Welcome back to the next part of my Glastonbury feature. More than anything what I want to concentrate on in this article is not necessarily about the ins and outs of every band I saw, but essentially why the dynamic atmosphere has had so much flair on those who have witnessed it. I'll be discussing some of the insanity and all out wonder that found its way crossing my path in the 15 hours I was there for.
Upon visiting, it was by my complete instinct to recognise that these pieces of balloon inflated ( no not NOS!) hype press stories actually charged an extra energy into
the festival. Just because no one knew really what to expect. I am happy to admit that year after year, is predictability something that ever holds back the reigns on Glastonbury? the answer is profoundly a no for 2015. Last year we saw the pyramid stage stowed by lightening, brand new players to the drug markets and well just an overall 'meh' compared to its mighty post fallow year predecessor of 2013. That is not to say that the line up went down as a usual mediocre storm, but having such a vitalising wave of new energy within the global music this year the atmosphere on site has reached a whole new level in its saga. The generation of new headliners are upon us, whether you like it or not. Times are changing.
The strongest scent I inhaled from Glastonbury wasn't what you'd usually expect! More a hint of pungent, sticky optimism steaming from the whole campus. They are I feel, indeed, showing up their peers a little this year. I look over the meek flatlands of Reading and Leeds Festival, Isle of Wight. All the big players. CAWW! I think, what have they got to do to steal the crown of 2015. If it all boils down to rowdy teenagers and crowd surfing, they may have to rethink.
As I mentioned in my previous article, over this years speculations it hasn't been without a few bumps and near misses. to becoming a rather scratchy year. And funnily enough, our expectations were met at least in small doses; Kanye really did try and pull of a Queen number amongst various other pointless fillers. What was he doing? attempting to find common ground with a British crowd? Many a festival goer attended his 2 hour set with hearty optimism and a clear open mind to hopefully sympathise with the Eavis's . Well at least they tried.
But what I'm ultimately trying to stab at this year, is that perhaps with an unusual amount of shaky feelings, this hoisted up the atmosphere of Glastonbury to a whole new, unseen level. Oh no, it wasn't just 'another year on worthy farm.' Maybe I did actually enjoy seeing each and every beef on Facebook's 16,000 member page, 'Glasto Chat', people of
all ages debating over dozens of elements on the farm; Where does it move to? what happens in 2020? Who thinks Kim Kardashian is going to come out on stage? etc etc. When walking around the site's endless, thriving arteries which could have you in any old shack of a venue, your half-high mud clogged brain suddenly concludes, it's all far to big for anyone to give a toss. But that slight hint of protest actually made an explosive impact on the joyous trek I had that day. It is only Glastonbury who ever gets this sort of attention, the size of Oxford, the mentality of a hobo high on hugs and the music of almost every gritty grimey nook of the atlas.
Starting of from walking ( what feels like the globe) from the Festival Bus station, I won't
lie to you, things felt pretty dim. I had to remember that this was most probably down to the fact that the only ones walking past me were legal high-ed OD corpses making their
way out of the festival. These were the ones that couldn't make it through the 4 day struggle. I was thinking, shit. Surely there is light at the end of the John Peel Stage, which was in meek view behind the drizzly early morning mist. I also advise to any future Glasto goers to not camp anywhere near Pedestrian Gate A or the John Peel, the vibe is like a Monday morning hangover on repeat, it's been like that for all 4 years I've attended. At last I arrived at The Other Stage, looking straight at the quirky, eye goggling design it is clear what is happening. A 45 year old festival trying and succeeding to shake things up a bit. I was really glad to see The Other Stage finally getting some well needed TLC, many a festival goer will actually utter out of the earshot of Mr Eavis, that exceeds The Pyramid Stage on almost every level. Of course I agree, I didn't even visit the BBC, 40+ sit in haven this year. Learning my lesson from 2014, it generally is so overwhelming that you might as while be watching a TV screen, and you have to put up with the twats that descend into every section of which isn't littered by
flags. If I wanted to hang out with music mocking imbeciles for the weekend, I would've booked for Reading/Leeds or NASS. I love the sculptural aspect of the Pyramid Stage, and many an artists has blessed its presence with such grace. However it was so refreshing to see that the festival has concentrated more on different stages this year. Surely this is what makes Glastonbury stand out like a wore, sweaty blistered thumb?
