Until last night at nine o’clock, no one could say it was anything approaching a classic Glasto. Lana del Rey was shunted to the Other Stage (eventually being escorted offstage by security after repeatedly misunderstanding the curfew), while Guns N’ Roses embarrassed themselves on the Pyramid Stage (Slash was predictably effervescent but Axl Rose basically can’t sing anymore). Lizzo (she should have headlined) was reduced to a supporting role and the only top-billed act who lived up to their reputation were the continually transformative and monstrously good Arctic Monkeys.
Sure, the sun shone all weekend, and there was the usual sense of otherworldly bonhomie, but when Rick Astley and Cat Stevens (the audience obviously had no idea who the latter was, although to their credit they appeared to know his songs) are your secret weapon, you know something’s not quite right with the world.
Weirdly the act that generated the most star power was Chrissie Hynde’s Pretenders, which included cameos from Johnny Marr, Dave Grohl and even Paul McCartney – emerging to give a Macca-esque thumbs up before darting backstage to hang out with all the other slebs who had made the pilgrimage to Worthy Farm.
But then Elton John appeared and everything tilted back on its axis. As we thought it might. Striding across the stage in a suit that – I’m not going to lie – looked like it was made from 24 karat bacofoil, he treated us all to a set full of greatest hits forged by a lifetime of collective memories as well as performative genius.
Every one was a banger: Pinball Wizard, The Bitch is Back, Your Song, Someone Saved My Life Tonight, Daniel, Benny and the Jets and all the rest. When the band broke into Philadelphia Freedom, the crowd suddenly realised they were as much in charge of the evening as Elton – a song that has increasingly become a battle cry for gay rights bounced around Michael Eavis’s pop-up city (which last night was nothing if not a giant dressing up box) as though it were a pansexual, multidenominational hosanna. This was primal gratification on a massive, nay, gigantic scale.
There were flares and fireworks (of course there were), a proposal in the crowd that went viral soon afterwards, and guest stars, too: Jacob Lusk from Gabriels, Stephen Sanchez, Brandon Flowers, and Rina Sawayama duetting on Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. Ever the tactician, Elton actually chose artists who the rest of Glastonbury wanted to see. And he played Candle in the Wind.
We all wanted it to go on forever, which is the opposite of how we felt on Saturday watching Axl Rose (at one pointed I was tempted to shout, “Play something we don’t know”, such was the butchery onstage). I’m sure the majority of the crowd, and those many millions watching at home on TV would have been perfectly happy for Elton to go on deep into Sunday.
This was of course meant to be Elton’s very last concert in the UK, and while physically he occasionally looked frail, his voice was as good as ever. There were times when he could have easily used backing singers to enhance his performance, but mostly it was Elton pure and simple. And actually not so simple.
He’ll be back. He has to be back. Elton’s just too good not to be back. Regardless, the spirit of the Rocket Man will fly around Glasto forever.
