I never even thought that a band called Clap Your Hands Say Yeah would inspire so much clapping. That is so ludicrously dumb.

Anywho, this band were undoubtedly one of the best things I saw at Benicassim or FiberFIB or whatever it’s called. Absolutely outstanding.

In all fairness, this isn’t even a bad video considering someone shot it non-professionally.

I’m so glad they delivered. Amazing band.

This was possibly tune of the Glastonbury weekend for me. This band don’t pretend to mean anything, they’re not amazing musician’s but they are so fun to see live. After Astoria, when I heard they were at Glasto, I had to go see them.

If you like CSS, or Cansei der Ser Sexy, check out Lovefoxxx’s flickr page of them on tour etc or the band’s main flickr page

J.

my dear Glastonbury,

June 30, 2007

glastonbury mud
Oh, how I love you so. How I wait your call to arms, I delight in the knowledge that you’re around the corner, treating me to your music and madness and your temporary insanity.

You are certainly a challenge, but you make it worth every bit of effort I can summon from my skinbag of bones and blood. You eat people up, you consume them and spit you out. You put us out to the elements,  to withstand anything and everything the weather can chuck at us.

You should be painful, but you’re not.

Except for a little bit where  the dried mud pulled out my leg hair, leaving spotted bald patches on my legs. And the aching, and odd bowell movements from the Mexican place. Despite that, you’re (relatively) painless.

Anything can happen at Glastonbury. You could end up covered head to toe in mud, showering for the third time to get the remnants of the mud out of your nails. But you’ll always be fine.

You could end up lost in a fiery field in the dark, drenched with rain, no phone battery and no mates in sight. But you’ll always be fine. You could slip and crunch your ankle, falling to lay spread eagled in the  rain, mud and litter and piss. You could eat fatty, greasy food irregularly to fill your stomach with stodge and carbohydrates. By Sunday, you could almost pass for a wino with your beard and cheap wine bar booze*. But you’ll always be fine.

You could end up hitting on strangers, drinking wine (I quote, Morrison’s ‘GOOD SICILLIAN WINE’ in a box) from a plastic bottle, dancing to ‘Come Up and See Me’ next to a burger van in 12 inches of mud. You could end up using the same line each night: “Could you teach me how to dance in wellies?”**

You could get trashed on the last night and then be a little taken back when a scary 50ft clown comes up on the big screen at the Chemical Brothers mouthing “Do it again.”

But dear Glastonbury; as you consume us for the weekend, pulling your pilgrims collectively into your belly-town of fabric houses, marquees and mud, you give us something back. Spirit rises in your people; the rain may be cold and muddy, it may stick to me and become an effort to walk but it will not stop me having a good time. You are a challenge, and each person may approach you differently.

See, you could watch the Magic Numbers in the rain, in more rain, then briefly in a little bit of sun, and feel the smile come across your face when the lead singer looks out across thousands of people in front of the Pyramid stage and says humbly into the microphone, “Thanks for making my dream come true”.

You could see Fatboy Slim, in a dress, stripping to ‘Hot in Herre’ facing 500 welly-wearers, dancing monged in a medium marquee glamourously called a ‘Ballroom’.

You could end up sitting in a tipi, watching the cock dance of a half-naked mate and an old kaftan-clad hippy as they shuffle in their seat, smoke and unconciously (or subconsciously?) flash their willies at you.

You could laugh yourself into stitches when a mate tells you he was pissing hungover into a bottle in his sleeping bag and had too much for the vessel, hence overfloweth.***

You could aim to fulfil an ambition, to see a band that you’ve always wanted to see. But you also know that your stage of debauchery, not you, will define whether you’d get to see them (did: Manic Street Preachers, didn’t: Arcade Fire).

You could wake up in the morning, feeling horrible and form the logic that you can get wasted in order to feel better. And you always, most definitely do.

It’s the opposite to reality there. You communicate and (gasp) people are nice and friendly, they share their resources. They don’t look down at the ground, they look up and smile happy. Glastonbury is the opposite of the Tube.

Two guys even invited us to an ex-wife’s marital blessing at 6pm in the Lost Vagueness chapel. It could have been a lovely story – but unfortunately, you get drunk and forgot. It’s always, always, always the 7% pear cider.

You teach us one thing Glastonbury, reality just isn’t the same. People can’t wander around, getting wasted, watching music, doing what they like legitimately in the real world. The beautiful temporary meetings. Shame on them. But you adjust, you realise that real life isn’t so bad, it does have its good points – family, friends, toilets that don’t make you want to vomit, etc.

But I’ve been there before and I’ll be there again. I love Glastonbury. And I think it loves me too.

J.


*, **, *** (sorry)

glastonbury buzz.

June 19, 2007

Glasto

To everyone in the world who is going Glastonbury

…see you there!

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ! Ludicrously over excited!

I am now on holiday for a bit…

J.

(picture impolitely nicked from my lovely friend, SoftLad).

glastomap1wo6.jpg

Every year, without fail, it becomes a fucking mission to get Glastonbury tickets. Registration this year. 178,000 tickets, 400,000 registered. Not great chances, but a good percentage to work off.

You hear the alarm, fall out of bed, make a quick brew and sit at a computer wasting the day of rest. You call, you redial, you IE, you Firefox, you f5 refresh repeatedly,  multiple tabs open, 10, 11, 12 tabs; you despair, you sweat, you swear, you write offensive swear words in size 24 font and email them to your friends who are doing the same, you visit obscure forums and chatrooms to try and get a secret link to the page, you refresh, you brew, you think about giving up

and then…

you see the screen…

you can’t believe it.  Is it real? You frantically fill out the details, you do screen, after screen, after screen, you cut and paste from notepad, you type in your friend’s debit card details and think about whether he’d notice if you did some shopping, you get to the last page and you ‘CLICK TO ORDER’. You see the screen.

