Plaid in the glade
August 14th, 2002 by freddie96
Glastonbury Festival 2002
My last visit to the Glastonbury Festival was in 1998, the ‘year of the mud’. I remember an endless sea of liquid slurry in a strange nuclear wasteland, wobbly casualties frolicking in the sewage and a plastic-sealed public staggering gamely through a mire of sludge. I spent most of the time emptying said ‘mud’ out of my borrowed wellies, and trying not to fall spectacularly headlong into it. When we got to the Dance Tent my sense of humour dissolved as one of the poo trucks seemed to empty itself inside. Comically disastrous, from then on it was an agricultural show gone horribly wrong. A part of me was glad that the Eavises had decided to give the land a rest in 2001 after the excessive numbers and a fence-jumping bonanza in 2000 threatened to close the Festival down for good.
So along with the fizz of anticipation that hit the airwaves before this year’s Glastonbury, came the curiousity and mythology over the new 12ft steel fence. This year people knew the fence was a) unscalable unless you were born half-arachnid and b) really was there to protect the future of the event. Have something you take for granted removed, you generally miss it and respect it more if you get it back. A break might make things different from before, but it can enable the evolutionary process to start afresh, perhaps in a more positive direction. Manage things too hard, and you could end up with a soulless gig. Either way a change was necessary. It may have resulted in a mellow Glastonbury, but it was by no means soulless.
Revelling in the extra space to camp in, we pitched ourselves next to the ‘Rochdale Mashers Scooter Club’, a fine collection of beings who dined on pig in a bun and drank cider by the bucket. I was to later find our ‘patio’ occupied by a sleeping man wearing scant little but the word ‘Beverley’ tattooed on his backside. He mumbled something pleasant through his beard about the trees being made of jam, and left us in peace.
And peace was what we found up at the Greenfields on a sunny afternoon, big flowery heaps of it. We wandered around soaking up the collective creativity until I felt my gnarly London self slide to the ground with a soft thud, my festival self growing quickly in its place – fleece lined and frayed (silly ears and mittens-on-strings optional). We spent a blissful afternoon drifting through a landscape of monolithic wicker snails, floating galleons and leopardskin-lined gypsy caravans. After falling into a stoned groove in teepee village with its rainbow pennants fluttering, we watched the huge city evolve from the heights of the Stone Circle as time slipped through the net. It felt like finding a favourite old sweetshop had never really closed, and Monster Munch were still 6p. As the sun started to sink, we meandered downhill to catch our first evening gig – Plaid in the Glade.
The Glade appeared more of a scruffy hollow with some serious toilet action going on in one corner than the green grassy haven one associates with the word ‘glade’. Upon the arrival of Ed Handley and Andy Turner however, heads went down and out came ‘Coat’, a simple work of veering melody with a rolling bass lifting over the spindly trees to lure people in with an anthemic call. Somehow the homemade backdrops were transformed into a setting ready for some illegal jungle party.
Like an anarchic and rebellious younger sister to the Big Chill’s Sanctuary stage, the Glade’s surround-sound acoustics were clear and intimate with the slightly twisted air lending itself perfectly to Plaid’s mischevious electronica. As the atmosphere thickened and the light faded to dusk, we could make out Bob Jaroc’s visuals playing faintly on the white material screens either side of the stage, growing in intensity with the oncoming darkness. We were subjected to some speedy psychometry with probing questions looming into focus… ‘Do you experience feelings of depression and anxiety?’ ‘Are you often considered cold?’ and other such analysis that had most people either laughing or nodding ruefully. Then the spooky electro babble of ‘New Family’ caught the witching hour perfectly with the focused crowd vibrating to its skittering madness. As the heat rose all eyes were glued to the projection of an eerie yellow sky peppered with silhouetted ravens backed by the real sky throwing up a moody black-orange glow.
Things calmed to a minimal stagger while they played with PlaidCamTM, its monochrome double layered footage projecting the duos’ live noodling onto the screens. The trip ended with the orchestral mayhem of ‘Zala’ as a melon-head superhero moved towards us, leaving a bionic vapour trail in his wake. A driving and seamless set of inspiring breakbeats and powerful visuals that pulled magic out of a strange and battered hat, it seemed to be the right thing to experience at that time and in that place. Happenstance or happy planning? It’s a mystery, but definitely a memory to keep. So right now I’m now looking forward to hearing Plaid on Saturday night at Eastnor…
Annie Gleadow
PS. According to Bob on visuals the robot was a bit ill at Glastonbury due to eating too many square pies. He will be fighting fit for Eastnor’s performance.
Plaid are playing The Big Chill this weekend
