The Only Account Of Glasto '08 You'll Ever Really Need To Read.

The Only Account Of Glasto '08 You'll Ever Really Need To Read.

Wednesday morning arrived and I made my way to the train station to meet my friends, we'd opted for an early train to beat the queues experienced last year, and boy, did it pay off. Only a brief wait at Castle Cary and the worst sniffer dogs in existence, that would have only sniffed out anything had it been strapped to my shin. But we were soon in Glastonbury and found the rest of our posse who had already arrived and set up camp near the Park Stage.

Something new from last year I instantly noticed, huge mounds of free fire-wood dotted about the camps. Excellent. We filled our free YeoValley bags with as much as we could, and by early afternoon, it was all gone. And by four o' clock, I was gone too. Out of my tree. Brilliant.

The weather was bloody lovely, and certainly had a positive effect on everybody's mood. Last year was just a soggy mess; but this year had potential.

I had plans to see a couple of bands on Thursday, but laziness got the better of me and it turned into a repeat performance of Wednesday, with an early retirement when the heavens opened and it shat it down. Sad times. Thankfully that was the only real burst of rain. There were very brief showers occasionally, but nothing major.

Friday. I'd ummed and arred about seeing The Subways, but had heard poor reviews of recent performances, so got convinced to go and check out Patrick Watson, who was apparently a decent acoustic musician. Well as it turned out, he was a sack of shit. Noise. That was a short-lived experience, we soon left.

We then headed to the Pyramid Stage to catch Get Cape Wear Cape Fly. Surprisingly, he was quite good. And I discovered why. He didn't play a single song off of his latest (diabolical) album, despite the fact that Kate Gash, who features on one song, was waiting in the wings. ALSO, I've seen him on previous occasions and he has a habit of giving arrogant speeches about why the world's a mess. None of that at Glastonbury. He probably realised there were thousands of other people there saying exactly the same thing, but who actually had solid facts instead of a guitar and a big mouth.

I then went to the Other Stage for Vampire Weekend. Their song “A-Punk” is loved by just about everyone, and I'll confess that's about all I was going to see, despite having their album on my iPod. But I'm pleased to announce that the American group (with strangely Scandinavian twists on their accents) who were pretty much set in my mind as one-hit-wonders, put on a great show, and played some brilliant music. Then came Ben Folds who I was extremely excited about seeing. His album “Songs For Silverman” is one of my favourite. Unfortunately, his choice of set was disappointing. Although he did play my favourite song “Landed,” he played some other new stuff, and the odd-looking front of Dresden Dolls came out and did a couple of her new songs, which Folds produced. I, obviously, didn't give a toss, I'd gone to see Ben, who didn't seem too bothered to be there. Gutted.

The next band I caught were Foals who were just amazing. The sound was perfect and it sounded just like the CD. After a vague and aching intro of guitars and such, I wasn't sure which direction the performance was going to go in, but thankfully they got it spot on. After half an hour though, I took a gamble and went to see Infadels who were in a Dance tent for some reason. The gamble paid off. One of the best, if not THE best set of the weekend. Just fantastic. Man I love those guys.

Then I caught the end of Fun Lovin' Criminals, but if I'm honest I wasn't paying much attention and stood just about as far away as I could have been. But I remember them being pretty funny, and turning up just in time for “Scooby Snacks.” The night ended with Kings of Leon”, who were also very good. KOL don't really interact with the crowd at all, the singer said it himself. He gave a brief speech about Glastonbury and how much it meant to them, but besides that it was song song song. “Red Morning Light” was left out of the set list for some reason, but besides that, exactly what you'd expect.

Saturday started with my first visit to the Guardian Lounge, and sat at the front, inches away from Martina Topley-Bird, who was not only very good, but her drummer was awesome and it was quite fun watching them play and have a little bitch with the sound man, who hadn't plugged one of her microphones in. Then we went to see Seasick Steve. What a crazy cat he is. I mean he was quite good but it's not entirely my cup of tea, and at one point he got a girl up on stage and sang to her. I felt sorry for her. Some crazy hairy old ex-tramp singing into your eyes. Oh my.

The weekend's next disappointment was to follow, in the form of Holy Fuck who managed to play nearly an hour set of songs that sounded perfectly identical bar the last one, which happened to be my favourite. Either way, after seeing them live I've come to the conclusion that they're massively over-rated and it's possibly their outrageous name that subconsciously drew me to them.

Luckily, catching Stephen Fretwell at the Queen's Head, slightly made up for the previous disappointment. He was, as always, fantastic. And so genuine with his thanks and talks with the crowd. Brilliant. I didn't see anyone for a little while until The Raconteurs on the Pyramid Stage, and I'm pleased to announce they were actually very good. Nuff said. I went to see The Thirst at the Leftfield stage next. As I walked in, five minutes before they were set to start, there were only about twenty people there. Uh-oh. They weren't great in all honesty, so after they played their third song, and my favourite, “Sail Away,” I wandered out again.

Saturday night famously was headlined by Jay-Z. But fuck that. I wanted something with a bit of energy. Something I could easily sing my heart out to without having to be able to rap for over an hour. My thirst for this, was quenched by Biffy Clyro who I first saw at Glastonbury the year before. This was now the fourth time seeing them, and easily the best. It was all over so fast though. But brilliant. Sheer brilliance.

Sunday started like the day before with Martina Topley-Bird, but this time on the Pyramid Stage. Just as good as before, minus the squabble with the sound-team. And once again, included my favourite song, “Carnies.” I then went to see Newton Faulkner, who I was surprised to hear slated by all my friends. I'd seen him at V the year before and he was bloody fantastic. This year he was still pretty good, although there were some slight issues. His music relies a lot on acoustic finger tapping and hitting the body of the guitar itself, and for some reason, this was all quite quiet. But he was very good, entertaining as ever, and even covered “Bohemian Rhapsody” from start to finish. And then for the final, and possibly biggest let-down of the weekend. John Mayer had a big place in my heart until Glastonbury. I mean yes he played very well and all that but it was just another sad case of poor set-list. People who go to see such artists at festivals, want to dance about a bit and chant out memorable choruses and such. They don't want to stand through songs they don't know the words to, and endure songs that have been extended into epic guitar numbers. “Why Georgia,” “Your Body Is A Wonderland,” and “Daughters,” all missing from the set list. For God's sake. So I went back to camp and sulked. My fourth act of the day was another solo artist, Laura Marling. And she was fantastic. Hard to believe she's only eighteen. I also didn't realise she used to be in Noah & The Whale, who I saw later, after the end of Mark Ronson, which was pretty dull, and Pigeon Detectives who were exactly what you'd expect from upbeat indie with tuneless vocals. Noah & The Whale, were just fantastic. Starting with my favourite “Shape Of My Heart,” they preceded to play forty-five minutes of brilliance. I was loving life. I popped outside to see The Zutons for some reason, who were surprisingly average, and finished the day, and festival, with The Verve. Very good indeed. Richard Ashcroft is pretty up himself and a bit of a dick (perhaps why they split up in the first place?) but they were very good indeed. The fact he sang the title of a line from every single song before it started was a little annoying after an hour, but it was a good choice of set with all the obvious hits covered, incredible sound, and just general excellence.

Apart from all the music, what else is there to comment on? Surprising amount of couples taking very young children in buggies (WHY?) and often having domestics. And the food winds me up. Not the food itself, but the amount you pay for such average nosh. And the 'gourmet' burger vans that you only realise are regular burgers once you've bought it. Anyway, I've had enough of typing.