Almost all the people I saw during this one slice of the festival seemed so outrageously happy. That includes every steward, charity worker and stoner too. What Glastonbury has hammered so accurately this year is the mix between old and new, legendary and revolutionary. The more traditional and timeless sense I got from the crowd this year was for 3 days of our lives we can all truly live in harmony. Dance the night away in some 72 hour once a year boutique bar and not care. As I've read in many an article this week, the feeling of growing admiration appears to be spreading. You sit there and watch from your plasma TV screen, don't you? You gasp in 'ohhs' and 'ahhs' as Jo Wiley and Chris Evans take long shots in the Pyramid and splutter, "Just look at the stage, oh how wonderful" "Chris has Glasto fever" "Wellies at the ready" and yes this is all rather fun to listen to after getting home from work. But this isn't the Glastonbury that you should be fooled with, that the Pyramid Stage is the epicentre of the cultural earthquake. I'm afraid you need to look much much deeper.
Breaking it down into 2 or 3 parts of my day I'll give you a glimpse. The reason I bother to tell all readers ( in their thousands) about this is because I'm pretty certain that if you want to find a 200,000 pilgrimage to somewhere other than Glastonbury, where you can land in a private 10 person rave behind a closed door, or end up dancing your heart out to an 1000 strong electronica infused Fleetwood Mac set in some bar- Honey it's gonna be hard.
Up to The Park. It is where the more reclusive of festival dwellers simply come to chill out up by the famous Hollywood sign, or simply for those who want to find something just
about on the reasonable side of wacky. (Trying my best as not to sell it like some euphoric tourist destination). What is so pleasing up there, is that you get a lot of like-minded trendy types. Not the snobbish sort. They linger by the tipi's, out of harms way. Mostly, the kind of people who come and have a good old twirl to The Park's frankly delicious line up; Jamie xx, Goat, Wolf Alice, Jack Garrat, Kate Tempest, Pussy Riot, Ibeyi, Perfume Genius and erm... Fat White Family, have seen the world enough to give you a weird grimace you might get for doing a psychotic dance down at the Acoustic stage.
But stuff that, there's a whole metropolis of bars, bars with stages, bars with hidden stages and bars that you can sleep
on a double bed with another smelly hippy. As I witness the shear and sparsely place beats of Jack Garrat, his arms thumping and pumping like some modern, electric Jimi Hendrix octopus, the whole crowd are at a Sunday point of calm ecstasy. I'm not sure if you can find a location at any over festival where people lay haplessly in the grass one minute and then have their arms around you when ' Go Your Own Way' wails out of a nearby tent.
I briefly wander into The Bimble Inn, my first time seeing it. By this point I'm fed up of carrying my pink wig so I gracefully style it upon entrance. Oh look, there are a load of hardcore hippies dancing.To house. Oops they all give me the 'Freak alert' eye. I carry on grooving in. On the decks currently are Jo Girl. Whoever they are, they thwack out deep and filthy house music like there is no
tomorrow. I briefly meet a 30 year old man, his friend and a girl who are grit toothed smiling as they talk to me about the festival. The sound in this tent is staggering and people appear to be sleeping on king sized beds, but this man tells me it's remarkably his 15th Glastonbury. I try to keep the envy of my face, they look at me like nodding dogs as the hippies seems to get their groove on even more. You learn something new everyday.
I desperately wanted to linger around and bounce, however something about the Lambeth band, Palma Violets that leers me towards them. Even if that is a 15 minute walk to the Other Stage. I promise I'll be back.
