Key events
Lewis Capaldi’s secret set kicks off
There’s a huge cheer filtering over from the Pyramid stage as Lewis Capaldi comes on stage. This is another secret set that really wasn’t so secret – the big ones never are at Glasto – but what a moment. Capaldi’s last big show was on this very stage in 2023, where he had a really difficult time, losing his voice and experiencing his Tourette’s tics in front of thousands. The Pyramid stage rallied behind him to sing everything for him, and it was the kind of powerfully human moment that defines the festival. Now he’s back, and it’s quite the way to soft launch a return. He kicks off with Before You Go and he’s in great voice – and the crowd are in equally fine form too.
Paris Paloma reviewed
Elle Hunt
The Glastonbury schedulers get given a lot of grief, for booking the wrong artist on the wrong stage, or at the wrong time, or at the wrong phase of the full moon, etc – so it’s important to give them credit where it’s due: Paris Paloma, on the Avalon stage, at just after 3pm is very well judged. That mid-afternoon slot can be a tricky one to fill, particularly when the temperature is high and people are wanting to save their strength for the headliners to come. Paloma’s crowd fills the Avalon tent but comfortably so, without packing it, and her brand of upbeat, writerly rock gives a welcome injection of energy without demanding too much of us.
Paloma’s pleased too: “This stage is a fair bit bigger than the one I played last year.” She’s still only relatively early into her career, having gained attention with single Labour in 2023. Since her debut album Cacophony was released last year, Paloma has quickly progressed to bigger stages, headlining the O2 Shepherds Bush earlier this month. There Emma Thompson was outed as a fan, caught singing along to Labour in a video posted to TikTok.
Today when she takes the stage, with her guitar strapped across her long-sleeve, full-length, flowing white dress, against a backdrop of folkloric imagery, the uninitiated might expect to be eased in with some gentle guitar, but Paloma obviously sets out to subvert those expectations, opening her set with driving, even somewhat heavy guitar. It’s reminiscent of a folksier, less theatrical Florence + the Machine.
Similarly Paloma doesn’t pull her punches, introducing a song as being about the radical power of “loving yourself when there are so many people profiting from everything you hate about your body”. In the absence of genuine self-love, Paloma suggests, “spite is as good a reason” to try to foster it.
She is more explicitly political in a new, as-yet unreleased song, Good Boy, written in response to “frustrations about the current state of patriarchy in the world”, in the UK and the US. The title refers to men in power, kept chasing their tails and each others’ approval under a system that oppressed them as much as it does everyone else.
“I have a lot of thoughts about what a submissive and self-contradictory belief system patriarchy is; there is nothing more submissive I can think of than… being so painfully frightened of being seen as feminine or queer and living your life in fear,” says Paloma. She goes on to eviscerate the “false promises of patriarchy” and how young men “are being radicalised, whether it’s the incels who haunt my comment sections or the fucking loser billionaires who happen to be in power at the moment … I’ve never seen submission embodied so well.”
It’s an eloquent speech, and a refreshing injection of the bigger world through the typically slow part of the day. The investment from the crowd is evident from the steady sprinkling of hands for the duration of Paloma’s song The Warmth, plus the rallying sing along closing her set with Labour.
But an early standout is Knitting Song, about the legacy of her grandmother and how she’s identified it not only in the rest of her family but also her female friendships. I’m reminded in her easygoing but considered and detailed storytelling of Olivia Dean’s afternoon Pyramid stage set last year – perhaps that’s Paloma’s next slot.
Ben Beaumont-Thomas
A few other pics from sets we didn’t get to see earlier. And a cute Wet Leg fan just because.
Burning Spear reviewed
Jason Okundaye
When you see Burning Spear enter the Pyramid stage to meet his “burning band”, you first notice that he is dripped out in his own merchandise – a ripped vest jacket with the pan-African colours of the Rastafari movement with his moniker on the back, and a cap with his logo. Then you hear him, and it’s like a religious incantation. The idol to worship is not him or his brand but the God he serves: “I an I, son of the most high, Jah Rastafari.” This is the start of Door Peep Shall Not Enter, in which the refrain “give thanks and praise” is dedicated to the “holy man of creation”.
The 80-year-old singer-songwriter, real name Winston Rodney, was a major force, alongside Bob Marley, in importing reggae music from the recording studios of Kingston to the British isles in the 1960s and 70s. His 1975 album Marcus Garvey still stands apart, showcasing a musical ideology indebted to the heroes of pan-africanism and Black nationalist movements.
Rodney and his band look like the coolest, grooviest group of old men you could imagine. The characteristically slower tempo of reggae is matched by his more subdued and composed aura, but then come the moments of magic, where he hovers over nyabinghi drums and taps them with rhapsodic vigour, as though summoning a spirit. Leaving his band to deliver the vibe, he breaks into skanking steps and moves like a ballroom dancer. Tempo switches also become more thrilling – the beats race as Rodney sings Not Stupid, confronting Babylon and its belief that we are “stupid” and might forget the days of slavery.
