Glastonbury: You've all got swine flu!

Ah Glastonbury, what a weekend, the bbc keep striving to remind us. The amazing artists, the often glorious weather, and the thousands of smiling Brits lapping up the good 'vibes'. But of course, that's just the view of the dear BBC, and the owners and promoters of glastonbury. We feel that it's only fair that here at marmite and mass hysteria, we give the world an alternative, but just as 'true' look at the way the festival went, organised into the good, the bad, and the ugly.

The Good:

Acts such as Bruce Springsteen, Status Quo, Jarvis Cocker and Tom Jones showed the audience that hits older than most of the audience themselves still dominate the world of pop music in ways that modern, electro music can not. The sheer energy and professionalism of these artists made the whole weekend amazing, and Springsteen even kept the bad weather at bay, with a tight authentic rock and roll sound that simply deflected the rain clouds to London. That's the kind of non-sensical sucking up crap that the rest of the media world said about the aged artists dotted through the festival. In reality, Bruce Springsteen and Jarvis Cocker were simply the artists with the largest reputation still capable of both sounding decent and being able to move on stage. The shows, by and large, especially from Tom Jones and Status Quo, were merely aged throwbacks to a bygone era, where the music still sounded good, but the age of the artists showed heavily on stage, with slow movement and lack of youth holding back the enthusiasm that the artists so dearly wanted to give. Seeing Tom Jones dancing like an embarrassingly drunk old uncle at a christmas party, and Status Quo looking increasingly like your dad does when he dresses up as a rockstar, was in all honesty, just a bit sad for us fans of rock and roll. Bruce Springsteen, the one man and his harmonica (and guitar, rhythm guitar,lead guitar, saxophone,drums, keyboards, piano, flute, bass, backing vocals, banjo, acoustic guitars, kitchen sink, caravan, dog, cat, Beavis, Butthead, Morecambe, Wise,Ant, Dec and the holy grail) may have put on an 'astounding' set, but cost Michael Eavis, Glastonbury's evil controller, £3000 for playing too loud after the curfew. Bruce promised he would pay the money back from his wages from the carwash he still works at in New Jersey, because he's so working class, and down to earth, remember?

The Bad:

Lily Allen, well done, you made covered Britney Spears' crap tunes and made them even crapper by adding your crap fake cockney voice to a crap beat, and at least you missed out the crap dance, but that's probably only because you shovel your body with crap food.

Blur: You're old and nobody cares now, even if your bassist is Alex James, from blur! Yet another band who just look like the worlds oldest bachelor party gone wrong.

Dizzee Rascal: It's a live music event! Live! Music! Not a karaoke! And if Michael Jackson was alive before Dizzee Rascal gave old 'wacko' the tribute, the King of pop would have topped himself after that awful tribute.

The Horrors: 'Mysterious Lighting', 'Alternative Sounds', 'Chilled out' hair, And annoying womanly fashion that appeals to the masses of pretentious, rich, snobby fashion 'outsider mainstreamers'. Wow. How cool. Pete Doherty inspires me more than this lot, and their music makes me wonder if crap indie sounds a lot better if you are, as Pete is, off your face on Heroin. And he still spends more time worrying about his tunes than his hair.

Ugly:

Ah, and now onto the subject of this year's Glastonbury. The amazing, the arty, glamourous, conceptual, showman(yes, i'm pretty sure it's show MAN) of Lady(Man) GaGa. The fantastic costumes, the lights, the amazing atmosphere and the first large act of Glastonbury. It's just an awful shame that the stupid, sleaze of a sell out forgot to sing. Instead, she was too busy writhing around on stage like a gorilla in an electric chair, or as she calls it, dancing. Although maybe that was a blessing in disguise, as every time the words 'p-p-poker face' echoed through the misguidedly cheerful crowd, a piece of the soul of music whithered and died, whilst those of us with real musical taste whispered k-k-kill her please!

The mainstream media may have hailed Glastonbury as a marvellous weekend because of the ageing rockers and average weather, but those of us who saw the virus, in the form of the elctronically generated karoke singalong tunes that decayed what otherwise was actually an okay weekend of music were just pleased to know that the majority of fans at the concert now probably have swine flu. Ah, sheer, sheer bliss.