Hark! a mosh pit at worthy farm? Yes I'll admit they are a lot rarer than your common festival. People fall over and are back up in seconds. The pub garage rock band glitz and glammer up The Other Stage in all nasty, bloody, glory and jingling guitar fashion. Soon after I am walking up around the peast of Glastonbury. The Healing Fields possess some
kind of utterly surreal charm, no matter how hungover you are. At two o'clock in the afternoon, it is silent. Alike walking into a soundproofed hazy space where all that disturbs you is the general hum of each small tipi. I even have to whisper to my friend, he ensures that things really do become dreamlike. Nightmarish is where I will be travelling later. We hike up to the famous Stone Circle. A safe home for the likes of Florence Welch and one for the smelly fumes alluding from many a huddled corner.
Up next was a new area to the festival site, Strummerville. It was
down a small muddy slope we searched and straight up another, where folk music beams out of a stage with no singer and encircled by a cluster of dirty sofas. Whether it's a worth while addition or not, it gave me the chance to spectacularly get a piece of Glasto mud on my body. Falling over is part of the game.
Into the evening, this was where I truly experienced something that makes Glastonbury a world away from not only reality itself, but all the other festival escapes we seek in our life. After all that is their sole purpose, but the farm does it in such a way that makes it something that despite every Radio 1 and BBC broadcast catch-up on Iplayer, you'll never
truly understand. Next was The (celebrity littered) Stonebridge Bar. It's obvious to see once you're in, why the few hip and hierarchy types head for it; a decent sized tent, filled with some out-there DJ's who have either just come down after their headline slot in the dance village, or are just too fashionable to be out in the open. My vision plummets into the same sort as Bridget Jones when she was high on magic mushrooms and trying to co-ordinate her way through the Thai shoreline. Noises? Beautiful noises? it was that my ear had warmed to, could it be? Fleetwood Mac! I end up dancing with this group of about 5 or 6 people after about 10 minutes. I see them, amongst others being so helplessly locked into this trance. But what the hell was it? I hear Stevie Nicks cooing over the sound-system before a giant bass line wobbles in. "It's Fleetmac Wood!" the girl next to me yells whilst all our arms are now on fire. It wasn't some cheesy tribute band I had thought and questioned as I glazed over each line up year after year. No, this was a few people who wham on 'Rumours' and 'Tusk' for 2 hours but jazz it up by 10x with hi hat synth beats and friendly but fiery electronica after each crescendo, verse filler and chorus. Although the main play of the set turned out to be 'Dreams' , being played as the set closer too, it was 'The Chain' that was the most explosive. With so much hope that the 100 million record selling, tassel waving legends would waltz onto 2015's headlining slot, we couldn't be teary for too long. This was absolutely the next best thing. But what am I trying to 'concisely' say here?
Imagine all these hundreds of people, from 16- 60 all pumping their limbs to the immense guitar solo that is 'The Chain', we are secluded in our own little 2 hour version of
paradise. Everyone in here purely restored at least some faith in humanity. I did get asked if I wanted to go out and have a shag. I knew that pink wig was a winner. But you can't miss Fleetmac Wood for a second, which I learnt when I went to the toilet and missed 'Go Your Own Way' so I declined.However missing some of their set allowed me to have an inspiring conversation with a Wateraid worker. They give out free water all morning and afternoon and give out tattoos ( still wearing mine) if you simply sign their petition for more universal aid. If you ever see them don't give them a hard time, they're an amazing team. Yes, perhaps I'm completely over exaggerating in every possible manner, for those of you getting sick and tired of reading article/now essay of why I think Glastonbury is so fucking great.
Once over, one mesmerising famous hit came on and I have no idea what. I just let it sway me slowly out the tent before near the exit boogie-ing, twirling and getting low with a very good looking man in shiny silver speedos. I have ultimately missed the Cambridge rap/songwriter sensation Kate Tempest and London reggae Glasto- goodtimer Kiko bun for this. But could I have it any other way?
