Bleary headed, under the cosh of relentless heat and humidity, our Sunday-opening set from legendary British funk group Cymande makes the perfect balm – joyous not only in its fizzling sound, grooves lush and light on their feet– but it its energy. A band who, as they remind us from the stage, have spent decades striving for their rightful dues as one of British music’s most foundational groups, instead finding perpetual cult favourites sampled by everyone from De La Soul to The KLF, since their reunion last year (with a new album and a retrospective documentary) it’s felt as if the group have been riding a wave of long-awaited recognition, finally receiving their admission into the canon. At least that’s how it feels watching this totally joyful performance. Another longstanding outfit, reggae veterans Black Uhuru are next on the same stage. As they arrive, the oppressive clouds that have been hanging over the farm start to dissipate, revealing the blistering sunshine beneath – lending their punchy and direct set that little extra edge.
Next, another old-timer of an altogether different sort: this year’s ‘Legend Slot’ headliner Rod Stewart. Thanks to the sheer scale of the hike between West Holts and The Pyramid, we arrive half an hour late, encountering an enormous crowd when we do so. Though that’s not unusual for the traditional Sunday afternoon performance, it really is worth pointing out how stark the juxtaposition is between the amount of people here and what it is they’re watching. It’s as if 100,000 people have somehow been crammed into a Pontins, and not in a good way. Images on the screen are presented through filters that might as well have been sourced from a 2017 Instagram post. They show Stewart’s backing singers doing a lot of the heavy lifting – propping up his croaking vocals, taking lead during multiple costume changes; while he swaps from a Vegas-y black suit to a garish pink number, they perform ‘Lady Marmalade’. As the green is swapped for an equally garish green, they do ‘Proud Mary.’
Though to his credit, Stewart performs with the cast-iron confidence of a musician delivering the gig of the millennium, it is all quite profoundly rubbish, as befits a man who had a few days prior urged the public to “give Farage a chance”. Mick Hucknall is introduced as a guest for a limp ‘If You Don’t Know Me By Now’, and later – to underscore the sheers 70s-ness of it all (again, not in a good way) – comes Ronnie Wood for ‘Stay With Me’, and then Lulu for ‘Hot Legs’. The latter is set bafflingly against a slideshow of photographs showing Stewart in various football kits; presumably his are the legs in question. Not even an appearance by Michael Eavis himself, to whom Stewart dedicates ‘I Don’t Wanna Talk About It’, can rescue this turkey.
In dire need of a palate cleanser, we seek out St. Vincent at Woodsies. Last time we saw Annie Clarke at Glastonbury, she was supporting her retro lounge pop concert album Daddy’s Home with an insanely tightly choreographed performance (70s in a good way, this time). Now, off the back of back-to-basics self-produced follow-up All Born Screaming, there’s a newfound sense of flexibility to her show, allowing her the space to rest simply upon the sheer instrumental chops that have always been the foundation of her sprawling and ambitious discography. After that, a clamber up to the hill next to The Park Stage to take in the spectacular view of the entire Glastonbury site. The sun is setting over the vast, sensorially overwhelming settlement that by this time tomorrow will be vanishing back into the ether. From below, we can hear the glistening sound of Future Islands as the sun’s heat finally begins to drop.
The temperature is still to be ramped up one last time, however, with Other Stage headliners The Prodigy. Six years ago, frontman Maxim points out, they had been booked for this very slot, but cancelled in the wake of Keith Flint’s suicide. “This is his night,” Maxim proclaims to a roar of agreement, after which comes an outpouring of ferocious energy from both parties that you sense would have done their late comrade proud. ‘Firestarter’ arrives early in the set, along with screens displaying a searing outline of those iconic horns. All around us flares are being lit among the hectic and heaving crowd, and it only gets more intense from there. tQ’s Glastonbury 2025 ends in total euphoria.
