A DAY of trials, troubles and washouts, Glastonbury finally began to get into its stride at sunset.
A surge of mass crowd singalongs greeted The Killers, the flashy Las Vegas foursome whose Pyramid Stage set relied heavily on tracks from their album Hot Fuss. The band’s dapper singer Brandon Flowers attempted to project his usual suave insouciance while belting out a plump selection of heavy-handed hits, including Mr Brightside and a rousing Somebody Told Me.
Meanwhile, on the Other Stage, and returning from a long hibernation with a new album to promote, the Norwegian electronic duo Royksopp wrapped a dazzling light show around an hour of symphonic moodscapes, soaring trance and manicured house rhythms.
Royksopp’s Svein Berge and Torbjorn Brundtland can sometimes sound too smooth and tasteful on record, but they lit up the Somerset sky with bright lights and good vibes. They were followed by Fatboy Slim, who spun his customary upbeat party set from an alcove inside a giant video screen. Full marks to both for defying a day of misery with a dash of magic.
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Arriving late for their Pyramid Stage headline set, the White Stripes were the most feverishly anticipated act of the day. Jack and Meg White played a brave but baffling show. Just two people, no visual gimmicks, playing for 70,000 people. You have to admire their nerve, at least.
Jack White crunched out a cacophony of raw garage-punk blues chords that were often bludgeoned out of all recognisable shape, while sobbing in a declamatory style that sometimes lurched into performance-art parody. “We’re sorry about the mud, we’re sorry about the rain, and we’re sorry we’re from America,” White announced in a demonically distorted growl.
No apologies necessary, old chap. They may have been painfully arch and mildly preposterous, but at least the White Stripes rounded off Glastonbury’s troubled first day on a clanging note of charismatic weirdness. All they need now are a few decent tunes.