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Alabama 3
Seen them small, and now, I've seen them large, Alabama 3 pulling out the stops on the irony-o-meter for the songs and taunts, dragging out a pair of blonde dolly dancers in stars-and-stripes bikinis in a not altogether unsuccessful attempt to woo the photographers. The first of two great pigeon moments of Friday saw a stoned-looking fat pigeon flap clumsily onto the top of the stage and then just stay there, presumably too stunned by the band's brilliance to move. Unfortunately, it was time I did; so I had to listen to You don't dance to techno any more heading away from the stage, strange but it sounded the best of anything that had been in the set, the stuff I heard when I was walking away. A shame to cut it short, but then, but then ...

One of the things you take on board when you go to Glastonbury to work is that your shifts will most certainly clash with bands you want to see. I remember an especially desolate Saturday night shift, miserably listening to Pulp on Radio 1 when they were playing live just down the hill. This year I worked Friday, afternoon/evening, and missed a whole slew of good stuff, but being on Ped Gate B, when the wind was right we were in earshot of the main stage, so in the end the only thing on my list I missed entirely was British Sea Power. For the first-time Stewards working there, it was torment; so near, and yet so far. "Can I have my break at? Can I go and see?" They asked. I crushed their eager little hopes, all except the one who wanted to take her break during Nelly Furtado. Figured Nelly could do all the crushing neccessary there. She drifted up the hill as I tried to organise the breaks; bland warblings, irritating as a half-glimpsed Benetton advert. The difficult distance thinned the music, stripping out depth, vocals, character; Ash were little more than a comforting listen, and the Dandy Warhols, for all that they made us smile, sounded like someone had punched the middle out of their songs. Only Doves, with all their lush layers of sound, made it through the trees intact. A rush of the older club-set heralded the arrival of Faithless, an awesome crash of mind-numbing noise even from this distance, and then my shift was over. I'd been thinking that I'd dash down and catch the end of Faithless, but instead settled for letting their bass percolate through my body while I wound down with a couple of pints of ale and the man in charge of the CCTV. Tanked up on beer and gossip I set off down the hill at a fast wobble, heading for the Other Stage and Garbage ...

[to be continued]

Want more? These people saw more than I did, and aren't out to slag everyone off.

My brain's trying to send me to sleep every 4-6 hours. This is not condusive to health and happiness. Damn it, I am not concussed!

Saw Minority Report. Started out quite interesting, rapidly turned into a tedious Tom Cruise movie with mumbled dialogue, many brooding stares and too much gunplay. Have not yet forgiven him for Mission Impossible, now have the corpse of another interesting movie to lay at the feet of the Cruiser's ego. Joy.

Notes to myself:
1. Must stop giving out advice. Remember, you too are a fool.
2. Those things on the table. Do them, do them now.
3. When you think you're sleeping, you aren't. Sleep is a beast, to be cornered and killed.
4. Keep your mouth shut; remember, you look more interesting than you are.
5. Do not cry because Bowie is no longer cool. The truth of it is, he never was.

I heard a song this morning. Had to make up some of the words because I forgot half of it:

message light fading on the ansaphone
doormat whining that it's all alone
and rain from a sky like silence
police-car riding by
chased by its echoes
and you on the bus you didn't miss,
looking like a lost existentialist
and if you were a guy you'd sit by me
and if you were a girl you'd stop and see
but it's just human human human life under a zinc white sky

rain-curled hair on a city bus
day sliding in with the minimum fuss
I'm late but it doesn't matter
confetti on the streets
from summer weddings
and you flashing a smile like Tom Cruise's
in designer jeans and hi-tech shoeses
and if you were a guy you'd sit by me
and if you were a girl you'd stop and see
but it's just human human human life under a zinc white sky

TBH, I'm not sure about zinc white. It might have been "rain white", "rain-filled" or even "cinema". But what would a cinema sky look like?


( 4 worms — Feed the birds )
8th Jul, 2002 10:26 (UTC)
coolness disagreement
the Bowie who lives in our heads & the music was, is & will continue to be cool...
sadly this entity may or may not bear little or no resemblance to the 'real' Bowie
9th Jul, 2002 03:27 (UTC)
Re: coolness disagreement
He performed Fashion on Jonathon Ross, wearing a nasty cream jacket. It was pretty horrible ... stupid useless arrogant twat Ross instead of asking interesting questions dragging him over the same five tabloid que(e)ries agaaaaain. Gonk. Bowie wavering between bonkers artman, embarrassed celebrity friend and creepily adoring family man. Still looking like an alien, after all these years.

(Notes to myself mark things I ought to think, not things I do think.)

I seem to be listening to a lot of Bowie at the moment.
8th Jul, 2002 16:18 (UTC)
4. Keep your mouth shut; remember, you look more interesting than you are.

What nonsense. Keep talking, some of us are listening. (And being a fool like the rest of us doesn't mean you can't give good advice. I claim...)
9th Jul, 2002 03:31 (UTC)
certainly true at the moment
Given that my hair is currently its natural brown ... but I did write this after a day spent walking round in my gorilla coat and a new pair of superstar DJ sunglasses, scaring the natives out of the tea-shops.

Too many people smiled hello to me.
( 4 worms — Feed the birds )