Things could have been so much worse and we aren’t talking about the quagmire that’s yet to materialise. Aussie numbskulls Jet have a place, apparently, but it certainly isn’t polluting Avalon’s well-cultivated spirit. Thankfully they have a “prior engagement". So, the ever-wonderful Badly Drawn Boy steps into the vacant breach to dedicate a sweaty mid-afternoon show to the late great Joe Strummer.
Damon Gough is at his unpredictable best giving his less conventional side time to breathe again after threatening to go all MOR on us. Needless to say, this decision is welcomed by the Other Stage crowd as he once again proves he’s perfected the timeless knack of turning adversity into a mild triumph. The cloudless sky is not the only unexpected bonus of the afternoon as Gough alternates between stripping-down and fleshing-out samples of his current LP and beguiling strands of his recent past. And LAUNCH could have sworn he wheeled-out Bez for his obligatory festival appearance. But then again the heat can do funny things to one’s vision.
Snow Patrol records have been doing brisk business down your local supermarket lately and judging by Gordon Lightbody’s reaction, it’s as much of a surprise to him as it is to us. Overnight sensations six years in the making, Snow Patrol are 2004’s surprise package but today they struggle to match expectations. Regardless of the positive effects of their well-crafted melody, OD’ing on Snow Patrol’s brow-beating melancholy at this time of the day isn’t healthy. Despite sturdy showings of hits "Run" and "Chocolate", shaky live legs restrict the wow factor to a moderate appreciation.
High expectations are something Oasis have grown accustomed to. At Glastonbury ’94, the Gallaghers made their first giant leap to superstardom, but a decade later they’re in dire need of a rejuvenation. Where once they patented the "mad for it" lifestyle choice, Noel and increasingly Liam now seem content to sit back, living off the memories instead of generating new ones.
Of course, Glastonbury 2004 gives them a chance for resurrection but something’s missing and we’re not talking about Guigsy, Bonehead and the most recently departed Alan White. The fact they don’t break stride to acknowledge the crowd is nothing new but a sombre Liam – immaculately dressed in a snowman parka – has obviously forgotten how to even taunt the crowd.
It’s not as if you can question the choice of songs as all the hits are present and correct. There are even two new ones – "A Bell Will Ring" and "The Meaning Of Soul" - and a polished cover of The Who’s "My Generation" to close, but that still doesn’t prevent a lukewarm reaction. The Glastonbury faithful are no walk-over and Oasis treat this headlining honour with an attitude little short of disdain. Hopefully the most disappointed people in attendance are the ones who can do something about it.
Come Saturday, you need a clear head to assess the merits or otherwise of Keane’s apparent elevation to the ‘big time’. Oh well. Walking in the muddy footsteps of Travis and Coldplay before them, we’ve recently been led to believe that Keane will be following suit by rubberstamping their passport to true success on the Other Stage. Well, Keane are currently well ahead of their aforementioned predecessors at this stage. For one, there’s no shaggy haired apologist frontman (Chris Martin) nor will you find a ragged bunch of lads clearly out for nothing more than a few beers and a shag if they’re lucky (that’ll be Travis then). Drawing from their debut "Hopes And Fears" almost in its entirety means there’s no shortage of quality but, tellingly, when they wheel out a b-side it’s got ‘second rate album track’ stamped all over it. And no, they don’t have a guitarist and yes, frontman Tom Chaplin is awkward and clichéd, but when they're excelling musically it's almost forgivable.
But like the Gallaghers before them, there’s a striking absence of magic. It’s all far too clinical to cast any kind of spell, yet you feel today is merely a tick in a box on a path that stretches way beyond Pilton. Investing real emotion in Keane is difficult but that might not be enough to scupper their ascent.
If Keane recognised they lacked (at least) three qualities – say, charisma, magnetism and style for starters – they could have done a lot worse than get their posh wellies mucky and checked out The Killers who have all three attributes in abundance. You can’t judge a book by its cover, but you can certainly judge a rising band by their turnout at the New Bands Tent. Inbound from Las Vegas, The Killers can take pride in their status as heavily fancied newcomers. Live, the tracks on the aptly titled "Hot Fuss" debut, crackle with endless raw energy even if the hooks and riffs are naggingly familiar. Let’s not quibble over details when there’s a twenty-deep backlog of eager fans circling the outside of the tent to catch a glimpse. And it wasn’t even raining.
Sunday begins in the pretentious company of Neil Hannon. Naturally he plays on his most famous facet, along with his dry wit that’s evident by his recent decision to shed his long-standing band and substitute them for an equally faceless set of replacements. Hilarious indeed. Musically Hannon appears somewhat lost in his own morbid wilderness, happy to croak out tuneless faux-Scott Walker numbers and occasionally dig into his fine back catalogue to resurrect some original ‘classics’. But Hannon also reminds us that his ability to surprise hasn’t diminished when he brilliantly covers the Queens Of The Stone Age’s "No One Knows" complete with banjo and upright double bass. “I hope that big ginger one doesn’t come after me for that,” he quips. We hope so too.
Covers are all part of Joss Stone’s appeal to date and she’s very much in demand having already flaunted her stuff over at the Jazz World arena this weekend, no doubt adding a few more male admirers along the way. Clearly warmed up from her early excursions, Stone immediately heads crowd-side to belt out "Super Duper Love", "Chokin Kind" and "Fell In Love With A Boy" as if she was a festival veteran. As a perfect backdrop to a sunny Somerset afternoon, this (relatively) local teenager effectively stakes her claim as British pop latest wunderkind.
The sun doesn’t last though. Any hopes of a mud-free finale are quickly dashed during Supergrass’ set when a prolonged cloud-burst sends the crowd reaching for cover. It’s ironic that the band they’ve agreed to stand in for, The Libertines, are at best utterly shambolic, whereas Gaz, Danny and Mick are rapidly becoming a reliable institution rather than Britpop relics. It helps when you’ve got a bagful of tunes for all occasions. "Caught By The Fuzz", "Late In The Day", "Sun Hits The Sky" and even "Alright" (given a rare outing to cheer us up in the rain) all shine during this real festival highlight.
It’s a case of last but certainly not least as Muse supply a fitting finale to this year’s affair. True, the weather has played its part but, Macca aside, you have to admit there’s been an apparent unwillingness by many bands to step up and deliver, especially in light of the toothless Oasis performance. Muse are not about to disappoint though. The fact the site looks like a moonscape battlefield suits Muse’s apocalyptic brand of intergalactic rock. Everything appears to be inflated ten-fold to maximise the effect, from frenzied projections to thunderous drums and Matt Bellamy’s crazed guitar spots beaten only by his equally manic piano outbursts.
"Time Is Running Out", "Plug-In Baby" and "Stockholm Syndrome" epitomise why Muse are light years ahead of their peers in terms of ambition and distinction. Bellamy was right to describe it as the gig of their lives.