En route to Silver Hayes ( AKA Glastonbury's dance village of 6 huge tents and shanty town stages) I walk past Arcadia, a huge metallic bass, fire and rave emitting spider that is
made from old military machine components. Wherever you walk in Glastonbury, there is always a sound beat bouncing out of no where. All the way down its like a melting pot of festival snippets, over hearing passer by's is always a fun business but what I've really come to do is attend my first ever proper festival rave. No way better to start than Four Tet. I get asked to open 2 bags of MDME ( a new one to me) since I have 'magic fingers' and give excellent timing to a sweet guy of which exact moment to take his acid. If you hurry away from these kind of experiences at any festival, you learn and experience nothing. I didn't take anything due to the fact that I had to get from one side of the site to the other later on and had to find my bus at 12.30 am, but if nice enough people want to do it, I personally have no problem. It was a much nicer drug experience compared to 2014 at the Pyramid Stage where there was a fight over Cocaine right in front of me. These 20 something year olds' where simply here for the exquisite music, the time in Silver Hayes was made irreplaceable upon meeting my friend and one that I hadn't seen for 6 years upon sunset, I had a foot massage with them to the sound of Four Tet, not bad eh?
Nine Thirty at night, it seemed like a good time to get up to Shangri La. The South eastern corner of the festival exclusively for the after hours ( although I'd just have to get an earlier experience) and not for the light hearted. Perfect for the likes of someone who
has had a full day of heavenly mayhem. Before advancing, a long drop toilet pit stop was made into an exuberant affair when I found the cubicle shaking to The Chemical Brothers. Punters left right and centre were now running past me shouting 'Hey Boy! Hey Girl' and it wasn't long before their most boom bouncing track 'Go' hit the stage, the choreography was stunning and as we ventured up the main vessel of the festival ( think the M5 or highway 405) which layers out the site as thousands of branching alveolus, we wonder past the enchanted forests of The Glade and Greenpeace before getting to Shangri La bang on 10.30. A man lurks out of nowhere and could of been anyone, turns out to be a really ace guy from Hackney who was selling these printed shirts which I thought were free, he pretends not to notice and coincidentally holds a dub club from the tiny town I'm from, Bruton. His name is Clapper Priest and highly recommends that I attend the reggae festival there this month, not a bad thought. The first thing I come across is a white spray painted car vertically slammed into the ground , smothered in a few graffiti tags, before witnessing the well known Bez's Acid House. It features massive metal sculptures of disintegrating baby's heads scattered across the field. It looked like a desert in there so it was probably best to head there well after midnight, but whatever is inside, it doesn't have a double spread feature on the Glastonbury magazine each year for no reason.