Thank you for your order

You have ordered:
4 ADULT 16+ ticket(s)
1 CAR PARKING (PER VEHICLE) ticket(s)
for Glastonbury 2007

Your reference number will be emailed to you along with confirmation of your order within the next 24 hours.
Please note some email accounts may have difficulty receiving the confirmation email due to spam filters. For advice on how to solve this problem please click here


UK customers

You will receive an email informing you when your Glastonbury ticket(s) have been posted out to you.

Your tickets will be posted to the address you have supplied. Tickets will be sent by Special Delivery and a signature will be required on receipt.


Please note – this transaction will appear on your statement as “GLASTONBURY“.

Tickets may not be transferred to another name.

Glastonbury. Again. Fucking get in.

At 10.40, with my tickets secured, I refresh the page; just for curiosity. All tickets without coach travel now sold. Only coach left. That means probably by 11.00 all are gone. 2 hour sell out? 2 and a half? New record surely

But I can sigh, I’m there again. My ticket purchase record is still intact.

2004 – 30 minutes
2005 – approx. 17 mins
2007 – 1 hr 30 mins-ish

Not bad. But it’s getting harder and harder. Fucking powerful and just in time!

J.

BTW: My Internet is still down at the mo, but as I’m at a computer, thought I’d write something quickly.

Whether I have to beg or steal, I need to go.

I was thinking to myself today of the last time. In 2005, as I sat in the stone circle with my friends on the last evening of the festival, I asked myself the question ‘Did you you have a good time?’. And the answer was a resounding yes. I’m been made tentless, I was soaked, I’d been in the same clothes for 4 days and I didn’t give a fuck. I thought to myself today, I don’t want to be watching it on the tele, kicking myself in the head for not struggling to get there. I’ll be sick.

I used to think it’d be a lovely idea to go every year, (touch wood) hopefully with a family in later days, taking them along and just going Glastonbury every year. That’s a pipe dream but I do think I’d like to go as much as I can. I’m sure I’ll miss years, but I love the concept so much.

Another thing is (and this is quite horrible for some people, not me) that I have the wristbands from 2004 and 2005 still on my wrist. They’ve been with me ages now, some guy when I was in Morocco even asked to take one from me (he was never gonna get it and they’re metal clapsed anyway). Still, they shower with me, they wash with me, I don’t think it’s filthy. I have a lot of other sub-teenage crap on my wrist anyway so it fits. Anywho, it’s like having a reminder, a tattoo, without the expense, pain or regret. I can just cut them off if I want. But they have to return, another must be added, this is a contract almost. It’s essential to my mental health (for the next year) that I go.

But with Glastonbury, I don’t know what it is exactly. Sure it’s commercialised now or whatever and it’s not hippies anymore but there are so many amazing things going for it. I’ve never seen one bit of violence, everyone is nice and friendly and there’s so much to do other than watching music. It inspires me every time I’m there. It’s like a village erects itself from nowhere and vanishes just as quickly as it arrived. A ghost village. It’s just an experience. It’s an institution. It may not be what it used to be (so I’m repeatedly told), but what it is now is pretty fucking amazing and exhilarating nonetheless.devastation

Last time, my friends and I were subjected to the awful flooding, like this picture on the right. I woke up in the morning to shouting outside, feeling a bit wet and opened my eyes just in time to see my phone floating in water. Then I opened my tent door – big mistake – water came flooding in and as I frantically grabbed my things, I laughed as I saw my mate Softlad, floating on his airbed inside his tent.

We were slap bang in the middle of this flooding and later, our tents became completely submerged in water. Even funnier, the septic tank in the nearby toilets burst too, thus contaminating every thing that we left behind.

After listening to the first hour of the festival on Radio 1, while drying off in our car, we rocked out and had the best fucking time. We slept in the Acoustic stage (essentially a massive marquee) with the wind whipping in, wrapped sleeping in those metal blankets they give to shock victims. It was hilarious. My next day was my birthday and I quickly realised that upon waking up, you had to get plastered. It was the only way to ensure you didn’t become miserable at your plight.

But that’s Glastonbury. You don’t care. You muck in, you get wasted, and as you watch the sun come up over the stone circle on the last night, you’re smiling your head off having a brilliant time.

I remember a moment, in 2004 (see pix below), as Supergrass played on the main stage. The rain came pouring down, really hard, and in the middle of the storm, with a wet j and 9% pear cider in my hand the sun came out magnificently, creating a beautiful rainbow. Then, if memory serves me right, I believe the band noticed and played ‘Sun Hits The Sky‘. It’s moments like these that make it. When everything comes together, connected, perfectly.

I’m there. I don’t care how I have to get there, I will try my hardest. I’ve just gotta hope and pray I get a ticket. I was debating before, but I am a yes man and I will be there (touch wood!)

J.

N.B. Must post more but my Internet connection’s fucked at the moment.

pix below: the sun breaks through at Glastonbury…

as it chucks it down, the sun breaks through

chuckin’ it down

wonderful, wonderful Glastonbury mud

running with the bulls.

February 17, 2007

This is where I’m going in July. There’ll be six of us, cruising in an RV across Spain, stopping off here, then following onto Benicassim. Might need to get some dodging practice in (see right hand side of the screen, 00:58 min).

Running with the bulls…

J.

benicassim ’07

December 19, 2006

Right … click the picture below and it’ll take you to the page (I mean my friends but obviously randoms can to if they’re searching net for Benicassim info)  and there’s the page with all the info cut and pasted, ’tis long but if we make decision early the earlier I can budget and pay!

fib06_publico_libertopeiro.jpg

J