In yet another example of top notch journalism, the Bristol Post’s website leads with the news that according to the bookies, Adele is going to be one of the main headliners at this year’s Glastonbury festival, or Glasto as the youngsters call it. Not that anyone who would consider themselves to be young would be at the main stage to watch Adele, of course, but then you’d like to think the main stage is definitely not what the festival is all about.
Forgive me for not turning into a drooling buffoon (quiet at the back, there) but the thought of listening to Adele for any length of time leaves me cold. There is no doubting her singing and songwriting talent but to me she has the same effect as fingernails being scraped down a blackboard. I would no sooner pay money to see Adele in concert than go on a skiing holiday. Some things are best done by others.
My learned friends who attend Glasto all tell me that the main stage is the last place you would want to go. I would certainly not want to spend three or four nights in a damp tent in order to hear Chris Martin warble his way through some generic pop music and I would not cross the road to hear that painful excuse for a musician Kanye West. Just in case you think I am heading for grumpy old man syndrome – and I know I am – then I have the same attitude to the Sunday afternoon “heritage” slot, usually occupied by some elderly crooner, or Lionel Richie, which is much the same thing. Actually, the heritage slot usually gives away the musical taste of those who turn up for much as Richie seems to be a nice chap, I never could stand his music before he turned up at a farm in Pilton. Anyway, he also sounds to me like he sings whilst simultaneously drinking custard.
Last year, I snored my way through Florence and the Machine, happily from the comfort of my own armchair. I find it amazing that someone who makes no obvious effort to sing it tune, or to my ears try to sing at all, is afforded the top of the bill status. I know I probably sound my grandfather here, but to my delicate ears, she sounds like she is whining, not singing and – this is definitely granddad country – that every song sounds exactly the same as the previous one.
Doubtless the Bristol Post will have similar headlines in the weeks to come, presumably making up their stories on the basis of whom Ladbrokes suggest will also appear at Glasto, but it hardly matters. The tickets were sold out long ago and I suspect most people would turn up if Mike Batt’s Wombles were the Friday night headliners.
Thanks for letting me know that Adele is likely to top the bill. At least I have plenty of warning to look for something else to do that night.
