Might as well get the Glasto puns out of the way. ‘Crazy In Mud’, “I don’t think you’re ready for these wellies” etc. News that Beyonce is headlining the Sunday night at Glastonbury – which she just confirmed – is fairly obviously cause for celebration.
You’d have to be a pretty glum soul not to be uplifted by the prospect of hearing ‘Survivor’ amongst 80,000 last-chance-to-go-nuts drunkards. Though admittedly the singer’s presence at Worthy Farm raises some intriguing questions.
Chiefly: will Beyonce bring on husband Jay-Z for a re-run of his 2008 headline set? Will she swagger onstage wearing one of those hilarious fake Michael Eavis beards? Will her helicopter arrive on site early so she can catch Suuns in the John Peel tent?
I suppose if you were being a sourpuss you could argue it doesn’t feel like quite as much of an event as Prince might have done (he’s long been rumoured to headline the Sunday), but let’s face it – this performance is pretty much guaranteed not to suck.
Those who saw Beyonce’s 2009 UK arena tour generally came back pie-eyed, panting tales of Howitzer-strength vocals, endless costume changes (including some kind of Robocop-esque metal breastplate), and the kind of retina-melting lighting display last seen on Bikini Atoll circa 1954. In other words: a jaw-dropping, blockbuster live show.
Another point in Beyonce’s favour: she provides a good counterweight to the other likely headliners, U2 and Coldplay. After all those earnest anthems, we’ll have clenched our fists to a bloody pulp – we’ll be glad of some light relief. Not that most people plonk themselves in front of the Pyramid for the entire weekend, but you get my point.
Besides, Glastonbury can be a pretty bleak place by the time Sunday night rolls around: a muddy wasteland sagging beneath the weight of shell-shocked drug casualties, discarded nitrous oxide canisters, and marauding sewage trucks. Beyonce will provide some much-needed glitz. And will hopefully sing ‘Crazy In Love’ loud enough to drown out the regretful sobs of those who’ve overdone the miaow miaow.
Though, from a personal point of view, the thought of hungover, unshaven NME colleagues attempting to half-heartedly crump to ‘Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)’ fills me with a terrible sense of foreboding.