Alexis was rightly and totally blown away by Olivia Rodrigo, calling her set the best big one of the festival. Here’s his five-star rave:
That is everything for tonight, and indeed this year – thanks so much for following all of our nonsense here. Devastated to report that it’s a fallow year next year, so we’ll see you in 2027?
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The Prodigy reviewed
This is the Prodigy’s fourth appearance at Glastonbury, but as Maxim says in a brief respite from the pummelling blast beats of Voodoo People, it should be their fifth. On the eve of their 2019 booking Keith Flint was found dead at his home in Essex. “Six years ago we lost our brother. This is his night,” Maxim declares.
Flint looms large at this year’s festival – head over to Joe Rush’s Carhenge and you’ll see his menacing grin adorning the bonnet of an upturned muscle car. But in tonight’s set he is positioned as a very visible absence: a silhouette, instantly recognisable by the two devilish points above the temples, is pinned to the giant screens by green lasers. On a reimagined Firestarter his vocals are winnowed down to a single repeated “I’m a firestarter”, Flint haunting the track rather than dominating it as he once did. And on Breathe his vocals in the chorus are omitted, with the crowd stepping in instead.
Flint’s absence is counterbalanced by a whole lot more Maxim, here playing the role of MC, compere and chief cajoler, shepherding crowds through the different eras of the band’s 35 year career, from the saucer-eyed hardcore techno of Jilted Generation to the rocky EDM of Invaders Must Die.
A word for the Other stage. It has received a glow up this year, with giant hi-def screens added, as well as a new lighting rig. It now is probably the best place to watch music at Glastonbury: every performance I’ve seen here has felt immersive and massive. That’s particularly true for the Prodigy and their retina-singing light show, with meandering lasers and walls of glitching graphics.
The spectacle seems to filter down to the audiences too, who have seemed up for it – bordering on unhinged – all weekend. There’s a sprit of the bacchanal tonight. Weed fug and pyro smoke hovers above the crowd of, as Maxim calls them “Prodigy warriors”: loud, unruly, boozy (and the rest). As the crowd skanks and sways to the boinging central refrain from Out of Space, Maxim surveys the scene and declares: “I think Mr Flint would have have been proud of you.”
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