You might argue that, with its pan-African aesthetics and images on an electric guitar of the civil rights figure and sociologist Ida B Wells, that the set is lacking explicit, loud political statements, perhaps about war or poverty. But these concerns are so deeply woven into Rodney’s lyrics that the set remains a manifesto nonetheless: on Jamaica he sings “it’s best to stand up for something than standing for nothing” and “Marcus Garvey open the door of Jamaica and spread Jamaica all over”.
The incredibly mighty international influence of that small island is felt in this performance – though it is evidently elevated by its solid African influences. That includes the brass instruments: horns, saxophones and trombones evoking the Afrobeat pioneered by Fela Kuti, as well as strong elements of Afro-Cuban jazz. These rhythms seamlessly infuse with the reggae, as does the syncopation and polyrhythmic orchestration. It’s evidence of how such a historic genre, played by a legend and pioneer, has still evolved and upgraded, becoming more surprising, hypnotic and enthralling.
Ben Beaumont-Thomas
Wet Leg are playing over on the Other stage, showing Inhaler what actual star quality looks like. There’s more rock’n’roll in a single one of Rhian Teasdale’s armpit hairs than the entirety of Elijah Hewson’s body.
Ben Beaumont-Thomas
Wandered past Inhaler after Jalen Ngonda and there was something actually eerie about the total void where tunes should be – like all the signifiers of a good rock band (handsome singer; strutting and noisy music; black clothing) but nothing to hold them together. Felt like being in some purgatorial Matrix where the AI hasn’t fully worked out how to write songs. Eeek!
Gwilym Mumford
Dynamo made an impromptu trip to the Guardian’s trailer at Glastonbury to perform a series of illusions in front of a rapt crowd of passers-by. He managed to turn cut up pages of the Guardian newspaper into £20 notes, a trick that could prove helpful given the current state of print media. Another bit of sorcery saw him turn a pack of cards into one giant 10 of hearts. But the biggest “oooooh” came where he drew an X on a festivalgoer’s hand and then transferred it to the palm of her other (closed) hand. Dynamo will be speaking to the Guardian’s Zoe Williams at the Astrolabe theatre tomorrow, 11am.
Ben Beaumont-Thomas
Hi everyone, Ben taking over from Shaad who is off to see English Teacher and presumably melt faster than a Calippo – Glastonbury-goers are getting toasted in some major afternoon heat and there are some extremely English sunburn lines on show, like some kind of pink and red op art.
Ben Beaumont-Thomas
This fantastically dressed pair – half gladiator garb, half Berlin fetish wear – had the best hands-in-the-air reception of the weekend so far, purely by firing a Karcher pressure washer into the crowd.
Jalen Ngonda reviewed!
Ben Beaumont-Thomas
Park stage, 2pm
The nebulous and ever-quested-for “festival vibes” cohere quite spectacularly here, as the England-dwelling US retro soul singer fires a beam of pure crowdpleasure across the baking hot Park audience. His high croon sounds like something dug up by a boutique cratedigging label from the late 60s midwest, boyish and even androgynous in tone, and he puts it to use on a series of genial, gently funky songs.
The tempo switches, though, as he shifts to solo piano for a rapturous cover of The Look of Love, trading the slight timidity of Dusty Springfield on the original for a full-throated, almost desperate declaration of love. It’s stunning, and more than one audience member flings their arms wide, seemingly involuntarily, at the beauty of it all. Ngonda has been touring his album Come Around and Love Me for a couple of years now and you rather hope he gets back in the studio soon – but he could easily do another two years of acclaimed festival dates with a set as pan-generationally appealing as this.
Ca7riel and Paco Amoroso reviewed!
Safi Bugel
West Holts, 1pm
Until very recently, the Argentine duo Ca7riel and Paco Amoroso were little known in the UK. Then came their Tiny Desk session in October, which brought them practically overnight fame. This afternoon’s performance at West Holts (one of a 53-date global tour) is testament to that impact: it’s packed out with fans who sing along to their funk-tinged, meme-referencing pop songs word-for-word, despite almost all of the lyrics being in Spanish.
Framed by two huge chad-filtered images of themselves, the pair swagger out in gigantic PVC trousers pinned up by superstenders. As in their famous Tiny Desk, they sing and perform understated yet silly choreo from their stools for the first half of the set, while their rhythm section (also in matching outfits) waltz through their silky-smooth, percussive instrumentals. They keep chatter to a minimum, but their quiet charisma and catchy songs are enough to keep things energetic: tracks like Baby Gangsta and Ri Forra are already received like classic hits.
