Glastonbury 2017: Sunday evening, with Ed Sheeran and Boy Better Know – as it happened

My name’s Magpie, storyteller at Green Kids.

What do you love about Glastonbury?

I love that fact that everyone gets together. Last year, when Brexit happened, it was my birthday: 23 June was my birthday; and it was a disaster, everybody woke up misearable, there was rain. This year it’s my birthday and I’m 50; Corbyn’s kind of won but not won, and the atmosphere is bringing people together. It’s beautiful and it’s all free, apart from the food. Even the weather, that little bit of rain has controlled all the dust. All people ask about when I say I’m going to Glastonbury is the mud, so this year I can go back really smug.

Is your get-up to do with your storytelling?

Magpie is one of my characters. The hat was made in America, because a lot of my stories are from Native Americans, they’re shamanic, there’s lots of shape-shifting with animals. So Magpie Dragonteller became my whole name. I had a company for nine years that worked in education and therapy, and I found myths were the best way in. So after a while I’d collected enough stories to come and play here. It’s fab, I’ve being doing it 17 years now.

Are you strong and stable?

Yeah, for the first time since Thatcher I’ve always been on the other side. Socialism was a dirty word, and when they invaded the Falklands I was at school and you couldn’t even talk about the other side because I was considered to be anti the country or something. This is the first time since then I actually feel my voice is part of the mainstream. So yeah, I feel very strong and stable at the moment. How dare she?

Grime or Grohl?

I’m terrible. When I come I hardly see any music. I just wander and fall into something I’ve never heard of.

Flanked by jittery hi-res imagery full of paranoia and surveillance – which dovetails with the angsty asymmetric rhythms – grime supergroup BBK add an extra chill to the closing-in evening.

Their respective stars have ascended to varying degrees – Skepta the international star, Jme the cult hero, Wiley the enigmatic godfather, Jammer, Frisco and Shorty the hungry underdogs – and sometimes there’s complacency from the more successful: Wiley does Can’t Do Wrong with the backing vocal all the way up, while Skepta has the crowd finish most of his bars and even some of his choruses.

But much of it is outstanding. Jme’s control of the crowd, quelling them on Calm before deranging them again, is masterful; his snowboard boots are the instant fashion win of the festival, and his entrepreneurial anthem Work is wonderfully focused.

Skepta, who seems tired of renaissance anthem That’s Not Me, is hypnotically energised on the US-flavoured tracks like No Security (complete with pink umbrella) and It Ain’t Safe. Jammer’s barking exhortations to the “alcohol massive”, and his star-jump animation, is a constant defibrillator paddle. Now armed with a greatest hits set, BBK show once more how they’ve carved out one of the most important – and vibe-laden – sounds in British musical history.

More gauloise than Galway Girl, French electro duo Justice’s West Holts set offers a sophisticated alternative for those who can’t bear to sit through Ed Sheeran. Stood facing each other in a manner reminiscent of the old Extreme Staring Contest sketches from Big Train, Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay barely acknowledge the existence of the up-for-it crowd in front of them. No matter, their funk, gospel and disco-tinged electro speaks loudly enough. D.A.N.C.E and We Are Your Friends still sound remarkably fresh after all these years.

But then, just when we assumed the pair were deliberately ignoring us, de Rosnay gets up and wades into the audience, grabbing a flag and waving it aloft. It’s curiously out of character, but nevertheless a triumphant end to another excellent year on West Holts.

2016 was a watershed moment for grime. A genre previously vilified by the authorities (see: form 696, issued by the Met to stop predominately black artists putting shows on) had crossed over to the mainstream, and the attention wasn’t just concentrated on the youngest artists, but also those in their 30s who had paved the way.

Skepta bagged a UK No 1 album, and Giggs – who had his 2010 tour cancelled by the police – got to No 2. Not far behind was Kano, who reached No 8 with Made in the Manor, a deeply confessional record that eschewed braggadocio to show off the east Londoner’s development as an artist.

It’s with tracks from this record that he kicks off his Park stage set, including the brass-heavy My Sound and the ecclesiastical vibes of A Roadman’s Hymn – full of the same grime energy as in time gone by, but with a wider focus. When he throws back to P’s+Q’s – complete with a jolting reload – the crowd goes wild, but GarageSkankFreestyle and 3WheelUps from Made In The Manor shows he hasn’t lost his talent for the no nonsense nuts and bolts of the genre. A class act.

Biffy Clyro’s Pyramid stage set begins with an extended piece of atonal choral music – Steven Paulus’s I Cannot Dance, O Lord – blared out at deafening volume while the band stand motionless next to their instruments. “What the actual fuck is this?” screams an aviator-shades-wearing lad in the crowd.

It’s one of the more peculiar Pyramid entrances in recent years, and a timely reminder that Simon Neil and co are a far more unusual prospect than they’re often given credit for. In theory, their twisty, time-signature-shifting mode of hard rock shouldn’t really appeal to the pre-Ed Sheeran crowd, but the choruses of Mountains and Many of Horror are so undeniably huge that it’s hard for anyone here to resist singing along.

Wearing their signature look of bright white chinos and not much else, the band tear through a greatest hits set that leans towards their more recent output. (A shame, as it would have been interesting to see how Neil screeching his way through an early cut such as Toys, Toys, Toys, Choke, Toys, Toys, Toys would have gone down with the Sheeranites).

Neil is on energetic, if slightly frazzled, form, hammering away at his guitar, clambering all over amps and constantly referring to the band as “Biffy fucking Clyro”. The rest of the band follow his lead, and by the time things conclude with the piledriving closing riff of Stingin’ Belle the Pyramid stage is awash with sweat. The very definition of putting a shift in.