Of course, if you do immerse yourself in Glastonbury's roots it is a place of glorious sacrilege for many an artist; painter, musician or poet. If you still don't understand what Shangri la is yet, lets make it easier: two worlds, Heaven and Hell. Hell is certainly the most gutsiest of them all. Appropriately, the theme for 2015 is protest, Fat White Family for example giving the Hell stage its moneys worth on Saturday night. I was delighted to
stagger upon its gruelling nooks and crannies first.. Sprawled across an alley of walls was the art of Shepard Fairey ( American street artists responsible for street art such as the 'OBEY' sensation. Tents were pinned 20 foot high with anarchy symbols and red lights looking all dark and mysterious. It was this alley that tempted us to a particular bar, a man dressed as a French revolutionary solider complete with golden epaulettes, swoons over a person before dragging them in. Admittedly, I make an effort of approaching him and the same happens. We both are swept into the bar which seems familiar from various mentions over the years, 'The House of Comeons'. It is wonderfully intimate and I can see why the place is trying to twirl people in to this extortionate sound echoing around the walls. Whether you have or have not yet read my previous music review of Glastonbury 2015, scroll down until you reach My Baby. They are an Amsterdam band who send the crowd rocketing, the place fills up substantially especially after the planned time to finish goes out the window and the band play for at least another 20 minutes. The House of Comeons has that sort of dead end but still chic feel to it, people who haven't bothered to stick around for a headline set land here. Hence you get the curious and
weird, it's perfect for My Baby. Half naked people enter and right at the front, me and Ellie are lost in a kaleidoscope of sound psychedelia. At one point whilst the guitarist takes one small step to be in the crowd stabbing at his instrument with an official camera woman filming his an my every movement, I am fumbling with my glow stick mouse ears. I fix them up after a bit of help. It's hard to cope and stay sane. So that's why once we trip out of the place why not go deeper. It's imaginable by 3am that you tumble so far into Shangri La's abyss, you never psychologically get out. Art installations are everywhere, we walk past a glass window with a man dressed in purple as a politician, is it? Slapped across the window in spray paint is 'FASCISTS OUT' . Ah it must be Nigel Farage! This young bloke keep trying to lure people in, so I go for it. He then proceeds to eat his purple rosette in front of me, rather than the UKIP symbol it is the Shangri La one. I think understand his point. Caged right wing politicians devouring themselves alive. Next inside are two people haplessly rolling around in a bed at the back of a room, whilst a street punk, bleached blonde lady applies her make up, why not?. The next piece was certainly my favourite of the night. A woman with dark hair stands in a room of bookshelves and posters stamped with 'NO MORE HELL'. She was a
live version of a 'Zultar fariground fortune teller' except the twist is she is equipt with a stack of sticky notes, you stare into her eyes through this window. Already splattered on it are in red pen on yellow note, 'WOT HAVE YOU DONE?', 'FRACK OFF' and 'WOT HAPPENED?'. The idea being by the end of the night you won't be able to see her as the whole thing will be covered. I have my go, and she smacks on 'PRETTY'. Yes! i thought, she's not said that one to anybody yet. Ellie gracefully received, 'LOOK AFTER YOUR FRIEND' we both gazed at her in awe and wonder before hark! she gave us a third one, 'IN IT TOGETHER' . We both nod and laugh, she breaks slightly out of character and we blow kisses as we go. Although our next discovery was just as freakish. We confront a queue for three doors, flashing above is the question , 'What would you spend £100 billion on?' each door is an option; pick blue for saving the NHS, yellow for more nuclear bombs and green for saving the environment.Another gorgeous French solider tells us the story behind what is happening and is slurs, ' Man come back in 5 hours time!' I feel like crying with envy. We pick green and a full blast of bass is blown into our faces before a completely random old lady hands us each a CND sticker ( which now lives on my bedroom door) 'Climate not Trident' . The alley then leads into a tiny shack with a DJ, a rave? yes. The alleys? a famous, secretive part of Glastonbury I've always wanted to find, this may be it! Even if there are 5 people in it, later at night you
can just imagine. We stay as long as we can in this graffiti stricken patch of Shangri la. All over the place their are anti austerity campaign, I will tell you again that this is what makes Glastonbury have pungent scent for summer, no big companies and authorities with festival do's and don't's. No one cares here. As long as everyone can be universally involved and that is what is so loveable even in the most profane of areas. Heaven here we come. And predictably, it is neither as engulfing or thought provoking as Shangri-Hell. But a reasonable sized dance is happening and we really do find heaven; all day sitting on mud and grass, we discover a mesmerizing relieving and sexy studded, round leather chair. To make the dammed 12.30 bus home, we best make a start back. But this isn't without a quick trip to Block 9, London Underground and Genosys. Picture a half standing tower block with flickering lights, smoke and a tube carriage smashed into the centre of it complete with a full scale dance inside it. Lasers beam out the tiny door to enter, Midland and Mr G are currently enlightening the strange
blade runner infused world with all sorts of fruitful elements. A hotel with a sci-fi, Chinatown like advert is plastered against one brick wall. The attention to detail here is sublime and all utterly beautiful under the cast of green and blue light embers that flicker down on us, as it is now time to go.
