In advance of that though, here's a brief snippet, hot off the press, about Flying Lotus' Sunday night set...
I reached West Holts at exactly
the moment Flying Loftus’ set kicked off. I couldn’t have timed it better. It
all looked very futuristic. A massive square arch was set up on the stage, lit
up with the coolest blue (or was it red? I can’t remember and I never made a
note, but it was cool.) Behind this arch and behind some sort of opaque screen,
Flying Lotus entered and started ripping it up from the word go. It was well,
hard to describe.
Jazz? Dark? Experimental? Hip hop?
All of this and more.
Wildly different and not what you’d expect from a headliner. Good on Glasto for
putting someone different and quite risky in such a slot. It was loud as well;
very loud. This was good. From the start he brought onto the stage with him the
legendary bass player, Thundercat.
Bonus points.
I sat towards the back of the
field on one of the benches and wallowed in the music. It was a matter of
getting lost in it, letting it swirl around the dark Glastonbury night sky, and
to let it flow. There were a few people sitting on the benches near me, some of
whom clearly knew exactly who Flying Lotus was and were, like me, loving every
second. Some others however, I think had simply sat down for a rest, to clear
their heads, to let things wear off a bit and seemed mystified and baffled
about what was happening on the stage.
As for me, I had no idea what any
of the songs were. I recognised the start of the set as “Theme” and I thought
he followed that with “It Was a Good Day” (the Ice Cube song.) I really should
have picked up on the rest of the set that I saw because I’d heard enough of
his stuff before. I had his “You’re Dead”
and “Cosmogramma” albums and played
them more than a few times. It didn’t matter because live he was a revelation.
A lot sharper, if that makes sense. Like a blurred photograph being pulled into
focus. Or more like that moment when you’re at the opticians and they try all
those different lenses in the glasses and then, suddenly, they slot that one
lens in and blam! It all becomes crystal clear. That’s exactly what it was
like.
That sharpness, that diamond-like
edge to the songs made all the difference. Half-formed memories of hearing the
tracks on CD had me thinking “oh yes, this is…oh, what is it called…?” but it
was moving too quickly and I was too tired to get a handle on it. Besides, I
didn’t want to spend my time there racking my brains, I simply wanted to hear
the music. Because that’s all it’s about isn’t it? The music.
I looked around the field. It was
a shame because it wasn’t much over half full. I’d have bet that The Who, The
Chemical Brothers and FFS were a much bigger draw than Flying Lotus. I sort of
felt sorry for people who were missing out on this because they were stood at
the Pyramid watching The Who go through all their tired old moves. On the other hand, if they’d made a decision
to go and see The Who, then I’d guess they wouldn’t really appreciate Flying
Lotus.
But I had a decision to make
myself, twenty five minutes into Flying Lotus’ set.
Was I going to stay or was
I going to peg it back to the Park Stage to watch Ryan Adams? I had painted
myself into a bit of corner here.
A dilemma.
My previous three books about Glasto are all available here-
either as Kindle e books or in paperback:
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