit Down’ for a long time, but as I once heard Dave Gorman say, ‘I helped pay your mortgage by buying that, now play the bloody thing.’ The Proclaimers know this, and perform it with gusto as the tens of Frisbees fly, making the sky look like a remake of ‘Plan 9 From Outer Space’.



I wanted to watch Editors, truly I did, but the increase in the rain’s ferocity has finally got the better of me, and I retreat firstly under a tree, and then into a tent to watch Martha Wainwright. Again, there’s nothing to excite, but the songs meander like a pleasing country walk and the inter-song chat is warm and friendly. It’s as good a way as any to spend a Sunday afternoon, although in the conditions I’d quite like a roaring fire accompaniment for her folky charms.

Back at the main stage I feel duty bound to see Paolo Nutini, as I was told by someone whose opinion I respect that he was great at Glastonbury. He does have a good voice, he does have the look and he also has this strange manner of singing whilst bent double over his mike stand, as though he’s trying to prevent a stomach cramp explosion. You can’t deny his appeal, right down to his daft cover of ‘I Wanna Be Like You’ from ‘The Jungle Book’, but it’s all very dull indeed to my ears. You know what, I need something loud to shake off this Sunday lethargy, so I check my itinerary and plump for the unknown (to me) Switches.

It works, for Switches are fun. They are not remarkable by any means, but they have a good tuneful indie pop sound, one part Weezer, the other Franz Ferdinand. There have been many bands like this down the years, for instance Silver Sun, whose summery punchy choruses I have loved. None made it big. Switches will no doubt fall by the same wayside eventually, but if you catch them supporting your favourite band, don’t go out of your way to miss them.

After warming myself up, I go back to some slow soulful stuff again, but that’s because Sinead O’Connor is on the list of artists to see before they, or I, shuffle off permanently.

After coming onto stage, still shaven headed and with collars up on her shirt and greeting the crowd with a mockney ‘Evenin’ all’ before launching into ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’. With O’Connor of course, all her stock is in her lyrics, whilst the tunes are sometimes MOR plodders like this one. But in the chorus, where she sings ‘I rea-lly don’t think so’, she puts in that little flourish into the final syllable, where the voice warbles a bit higher, and it’s terrific.

At her best she is haunting, and the tune that starts with a lone accordion backing to her fragile voice truly does stand the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Sing along if you know the words” she encourages, and the crowd need no further encouragement to launch into ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’. What a pity, for the attraction of this song is its vulnerability, as brilliant depicted in that video. With just O’Connor singing this song can still make me cry, but not when the bloke next to me is giving it louder than the woman on stage. She gets massive applause at the end, which strikes me as being applause for just being responsible for that record, rather than any exceptionable quality in this performance.

Next song ‘Thank You’ is much more poignant, because the crowd don’t know it. She looks as though this is one that means something to her, swinging the microphone cord by her side, never once looking at the crowd. Its lyrical ambiguity is fascinating – it could be a song for the church, for a lover or for a child, and is by far a better showcase for her talents.



On one of the smaller stages is one of Manchester’s hottest new bands, The Ting Tings. Borne out of a previous band that went sour, this boy girl due left the ‘business’ for a while, fed up of whole thing. Singer Katie and drummer Jules started to play house parties as a duo, and found they were enjoying themselves. So with the help of their backing tapes they put out fantastic single ‘That’s Not My Name’ that 6 Music in particular rotated heavily.

It’s a short 5 track set, full of energy, Katie shouting her words, twirling, strutting and preaching, occasionally strumming chords on a guitar or banging a bass drum. It’s very home-made, the words making the tune, and in the end, whilst it’s enjoyable, it smacks a little of a scene generated by the band’s media mates, rather than a great talent. I hope they have fun though.

Venturing outside again, the rain finally seems to have stopped (it’s 7pm), and confusingly, The Coral are on early – thanks to Pete Doherty’s tardiness –and the extended set is a treat. The opening riff to ‘Goodbye’ is a pearler whilst ‘Simon Diamond’ sounds like a song from The Mighty Boosh, an illusion helped by bassist Paul Duffy looking like a muzzy-less Howard Moon.

The band seems to have discovered that less is more. They released far too much material too quickly earlier in the decade and burnt themselves and the record buying public. The new material, including single ‘Who’s Gonna Find You’ sound like a band that got their mojo back, whilst the back catalogue is pruned to show off only the best bits – ‘Pass It On’, ‘Dreaming of You’ and ‘In The Morning’ getting the best reaction from the throng. Marvellous, and album ‘Roots and Echos’ will be bought this week.

The evening agenda was supposed to be easy; Jarvis, then the Happy Mondays, then Foo Fighters. That was until Amy Winehouse pulled out, and suddenly the former two clashed, leaving me with a dilemma of which artist that played an eminent part in by formative years should I watch. I decided to leave remembering the Mondays as they were, and instead watch Jarvis Cocker, whose new material is still up to scratch and who never fails to come up with some different stage banter (take note Lily Allen!).

Tonight is no different as we consider how many Julie’s might be in the audience, how annoying socks falling down are, and Guinea Pigs in hot pants. Meanwhile, the songs are by and large are enjoyed as much as the inter-song nonsense. ‘Fat Children’ is a fine fast paced start, whilst ‘Don’t Let Him Waste Your Time’ cracks along with zest. To finish, he ends with a cover version of Purple Haze, as it is the 38th anniversary of Hendrix closing Woodstock. It’s certainly better than the ‘Eye of the Tiger’ I saw him doing at Latitude a month back.

And so to the big finale – Dave Grohl’s Foo Fighters. There is so much music in the world, there are always bands that pass you by completely – whilst The Smiths rocked the world in the 80’s I was obsessing over Lloyd Cole & The Commotions as my pocket money only stretched so far, especially when there are football sticker albums to fill as well. The Foo Fighters are one of those too. I know a few of the songs, like what I’ve heard, but don’t even know what most are called. That is about to change, as I’ll be searching out the albums soon – this set was fantastic.



Opening with Grohl on acoustic, a tease for those who missed out earlier if only we knew we’d missed it, he plays ‘Everlong’ solo for a couple of minutes, and every second you expect the band to kick in, they do, for the end, then launch into ‘Monkey Wrench’.

The crowd pleasing set includes all the songs you would expect it too, plus a couple of new tunes and some surprises. There is a cover of Arcade Fire’s ‘Keep the Car Running’, and Grohl brings his mother onto the stage, immediately after saying a very rude word indeed. I was surprised she didn’t wash his mouth out with soap and water right there and then.

Grohl gives nothing but 100%, everything is full volume and his voice sounds likely to give way at any time under the strains of his growls and primal screamed ‘come on’s’. In short, it is a fine memory to be taking to the car, as the people move quickly as soon as the last note is played, like it’s the start of the Le Mans 24 hour race. 24 hours might be the time it takes us to get off the car park!

I met many first time festival goers here, and they were loving this gentle introduction to festival culture. OK, the line up touches the very mainstream, but it never pretends to be anything else. It’s all about the music, and if you look hard enough, you’ll find something you like, or find an hour for some dinner before something else to enjoy comes along.

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