About halfway through, the tone switches: the stools are taken aside and their sunshine-ready rhythms are swapped for Project X-ready EDM bangers. The pair take it in turns to perform their previous solo material: Mcfly for Ca7riel, Todo El Dia for Paco Amoroso (the latter leads to the most endearing mosh-pit I’ve ever seen). Throughout, they uphold their signature mock-bad boy personas, flexing their muscles and holding their crotches as they sing about Louis V, “chauffeurs and hoes”.
In many ways Ca7riel and Paco Amoroso’s music is perfect for the chronically online: they rap knowingly about hashtags and OnlyFans; their hook-heavy tracks rarely push beyond the three-minute mark. But despite the in-jokes and commitment to the bit, the music is strong; they deliver a tight, confident performance for the full hour, which frequently climaxes in their frenetic percussive breakdowns. And when the music drops and the audience join in for a full-blown acapella, you know they’re bona fide popstars.
BREAKING: Ammar Kalia ran into Mel C at the Supergrass show. He asked “Do you like Supergrass?” and she replied “Yes.” You heard it here first, folks!
Myles Smith reviewed!
Jason Okundaye
Woodsies, 12.45pm
If ever there was a formula for breaking beyond the constraints of the term “TikTok artist”, Luton-based singer-songwriter Myles Smith has found it: his career is the result of a winning combination of timing, exposure and unmistakable talent. Blowing up online after posting acoustic renditions of songs by Hozier and the Neighbourhood, Smith has since drummed up over half a billion streams for his viral track Stargazing, picked up a Brits rising star award, a spot on Obama’s annual end-of-year playlist and an opening slot on Ed Sheeran’s tour. Smith, palpably excited, tells the crowd: “I’ve been on tour with the ginger prince but nothing beats Glastonbury man!”
Smith skips onstage carrying a guitar and immediately launches into Wait For You. There is a child-like zeal and cheer in his face, which makes his bold, soulful vocals feel all the more effortless. He has evidently built a strong discography and the crowd is familiar with it – Behind, Whisper and Solo all meet knowing hand claps and whoops. And if you’re unfamiliar, Smith wears his influences well enough that you have points of reference – Sheeran, of course, but also Green Day, Mumford & Sons, George Ezra and Tom Odell.
At moments though, despite Smith’s obvious soul, it feels as though real emotion is lost to the folksy feel-good vibes: there is no real difference in mood between a song about heartbreak and one about being at the side of a lover. That also means that tracks soon begin to feel impersonal, derivative and bland: River with its nondescript lyrics “you’ll never be alone, I’ll be by your side” feels like it could soundtrack the most romantic moment of an Ice Age film.
That is not to dismiss the strength of the performance or of Smith’s talent. The sunshine folksiness is the perfect aperitif. He is clearly humbled by the sheer size of the crowd, saying “last year I was playing to 80 people in a pub in Manchester, this year look how many of you turned up” (and it’s an intimidating beat having followed up Lorde’s secret-not-so-secret Woodsies opener). But I long for some moodiness, some real grungy, filthy production he can sink his teeth into so that his gorgeous voice is not simply spent on sentimental schmaltz. Sound a little pissed off or aggrieved, maybe. Smash your guitar.
CMAT is sounding great from the small, dank hut where I write my special live blog, and the pictures coming through look pretty spectacular. We’ll have Alexis Petridis’ full review of the show up here soon!
David Levene – The Guardian’s unofficial mayor of Glastonbury – got a preview of the revamped Shangri-La, the festival’s hedonistic wonderland. The site’s eco-conscious new look is pretty spectacular:
John Glacier reviewed!
Ben Beaumont-Thomas
Park stage, 12.45pm
John Glacier’s flow stands alone in the UK and indeed anywhere. Sometimes she’s steadily, carefully hyping herself up as if daring to believe her own skill; at others she raps in a conspiratorial murmur, like the magnetic Heaven’s Sent, delivered here at a daringly low volume which makes her all the more magnetic. Other times, as on wonderful UK garage ballad Ocean Steppin’, she sounds breezy and resigned to whatever fate has in store for her. Perhaps there’s a touch of Dean Blunt at times, or Neneh Cherry’s most introspective moments, but there really is no one wandering a path like her; pausing to reflect then giving a stoic shrug and pressing on.
There are some problems with her monitors – she almost ends the set a song early after cheerily flouncing away from some dodgy onstage sound – but it all sounds great out in the crowd. The bass feels a touch high at times and obscures some details, but equally, the overwhelming, ether-dominating vibration fits the music so well at others: “On the rocks, on the waves / Feeling like I’m never sure,” she raps on Nevasure, that bass sweeping her out to sea on a dark tide. She has a lovely intimacy with her DJ, so different your standard hip-hop hype man – during Ocean Steppin’ they pass a two litre bottle of water back and forth and Glacier vapes a little, a couple of friends having a content little moment. There’s a low-key charm to the whole set, but a deep, strange drama churning beneath it.
#Friday #Glastonbury #Wet #Leg #CMAT #Lorde #secret #sets #follow #live #Glastonbury