The walk back is a crowded bottle neck both east and westbound on Glasto's main highway. With headline sets now finished, people in their thousands are piling past Arcadia , West Holts and into Shangri La. The metal spider in the near distance is now thrusting out every petroleum canister as each flame throttles out its legs. We slumber once again past The Other Stage and through Silver Hayes. A distant blub oscillates from the WOW and Sonic stages,in a trail of ambiance we pass the 'Glasto-henge' of coloured bricks with black silhouettes glinting in and out of the sculptures. Down and across past the wall of art near The John Peel stage, my other friend helplessly stands their after having seen Franz Ferdinand an hour before at least. He has lost his phone. But he's OK and his sister is approaching. The one part that is in ways, tear jerking, but in more thoughts, staggeringly stunning is seeing the view from the campsite's near the entrance. There's no way other to describe this place as a landmark a of mass scale mecca.
When we thought that Glastonbury may have peaked, it just went ferociously higher.
Upon visiting, it was by my complete instinct to recognise that these pieces of balloon inflated ( no not NOS!) hype press stories actually charged an extra energy into
The strongest scent I inhaled from Glastonbury wasn't what you'd usually expect! More a hint of pungent, sticky optimism steaming from the whole campus. They are I feel, indeed, showing up their peers a little this year. I look over the meek flatlands of Reading and Leeds Festival, Isle of Wight. All the big players. CAWW! I think, what have they got to do to steal the crown of 2015. If it all boils down to rowdy teenagers and crowd surfing, they may have to rethink.
As I mentioned in my previous article, over this years speculations it hasn't been without a few bumps and near misses. to becoming a rather scratchy year. And funnily enough, our expectations were met at least in small doses; Kanye really did try and pull of a Queen number amongst various other pointless fillers. What was he doing? attempting to find common ground with a British crowd? Many a festival goer attended his 2 hour set with hearty optimism and a clear open mind to hopefully sympathise with the Eavis's . Well at least they tried.
But what I'm ultimately trying to stab at this year, is that perhaps with an unusual amount of shaky feelings, this hoisted up the atmosphere of Glastonbury to a whole new, unseen level. Oh no, it wasn't just 'another year on worthy farm.' Maybe I did actually enjoy seeing each and every beef on Facebook's 16,000 member page, 'Glasto Chat', people of
Starting of from walking ( what feels like the globe) from the Festival Bus station, I won't
Almost all the people I saw during this one slice of the festival seemed so outrageously happy. That includes every steward, charity worker and stoner too. What Glastonbury has hammered so accurately this year is the mix between old and new, legendary and revolutionary. The more traditional and timeless sense I got from the crowd this year was for 3 days of our lives we can all truly live in harmony. Dance the night away in some 72 hour once a year boutique bar and not care. As I've read in many an article this week, the feeling of growing admiration appears to be spreading. You sit there and watch from your plasma TV screen, don't you? You gasp in 'ohhs' and 'ahhs' as Jo Wiley and Chris Evans take long shots in the Pyramid and splutter, "Just look at the stage, oh how wonderful" "Chris has Glasto fever" "Wellies at the ready" and yes this is all rather fun to listen to after getting home from work. But this isn't the Glastonbury that you should be fooled with, that the Pyramid Stage is the epicentre of the cultural earthquake. I'm afraid you need to look much much deeper.
Breaking it down into 2 or 3 parts of my day I'll give you a glimpse. The reason I bother to tell all readers ( in their thousands) about this is because I'm pretty certain that if you want to find a 200,000 pilgrimage to somewhere other than Glastonbury, where you can land in a private 10 person rave behind a closed door, or end up dancing your heart out to an 1000 strong electronica infused Fleetwood Mac set in some bar- Honey it's gonna be hard.
