It seems that 2017 will have a unique place in this festival’s history as the year the organisers banned the pineapple. The blameless fruit was added to the prohibited items list owing to fans of Glass Animals tendency to bring them to shows to illustrate one of the band’s lyrics. Guffaws soon mingle with cheers as the band unveil their stage set; a giant pineapple.
The unusually tropical sunshine certainly brings out the fun side of a festival which – with a simultaneous leg in Reading – has become a pilgrimage for teenagers celebrating their GCSE results. This year’s trend is sparkly face paint, while one chap has gone the extra mile by dressing as a golden eagle, head to claw.
Musically, this is the year that rings the changes. “Very different. No rock,” says the bloke on the paella stall. It isn’t entirely true (there’s still the likes of Korn and At the Drive-In), but a more eclectic bill and greater emphasis on pop, rap and grime reflects changing times and the younger demographic.
These genres happily co-exist with guitar bands on the main stage, and rapper Giggs – who is joined by Canadian megastar Drake over in Reading – seals his warm reception by fiendishly suggesting, “Forget we’re at a festival. Pretend we’re in a club.” The 1Xtra tent even hosts a grime version of Beatlemania, as rising star AJ Tracey’s energetic set results in a procession of fainting girls. Elsewhere, it’s possible to hear the punk rock of Sløtface and Fizzy Blood, Charli XCX’s exuberant dance pop and Tame Impala offshoot Pond’s fantastic space-psych-disco-funk-rock, all within a few yards of each other.
Friday’s early arrivals are rewarded with a secret(ish) set by Queens of the Stone Age, who deliver a honed display of hard rock laced with southern boogie, disco and glam rock. Josh Homme is in impish form, claiming to be “already fucked up” at 1pm and walking to the front of the stage to grin weirdly at the crowd like a (more) deranged Donald Trump.
At the other end of the day, there’s a stampede to see Liam Gallagher, who kicks off with Rock ‘N’ Roll Star and brings insouciant star quality, his latest cagoule and a classic songbook.
Everyone knows the Oasis songs well enough to sing along. Everyone, that is, except Liam, who bizarrely needs a teleprompter – but his new solo songs hold their own. Bold and For What it’s Worth are beautifully frank reflections of a maturing male, while Wonderwall – illuminated by banned red flares – provides one of the weekend’s most magical moments.
Muse’s appearances here are traditionally marked by monsoons, as if frontman Matt Bellamy personally requests them from God to illustrate his apocalyptic lyrics. Spookily, the band’s arrival does bring the weekend’s only raindrops but the real storm is in the show. With harder rocking, proggier prog, higher falsettos and sillier outfits than anyone else on the bill, they reach peak preposterousness during an anthemic Knights of Cydonia, when each note of Chris Wolstenholme’s bass triggers a shower of fireworks.
Although there’s certainly a glut of generic pop and indie – Bastille’s magnolia anthems and Major Lazer’s no-common-denominator-too-low sub bass barrage prove mystifyingly popular – more off-piste delights range from emerging Leeds prog-ish rockers Koyo (Radiohead meets Hawkwind, with saxophones) to a storming secret Wolf Alice set within half an hour, before Sunday lunch. Terrific Mercury-nominated band the Big Moon reinvent the Phil Spector 60s girl-group sound with grungey guitars, while Hannah Hooper’s Grouplove’s euphoric, Abba-esque indie pop is met by swaying hands.
Saturday headliners Kasabian are like their beloved Leicester City – unfancied, unfashionable underdogs who somehow conquered the big league. This gig is no different. Singer Tom Meighan clambered off his sick bed (in hospital, on a drip), to perform, but their clubby-rocky stompers generate a massive singsong and the band look so delighted with their rapturous reception it’s a wonder that they ever leave the stage.
After criticism and an identity crisis, the festival gets it right this year by offering something for everybody, and the whole place unites for the return of Eminem. The rap icon has struggled with addiction, but tonight he is back on his game. He rages at events in the US, gets 90,000 people to chant “Fuck Trump!”, has a full live band and a 32-song setlist, packed with hits from Real Slim Shady to Lose Yourself, which go down a storm. He dedicates Love the Way You Lie (with Ebony taking the Rihanna role) to “anyone who has ever been in a relationship like this”, and hearing lyrics that dissect domestic violence being sung by a female audience choir is unsettling but thrillingly empowering. “We’ll always remember this show”, he yells, and it’s impossible to disagree.
