Tune in, Zone Out

We’re driving down this narrow, winding, sludgy path towards our campsite and shouting out greetings to happy faces covered in mud. Some are in costume (many Alices-in-Wonderland and mad hatters), some naked, others tripping or utterly wasted.

We finally get to our campsite. My trailer’s apparently closest to the one Kate Moss is in. It’s 9.30 pm and we scoot off to see the White Stripes. They’re at the Pyramid stage, no prizes for guessing why it’s called that. They must have been having an off day because by the fourth song, we’re looking at each other and thinking this sounds like Parsi wedding music, with more distortion and less vibe.

We leave for Fat Boy Slim. We’re ankle-deep in mud, stuck in the muck and losing it! And the Worthy Farm, on which the festival is taking place, seems like it’s at least a couple of hundred acres across because of all the sludge-trudging from one stage to another. By the time Mr Cook is done transcendentalising us, we’re wiped.

When the main stage shut for the night, we make off to the side stages, which are just getting good. Great bands, lots of people and a more intimate party experience. Folks are dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns (and mud-covered wellies), rocking to hip hop, funk, soul, jazz, trance, house, tribal and everything in between. Tomorrow, Pentagram.

June 25: Usually, I need my sleep on the day of a show. Today, I’m up at 8 am, having konked off early. I head out for a walk and see what, to me, will always embody the Glastonbury vibe. Most people are asleep (which means there’s only a few hundred walking around), but someone’s pulled out an upright piano, wedged it into the mud and is playing and singing. Six or seven people join in and the next thing you know, the morning comes alive with music.

We get to our stage (the Brasian Stage in the Lost Vagueness Arena) and set up our gear while the other bands are playing. There are the usual jitters. And it doesn’t feel very different from the many shows we’ve done before, but, of course, it is. These guys don’t know us or our music. For them, Pentagram is just an Indian band and this performance will decide whether it was worth having them over.

We unleash Ten from our last album, Up. After the 40 initial stunned seconds, they’re up in the air. We kick the concert into Drive mode, and by the second chorus, they’re singing along even though they don’t know the words! Then we play Don’t Care, an aggressive singalong. And boy, do they! Disconnected is up next and the madness keeps rolling. Then we decide to surprise them with our patented Prodigy & Tom Morello laced version of U2’s Desire. They fabulously lose it.

People are waiting for us backstage. The happiest conversation I have that night is with one of the organisers, who invites us back in 2007 (there’s no festival in 2006).

June 26: Post-show heads still buzzing, we’re up and about early and start notching up concert visits. After two rainy days, it’s sunny today and the sludge is drying up. We trudge from Van Morrison and Brian Wilson (from the Beach Boys) to newcomers like Jem. After a lunch break, we head for Garbage. What a band, what a show and what a woman. Shirley Manson has it all. A great band and a great producer in Butch Vig. Plus, she makes love to a latex lesbian she grabbed from the crowd.

When they’re done, I get the opportunity to fulfil my dream of seeing Tori Amos live. Her insanity has always been an inspiration and she doesn’t let me down. She’s playing an all-piano set on the acoustic stage.

After a thumping bout of Basement Jaxx, we leave. There’s a long ride ahead and a plane to catch.

June 27: Damn, it’s over. I never want clean shoes again; I miss the mud. Imagine 1.4 million people, no traffic jams, no jostling, no fights, not even a frown. Nobody got angry or frustrated. Not even the cops. They were there out of love for music and it showed. If there’s a heaven, at Glastonbury ’05, Pentagram caught a little glimpse of it.