Up to The Park. It is where the more reclusive of festival dwellers simply come to chill out up by the famous Hollywood sign, or simply for those who want to find something just
But stuff that, there's a whole metropolis of bars, bars with stages, bars with hidden stages and bars that you can sleep
I briefly wander into The Bimble Inn, my first time seeing it. By this point I'm fed up of carrying my pink wig so I gracefully style it upon entrance. Oh look, there are a load of hardcore hippies dancing.To house. Oops they all give me the 'Freak alert' eye. I carry on grooving in. On the decks currently are Jo Girl. Whoever they are, they thwack out deep and filthy house music like there is no
I desperately wanted to linger around and bounce, however something about the Lambeth band, Palma Violets that leers me towards them. Even if that is a 15 minute walk to the Other Stage. I promise I'll be back.
Hark! a mosh pit at worthy farm? Yes I'll admit they are a lot rarer than your common festival. People fall over and are back up in seconds. The pub garage rock band glitz and glammer up The Other Stage in all nasty, bloody, glory and jingling guitar fashion. Soon after I am walking up around the peast of Glastonbury. The Healing Fields possess some
Up next was a new area to the festival site, Strummerville. It was
Into the evening, this was where I truly experienced something that makes Glastonbury a world away from not only reality itself, but all the other festival escapes we seek in our life. After all that is their sole purpose, but the farm does it in such a way that makes it something that despite every Radio 1 and BBC broadcast catch-up on Iplayer, you'll never
Imagine all these hundreds of people, from 16- 60 all pumping their limbs to the immense guitar solo that is 'The Chain', we are secluded in our own little 2 hour version of
Once over, one mesmerising famous hit came on and I have no idea what. I just let it sway me slowly out the tent before near the exit boogie-ing, twirling and getting low with a very good looking man in shiny silver speedos. I have ultimately missed the Cambridge rap/songwriter sensation Kate Tempest and London reggae Glasto- goodtimer Kiko bun for this. But could I have it any other way?
En route to Silver Hayes ( AKA Glastonbury's dance village of 6 huge tents and shanty town stages) I walk past Arcadia, a huge metallic bass, fire and rave emitting spider that is
Nine Thirty at night, it seemed like a good time to get up to Shangri La. The South eastern corner of the festival exclusively for the after hours ( although I'd just have to get an earlier experience) and not for the light hearted. Perfect for the likes of someone who
Of course, if you do immerse yourself in Glastonbury's roots it is a place of glorious sacrilege for many an artist; painter, musician or poet. If you still don't understand what Shangri la is yet, lets make it easier: two worlds, Heaven and Hell. Hell is certainly the most gutsiest of them all. Appropriately, the theme for 2015 is protest, Fat White Family for example giving the Hell stage its moneys worth on Saturday night. I was delighted to
The walk back is a crowded bottle neck both east and westbound on Glasto's main highway. With headline sets now finished, people in their thousands are piling past Arcadia , West Holts and into Shangri La. The metal spider in the near distance is now thrusting out every petroleum canister as each flame throttles out its legs. We slumber once again past The Other Stage and through Silver Hayes. A distant blub oscillates from the WOW and Sonic stages,in a trail of ambiance we pass the 'Glasto-henge' of coloured bricks with black silhouettes glinting in and out of the sculptures. Down and across past the wall of art near The John Peel stage, my other friend helplessly stands their after having seen Franz Ferdinand an hour before at least. He has lost his phone. But he's OK and his sister is approaching. The one part that is in ways, tear jerking, but in more thoughts, staggeringly stunning is seeing the view from the campsite's near the entrance. There's no way other to describe this place as a landmark a of mass scale mecca.
When we thought that Glastonbury may have peaked, it just went ferociously higher.
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