Thanks to Paul McGann for serving me a drink in a backstage bar. I thought long and hard about what Withnail & I line to hit him with. After realising most of them were Richard E. Grant’s lines, I went for “My thumbs have gone weird!”
He looked bemused.
Thanks to all at the studio backstage in the Greenpeace area. It were a right treat to record at Glasto. I also did some backing vocals for my friend Jez. Studio pro’s, yo.
Thanks to my mate Liam who got me backstage at The Pyramid.
We watched First Aid Kit from the side of the stage. I briefly entertained the possibility that they were singing to me. One of them kept looking my way, anyway.
Then we passed them on their way offstage.
The blonde one is nine feet tall.
Thanks to The Bookshop Band for having the highest ratio of instruments to band members ever seen in the PFR. And, of course, for some smashing songs about books.
Thanks to Sam at The Treehouse in The Park, for pizza, coffee and Pimm’s.
Thanks to Eddie. He played naked piano in the PFR. Legendary.
Thanks to Donnie, AKA Never Mr. Beat, for making me (more) funky.
Thanks to Stevie Wonder for breaking me down to the level of infancy.
I was putty in his hands, along with 100,000 or so others.
Thanks to Portishead for the Cameron laser eyes. And a storming set.
(I missed them in 1997 because I’d split up with the girlfriend I had planned to go with, and I had an exam the next morning. So, I felt like Samuel Beckett*, putting right what once went wrong**.
(*The one from Quantum Leap, not the absurdist Irish playwright.))
(**Missing the gig, not splitting up with the girlfriend.)
Thanks to Ozomatli, who stood in for Gil Scott Heron. I was disappointed he wasn’t there, but not for long. I bounced past an old school friend in a conga line at the end of their set. Good times.
Thanks to Morrissey, Stevie Wonder, Paul Simon, Public Enemy, Q-Tip.
You are heroes, and I got to see you all play at Glasto.
(I missed Johnny Marr, mind.
(And, apparently, he played There Is A Light That Never Goes Out.
Thanks to everyone for the jokes, the year Michael Jackson died on the Friday.
I reckon I heard Billie Jean at least 300 times that weekend.
None of the jokes were good.
Thanks to everyone at The Irish Bar. I tried Poitin. It was quite nice.
Thanks to Greg for getting me probably my best ever Glasto gig: in a tiny venue in Shangri-La, late night Saturday, 2009. When I got there, everyone was dancing to Billie Jean. Then I was introduced, and everyone stopped dancing and looked at me like I’d rocked up for a murder trial in flip-flops and an Adi-hash t-shirt. Then I started, and everyone left. Then the place filled up again, with new people, and ended in triumph.
Take that, everyone’s expectations.
Thanks to Glenn for getting us into the cool backstage bar. Turns out he just had to say a name…
Thanks to the lads from Skye who befriended me when I arrived at my first ever Glasto (as a performer), on my own. I’d been lonely and bored, and it was a pleasure to meet youse.
Thanks to The Rolling Stones, (and, to a lesser extent, Public Enemy), for keeping all the crowds away from my PFR set on Saturday night. I prefer it nice and relaxed.
Thanks to Bombs, GrayDog, Jez, Mark H, J-Bax and everyone else I played with and jammed with at Glasto over the years. GNR 4 Eva, yeah?
(That’s how the young people would write it, isn’t it? Not me though.)
Thanks to The People’s Front Room crew for everything: All Praises Due.
And Thanks to those who turned up to see me play. It’s a big festival, youse could have been anywhere, but you were there with me/us, and I appreciate it.
Yes, even if you stumbled upon me unintentionally.
You are the P in PFR, and the G in GNR.