Photo by Brett Ackroyd

You might be aware that Glastonbury ‘happened’ recently. Back after a two-year hiatus, God once again decided to empty his bladder over Worthy Farm for the festival’s duration. Wednesday daytime was good, sunny even. Made pitching the tent a dream. But from Thursday to Sunday we were treated to a piss-poor 15-minute alternating cycle of heavy rain followed by grey skies and the odd, serene bit of sunshine. Still, was a belter of a festival, nonetheless.

As usual, the two ‘non-music’ days provided some of the best treats, not least in the Chai Wallah tent which played host to London performance ensemble OneTaste. With a roster of poets, artists, misfits and MCs performing throughout the festival, the tent was a constant source of salvation when the going got tough.

It was, however, MC Xander’s Thursday morning performance that stole the show. The beatboxer had the crowd in raptures as he spat his way through some inspired covers (‘Seven Nation Army’ being the best), at one point even taking the potentially treacherous decision to indulge everyone in a spot of vocal percussion training. Thankfully, it paid off. There can be fewer more heartwarming sights than a tent full of hungover chai-drinking festival casualties making bad umpah-lumpa/hi-hat noises in unison.

Xander’s own material was even more alluring than his covers. His voice (weirdly bridging the gap between world music and cockney geezah) was a revelation. Whether he was telling tales of grimy London street scenes or committing full-on Indian droning (he’s just spent eight months out there) to his loop machine, the man was compelling throughout. OneTaste are on tour at the moment and we’d heartily recommend you check them out.

There’s something about Chas & Dave that seems to appeal to almost every shard of society. Check the Glasto audience – it’s like a Noah’s Ark of British people. White kids, black kids, rough kids, street kids, geeky kids, old women, bikers, gert big bastards with tattoos creeping out their backsides (a few EMO kids were even trying to mosh down at the front!). Brilliantly, this wave of adulation didn’t make the cockney duo flinch one bit. Bolstered by drummer Mick (fresh from a reputed stint in the Priory), they were everything you’d expect and nothing more. Yes they get the piss taken out of them, yes they’ve been singing about snooker, Spurs and Margate for the last 300 years, but it’s a pure fact that you simply cannot beat standing in a field with a thousand other beaming people chanting: “Cos I got my beer and a sideboard here let mother sort it out if they come round here, if they come round here, if they come round here, cos I got my beer…”.

By the time they play ‘Rabbit’, and someone dressed as Bugs Bunny storms the stage, the whole place threatens to explode into a sea of wibbling hero worship. Dave, resplendent in pork-pie hat, cravat and an obscenely clean pair of wellies, mutters something about ‘birds only on the stage please mate’, and is quite easily the coolest person on site. Job almost done, the band produce their ace card, ‘Aint No Pleasin’ You’. It feels seismic – a woman standing nearby even wipes a few tears from her face at one point. And by the time the band exit the stage they’ve managed to coax the sun out of its hiding place too. Miles better than chancers like The View…

No one was particularly surprised to see Amy Winehouse ‘stumble’ across the Pyramid Stage to perform her 60s Detroit Soul renditions. Just as unshocking was the series of big screen close-ups alluding to her being every bit as intoxicated as she was for her Stranger 15 interview recently. Wonder if the party’s been in full flow since April?

The slick, Ronson produced tracks from Back To Black sounded great musically, but Amy’s strangely fragile vocals just didn’t do them justice (her wide eyed stares had a certain intensity to them though). Going about her business in the best (only?) way she knew how, she nervously made it to the set's end. In fairness, she eventually did win over the crowd too – but how could she not with the quality tunes she's armed with? Throughout the performance there was always that niggling feeling that with a little more effort and a few less drinkies beforehand she could have owned the place. A missed opportunity indeed.

On the basis of their debut album, Funeral, Arcade Fire seem like they were built for mid-to-late evening festival slots. Their performance on the Other Stage was one of the festivals most anticipated, and by the time they bounded into view the crowd was a euphoric, swelling mass – far outnumbering Kasabian’s pull over on the Pyramid Stage. Showcasing their most recent album Neon Bible early on was a smart move – the band clearly know it’s the classics from Funeral that are really gonna whip up the crowd. That said, ‘Intervention’, with its heavy, world-weary church organ is an absolute stunner, the perfect encapsulation of where North American mainstream rock 'is' at present (a politically-tinged fusion of Bruce Springsteen cock-rock and The Pixies - circa Surfer Rosa - since you ask).

Singer Win shows all the emotion of a tired lumberjack onstage, hardly talking to the crowd at all. But it’s this bullishness which is most appealing about the band. While the rest of them clatter around behind him/in front of him/on top of him like they're on an 18-30 holiday, his face is a stern reminder that Arcade Fire play music twinged with sadness, death and hopelessness – all the best musical ingredients, no? They sing songs that appeal to the everyman, and they sing words about the everyman’s problems…and don’t this crowd know it. ‘Tunnels’, Power Out’ and set-closer ‘Wake Up’ just make people lose themselves: screaming out every single syllable…hands and heads pointed straight to the sky…eyes clenched shut…massive big smiles…great fun.

Headlining the Pyramid stage on the opening night of Glastonbury must be more than enough to shake anyone’s Stetsons, not least The Arctic Monkeys’. Lest we forget, the gang of four were still supporting the likes of The Coral in 2005 (strange how times change – the Liverpool band are opening for their makers on tour at the moment). Still, the Monkeys took Glasto in their stride, reaping the benefits of an audience who were as putty-like as the muddy slop that, by this point, had infiltrated the entire site. Addressing the crowd as ‘ladies and gentleman’ throughout, Alex Turner’s debonair manner made it seem like they were playing a club gig rather than a huge field in the countryside.

Some of the stronger tracks from Favourite Worst Nightmare were well received, but the biggest cheers came when the band rocketlaunched into ‘old’ classics (read end of 2005) like ‘I Bet You Look Good on The Dancefloor’ and ‘Mardy Bum’ (singalong of the weekend? We think so). The cruel, and now well documented technical hitches that saw Dizzee Rascal’s guest spot ruined (thanks to that old classic: ‘forgot to turn the mic on, boss…’) weren’t quite as disastrous as they’ve been portrayed, but definitely did take the edge off what was a sturdy, controlled performance.

A further guest spot from Simian Mobile Disco’s James Ford made for some entertaining stage antics by the band, and their cover of Shirley Bassey’s ‘Diamonds Are Forever’ provided a sweet link to the weekend’s coming events.

Really, The Arctic Monkeys were never gonna fail at this level. Whereas Pete Doherty divides opinion like Marmite, and Franz Ferdinand simply aren’t capable of churning out captivating live performances, the Monkeys’ rise to the top is solely down to the fact that – much like their songs – there is very little to dislike about them as a band. Their carefully orchestrated bleetings to the press almost always see them slyly denouncing their peers, but they do this without letting themselves get caught up in any kind of major tabloid shenanigans. It’s this ‘raised eyebrow’ nature that they employ on stage too. The blandness in Turner’s voice echoes his lyrics perfectly, and throughout the set you’re not entirely sure whether he’s taking the piss out of you, or everybody else apart from you. That’s some thing they’ve got going on. (Matt Wilkinson)