(extracted from Turn Left at the Womble-How A 48 Year old Dad survived his first time at Glastonbury)
As the Stranglers were on next I wondered whether they would be any good - especially without Hugh Cornwall. Maybe they would be like some bad pub style tribute band.
I told Amy and Sacha that I’d seen them loads back in the days of the punk wars (when I was metaphorically manning the artistic barricades etc) but the air of general incomprehension led me to gather that it didn’t make sense to them at all. “Never mind,” I said, “They may be ok, let’s see how they are.”
After a bit of messing around by roadies and the like, and sticking to the timings they came on stage near enough at the right time, all dressed in black (as expected) and the crowd went potty. Far from being a tribute act they were very tight, cranking out song after song and I was amazed at how many I remembered. Get a Grip, Nuclear Device, No More Heroes, Peaches and more-it was a greatest hits that took me back and nearly (but not quite) had me singing along. There were though however, loads of people bellowing along, many more that I would have expected to have known of them. Even Amy and Sacha seemed to be enjoying it, and although they were not bopping along they did nod quite enthusiastically.
As for the Stranglers themselves, the replacement for Hugh Cornwall, the baldy bloke was sufficiently gruff enough, JJ Burnel didn’t seemed to have aged at all and was still throwing the old shapes across the stage, wielding his bass like some broadsword. Dave Greenfield appeared as odd as ever and Jet Black, well, he must’ve been in his 50s when they were in his prime, so how old was he now? Sixty-five? Seventy? Seventy-five? (I knew when we got back home I would have to check it out on Wikipedia. I did, and he is 72.) It didn’t really matter because they were so surprisingly enjoyable.
Get/see/read "Turn Left at the Womble" here:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Turn-Left-The-Womble-Glastonbury-ebook/dp/B0060YCKGW
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