Missing Glastonbury

For the past few months, I was quietly convinced that I had “done” Glastonbury. I’d been a few times, I knew what to expect, I knew what Glastonbury was all about. I did not want to end up an old hippie who “does festivals” all summer. Then tonight I stuck a CD in the player. I had bought that CD at a late night concert in the Green Fields –the Green Fields is that permaculture hippie-ish part of the festival with tiny little acts held in dozens of colourful tents.

Each year, I would snub the big bands to hear what’s going on in the Green Fields. This year was fantastic because the festival was soaked by heavy-hitting rain. I actually like Glastonbury in the rain; it’s got this amazing “Spirit of the Blitz” to it. Instead of lounging in the sun, the Green Fields enthusiasts sneak in the first tent that takes their fancy, and sip some chai together.

The reason I love Glastonbury so much is that it fills your cup in a way nothing else does. You know the feeling after a great night out, some drinks and an amazing concert. Well Glastonbury puts 1000’s of concerts, plays, parties, films and books your way, for four days and four nights. Glastonbury fills you with art, with beauty, with music, with poetry to the point where you don’t yearn for art anymore.

The nation’s best performing art is all around you. You’re like a kid in a candy shop and so is everybody else. There is nothing you want. There is no time for wanting. You’re being subjugated by all this. Come with any sort of expectations, Glastonbury will beat them by very far. Glastonbury is life * 1000.

The performers are just as taken by the general excitement as the punters are. They too have had their fill of amazing concerts and, carried by the Glastonbury atmosphere, they give you their absolute best.

I remember this amazing performance by Celeste Lovick. She was alone with a guitar, at one in the morning on the tiny new world stage. The rain was pounding on the tent ceiling, but the inside was not wet, it was warm and beautifully lit. There were about ten people in the audience, two of whom were asleep. The others were awestruck by Lovick’s sheer poetry. She had this little Amish air, and was sharing her songs almost prayerfully in a dimly lit tent. It was the last night of the festival, people were tired yet happy and mellow, they had tanked up on music for at least a month.

I did not want this to end. As each year, I only wished I could take a little bit of this moment into the rest of my year. I picked up the CD. While it is still very good, it is miles away from the performance. For one it’s got a lot of side instruments, effects and even extra voices. I listen to it in a room full of books. It is a mere shadow of what Glastonbury had been. I feel like I’m spending the rest of the year living in Plato’s cave, listening to shadows of the real. As always, real beauty can’t be frozen and unfortunately you can never take bits of Glastonbury with you!