GLASTONBURY 2025

For a contrast in styles look no further than the oldies on the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury this past weekend. Rod, who turned 80 in January, was as cheesy as it gets but his cheese wheel has been maturing for more than half a century now and while it isn’t as pungent as it once was, it’s certainly as entertaining. Neil, however, though a sprightly 79, never looked likely to arrive at the cheese course, and instead delivered a dour, rather ponderous set, the kind of thing that only diehards could appreciate, even if his closer, ‘Rockin’ In The Free World’ finally lit the kind of fire we expect from Glastonbury headliners. Perhaps Emily Eavis should have switched them around – Rod on Saturday night and Neil on Sunday afternoon might have worked better – but either way, I preferred Pulp, billed as Patchwork, and, most especially, the gorgeous Olivia Rodrigo who wiped the floor with just about everyone I watched from the comfort of our sofa. 

Rod was always a showman, unreconstructed, confident and a bit cocky, and these traits have amplified of late. Accompanied on stage by a bevy of beautiful ladies in short red dresses, all of them singers and/or instrumentalists, most of them his preferred blonde, he worked the crowd well and wisely offered up a greatest hits set lapped up by his fans, especially a group of elderly ladies with a sign that read ‘Nans For Rod’. Clearly affected by the heat, his raspy voice has lost some of the sharpness of tone that I remember from his Faces days, and he wasn’t quite as nimble on stage as he used to be. Still, he’s trooper in the old showbiz style and he didn’t disappoint. 

        After a couple of breaks to change outfits, first a pink suit followed by a green one, he seemed happier as his set drew on. He brought on Michael Eavis, delivered by Emily in his wheel chair, a gesture much appreciated by everyone, then Mick Hucknall for ‘If You Don’t Know Me By Now’ and Ronnie Wood for ‘Stay With Me’. Next to arrive was a sprightly Lulu with tassels on her white pants who joined Rod for ‘Hot Legs’. I’d have preferred it if, instead of the sillier stuff, Rod and Ronnie had sat side by side on stools with acoustic guitars and given us a couple of more introspective songs like ‘Mandolin Wind’ and ‘Reason To Believe’ and I don’t think his fans would have minded too, even if this would have slowed things down. 

        After kicking a few footballs into the crowd, he closed his set with ‘Sailing’, as kitsch as it gets, a mighty arm-waving singalong with Rod centre stage surrounded by his girls who’d changed into Celtic tops with sailor’s caps. Same as it ever was. Now there’s a thought. Perhaps Talking Heads should take the Sunday tea-time spot at the next festival. 

        Neil Young, always untroubled by sartorial concerns, dressed for his set like an armed backwoodsman on the lookout for bears, old jeans, a rumpled check shirt and a peaked cap pulled forward to obscure his face. His band did likewise and the stage lighting was dim. ‘Harvest Moon’ was lovely, and ‘Like A Hurricane’ was fine too, but too many songs plodded along, especially ‘Sun Green’, an endless dirge that I thought might never end. He soloed long and well, occasionally catching fire, but his determination to play down any semblance of razzle-dazzle wasn’t really in the Glastonbury spirit. I went to bed before his set ended and caught up with the climax on Sunday morning. 

        Pulp, however, imbued the spirit of Glastonbury in spades, judiciously opening up with ‘Sorted For Es And Wizz’, mixing new songs with old favourites and closing with a lengthy, crowd-pleasing ‘Common People’. As ever Jarvis, dressed in the kind of stuff you can pick up for a tenner in a charity shop, was all angles and quirks, having the time of his life with his reinvigorated band. Switching Pulp with Neil wouldn’t have been a bad idea either. 

        Finally, Olivia Rodrigo took the festival by storm. Hitherto completely unfamiliar with her songs – aside from when she brought on Robert Smith for ‘Friday I’m In Love’ and ‘Just Like Heaven’ (and a hint of Beauty And The Beast) – I watched in awe as this slip of a girl, just 22, commanded the stage like a veteran, dancing here and here, pirouetting and singing as if her life depended on it, a natural performer, confident, relaxed and somehow bridging the gap between the old and the new. Her band, mostly women, was spot on while clearly rehearsed changes were delivered with panache time and time again.

        Welcome, too, was her spontaneous, unforced chat between songs. That she loved the UK was palpable – she was spotted in the crowd on her boyfriend's shoulders while Pulp were playing – as she delivered song after song, her amplified soprano voice, often double tracked for extra bounce, ringing out across the arena far more clearly than anyone else I watched. Her joy at headlining Glastonbury, her smile, came over as truly genuine, and her fans – thousands of young women – truly appreciated her obvious sincerity. It’s unlikely I’ll rush out to buy her records – her songs are a mix of teen pop with a leaning towards power ballads, the lighter end of indie and the odd dollop of crunchy rock – but it was refreshing to note the lack of those on-stage dancers deemed necessary by artists of her ilk. She does it on her own with the help of a well-drilled rock band, the kind of thing Rod used to do with The Faces.