Good times at Glasto? Old disco dancer Nile steals the show
GLASTONBURY Saturday/Sunday, 7pm - BBC4
IDON’T suppose there is any particular reason why someone should ask me to name the best outdoor concert I have ever attended. But if they did, I wouldn’t have to think twice about the answer. It would be the Paul McCartney gig at the RDS almost exactly seven years ago.
The reason I can say that without any hesitation is that it is also the only open-air show that I have ever fully enjoyed. Even leaving aside the fact that Macca is the proud owner of the greatest songbook in the history of popular music, there was much to like about that balmy summer’s evening.
Come to think of it, the fact that it was a balmy summer’s evening was one the principal factors. Plus, we also had seats and a good view of the stage. What else? It was over at a sensible hour, so getting to the pub in time for last orders didn’t prove problematic. Best of all, I got to sleep in my own bed at the end of it all.
It could have worked out very differently, of course. My memories would be nowhere near as fond if the heavens had opened above us. Even now I don’t like to think about the time that I saw Bruce Springsteen perform in meteorological conditions last recorded in some of the rougher passages of the Old Testament. (Mind you, at least I wasn’t there to witness Enda Kenny playing air guitar at one of The Boss’s more recent shows. Be thankful for small mercies and all that).
But the real endurance test, of course, is the open-air festival that lasts for two or more days. These were bad enough in my day when Third World toilet facilities and gastro-enteritis-inducing hot dogs were the order of the day. Besides, the only people who should sleep in tents are Boy Scouts.
Things are arguably worse at these events nowadays, though. The introduction of improved hygiene standards and gourmet burgers has changed the entire profile of the audience.
Now the crowds are dominated by off-duty accountants wearing polo shirts and neatly-pressed chinos. They are the musical equivalent of what Roy Keane pointedly referred to as the prawn sandwich brigade.
Worse still, the politicians have jumped on to the bandwagon.
Now that Leo Varadkar has been anointed as Taoiseach, it will be interesting to see whether he leaves a window in his diary to travel to the Electric Picnic again.
Meanwhile, there were some gruesome sights on show at Glastonbury last weekend.
Thankfully the spectacle of former Labour MP Ed Balls’s hairy beer gut spilling over the waistband of his Bermuda shorts didn’t make it on to the airwaves. I suppose they’d have to show that sort of thing after the watershed anyway.
But there were unpleasant sights and sounds onstage as well. Given that there is a limit to what even a TV critic should be expected to watch, I obviously didn’t sit through either Radiohead or Ed Sheeran.
But curiosity did trick me into having a look at the obnoxious Liam Gallagher’s set. Believe me when I say it is not an exercise I intend repeating any time soon.
Truth to tell, there wasn’t much that caught my eye. Even though Foo Fighters put on a spirited show, it isn’t really my thing.
The big-voiced Rag’n’Bone Man was impressive but, surprisingly enough, it was a 64-year-old man who stole the show.
Step forward, Nile Rodgers of Chic. I enjoyed his performance so much that I was almost sorry I wasn’t at Glastonbury in person. Almost.