A blog from the inimitable Dave Harper, drummer in Frankie and the Heartstrings. A strange tale, bringing together Jarvis Cocker, Harry Enfield, pop sex flags and life affirming pop music. Read on..
Myself and Mr Michael McKnight (F&THS guitarist) had both been to Glastonbury before. One of the first times I had met Michael was a glorious day within which Michael had a seizure with nothing but more sun and a famous American Bourbon for company. A heady mix for a man with hair like an auburn dream.
I always regale the same story when talking about Glastonbury and I appreciate how patronising it sounds, but it’s also the most honest assessment I can give. If you have never been and seen and experienced Glastonbury Festival of Music and Performing Arts then you really will never be able to understand the magnitude, ambition and sheer integral necessity of having a festival like this in existence. There are festivals and there is Glastonbury. Fast forward five years since my last visit to Worthy Farm...
We arrived. Band, our Tour Manager Mido and equipment monkey Jim. You know its going to be a sterling weekend when the first person you see is Jarvis Cocker. You know its going to be a fucking belter when he comes over and asks how the band is going. So for quote purposes... Jarvis Cocker is definitely our best friend. Tent pitched and tepid lager in hand we met up with Mark Bowen and Ben from Wichita at the bar at The Park Stage. When I was a nipper I was convinced that there were flocks of women of a certain nature, fountains and powders of all descriptions in the back stage area. In reality there are no fountains, the women are still out of your reach and the powders are reserved for the bellend brigade.
Trying to look cool(ish) when you are an excited (slightly too old) chap in a Pop Band playing Glastonbury for the first time is a discipline not too easy to harness. And they made it harder on our stage as the bastards had prepared a little treat from Thom Yorke.......in a headband. Nice idea, shit headband. But, I did see Harry Enfield having a jacket potato, I think it had beans on. It was about 4 o'clock, canny warm. In the meantime Frankie was having a forward roll competition with some chap from the Klaxons and Michael was holding court with Paloma Faith. I couldn't hear myself talk for the klanging of names being dropped so we donned our disguises and immersed ourselves in a pool of travellers, pointless jugglers and other assorted droogs, mostly amazingly kind/stoned and wanting to chat. We spent a lot of time at the stone circle or being ambushed by Detroit Social Club who seemed to have mobilised a Sunderland battalion for some kind of hippy mission, this was full of promise.
The next day we played. We played at gig at the world’s greatest festival. Frankie wore a leather jacket (neglected to wear a top) and the Andrew Ridgley look kept the ladies and a fair few men more than limber. The crowd were sparse at first but we recognised faces, then more people came and we recognised more faces. Then it arrived!!! Someone had made a POP SEX flag. So what????????? I'll tell you what. This represents someone making the effort. Not only working to purchase a very expensive ticket and a very pricey weekend. But taking the time to show support and making something with your own hands. I can’t be cynical about that.
We went there. We played Glastonbury and we grabbed its throat and throttled every last piece of its POP chakra. We plan to go back and do it all again on the main stage next year. Not arrogance, we are going to work hard and achieve it…that’s all. PS. I nearly did some wee in my grundies when I saw Johnny Marr.
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