Prannet Of The Apes

There was a moment during the televised coverage of the Gorrillaz gig at Glastonbury when the camera swung down over the front of the crowd. Normally, TV grammar dictates that the audience will be happy, effervescent and totally into the music. Only this time, the lens focused on a girl who was having a good old yawn.

I know how she felt. Glastonbury is normally the chance for an artist to delight the crowd, to rev up the populism, to fill your booster rockets with that potent festival bonhomie. Yet watching from the comfort of my home, my ears still blasted from a Panama Kings / In Case Of Fire gig in Belfast, the Gorillaz were dull.

Damon had that professorial tone about him, like he expected us to be taking seminar notes. So many amazing musicians were introduced, from Bobby Womack to Lou Reed, by way of Mark E Smith and a couple of Clash legends. But it was only Snoop who changed the dynamic, cutting across the Damon conceit and addressing the crowd like they were his best mates.

On another part of the site, The Flaming Lips were giving it all. The canons and confetti, the emotion and the delirium. It made excellent sense and I couldn't help wondering how U2 might have behaved if they had made their Glastonbury debut. It would not have been quiet or under-achieving. Maybe they would have misjudged the scene and patronised Glastonbury with their enormity. But I think not. And I don't think there would have been too many yawns in the front rows.