Red check shirt, black T-shirt, and he’s doing Castle on the Hill. It’s just him, his guitar, and huge screens showing rushing clouds behind and above him.

Four of them! Will Lee, 22, from South Korea; Kelvin Muturi, 29, from London; Omar Jowhar, 27, from Cardiff and Jenna Fentimen, 27, from London.

Are you strong and stable?

Will: I think so, because I’m from South Korea and that makes me strong enough for everything. I was an exchange student in Denmark this semester. I am travelling around Europe now, and I came to England because of Glastonbury festival.

Kelvin: Up until this morning – with the energy and vibes around me. Right now, I’m a bit weak and wobbly.

Omar: I have been, at times. Depends on the time of day. Now strong, but lacking stability.

Jenna: Since seeing Radiohead, the emotional stability is lacking. I got very weepy. But deep down quite strong still.

Grohl or grime?

Will: Neither.

Kelvin: Definitely grime. I went to see quite a few grime artists yesterday – I didn’t see Dizzee, unfortunately, because I decided to see Radiohead.

Omar: It’s got to be grime for me.

Jenna: Grohl, because I grew up round Reading – and through Reading festival my 13-year-old emo self learned all about Dave Grohl.

What do you love about Glastonbury?

Jenna: I love that you can walk into any area and find any type of person. There are independent shops and cafes, it feels like everything is different and not homogenised.

Omar: It’s weird and wonderful. You can be on your way to a band you want to see, you pop into somewhere and all of a sudden you find yourself mesmerised for about 40 minutes. You’re like, wow, cool, this is amazing. There was an incredible band from Bahrain. They couldn’t do what they do there, and it’s amazing that here there’s a platform for them.

Kelvin: For me, it’s the people. The experience here is second to none. I can’t think of any other place where you can enjoy everything from great music to seeing great theatre, dancing, going to Green Fields to do arts and crafts. It touches me, in a very special place.

Will: I love the atmosphere. There are rock festivals in South Korea but they are so different. Everything is so environment-friendly, everyone is crazy about everything, and I love that everyone is actually into something for the whole five days. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.

The feted sundown set at the Park – whether it’s Father John Misty or St Vincent – has recently been the marker of an artist about to go interstellar.

This year, it’s Sampha, the introspective soul singer who has worked with Beyoncé, Drake and Frank Ocean and who brings hoards of hipster twentysomethings – including Cara Delevingne and Jamie xx – to the area. Ten years ago, it was Thom Yorke who provided a cathartic release for the awkward male species; in 2017, it’s Sampha.

The ultimate in glossy, sophisticated sorrow, sleek, XL-approved chic, tracks such as Blood On Me have the tragic euphoria of Massive Attack, while Plastic 100°C is a moment of still and haunting songwriting that manages to captivate an audience who are beginning to get the creeping fear of considering the journey home.

It’s not all blue hued, however. There’s a group drumming session, one new track has the percussive energy of house music, and Sampha is even wearing pink trousers.

But still, most of the set is restrained; slow and sensual with skittering beats – a cross-section of hyper-modern production with sentimental soul.

His highest points are Plastic 100°C, Incomplete Kisses and the crushing closing track No one Knows Me Like the Piano, a song about his mother, about loss, which he performs on his own.

Even if he doesn’t ever reach the heady heights of the Pyramid stage, he has still reduced the fragile Sunday crowd to a blubbering mess.

“Little geezer with a guitar and loads of pedals” summarises Liam Gallagher on BBC2. Let’s see whether there’s more to him than this.

We pause for a break from the Killers to bring you the Disco Bunny.

My name is Pablo. A lot of people call themselves the Disco Bunny, but I am the Disco Bunny. Disco Bunny is basically an embodiment of Glastonbury festival, but every single day of the week, including Monday morning when other people go to work and there’s no grass to be seen. Year-round. The way I’m dressed right now is very Glastonbury festival, but I wear it all the year round. I get up on Monday morning and I put on glitter, then my life goes like glitter.

I’m quite famous for wearing spandex and Lycra-style clothing, sparkles, sparkly outfits. I have a sign that says: free positive energy, free smiles, free sparkles, free glitter. And, effectively, my mission is to unite people – and Glastonbury festival is where people are united in that beautiful thing called love. It embodies what I’m striving for.

Was the Disco Bunny born here?

Not at all. It was born in a car, in a state of frustration, when I said: “Do you know what? I can’t start living my life in the future, mañana, mañana, blaming my present situation because of my past. I’m gonna do this.” And I decided to sleep in my car, do star jumps for a living and see what becomes of it. As a result, beautiful, wonderful things. I came to Glastonbury as a result of one email. I said: I am the Disco Bunny, this is my mission, my vision, my dream, this is what I do – and they said: Please come. And they gave me a free ticket. Simple as that. Thanks to Shangri-La.

Is that where we’ll find you later on?

I don’t know, I’ve lost all my mobile phones. You arrive in Glastonbury and lose both your mobile phones – one is impressive, but two is super-impressive.

Which leads me to ask, are you strong and stable?

I’m stable mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically ... just not financially.

Grime or Grohl?

Probably grime – because Grohl was yesterday and grime’s today!

Hannah J Davies went to see the trio, back after a half-decade hiatus. They’re a sun-drenched delight, she writes:

“We’ve brought the Californian sunshine!” yells Danielle Haim, using a line that music writers in attendance may have been planning (read: were definitely planning) to use.

Indeed, the sun comes out to play just as she and sisters Este and Alana take to the stage. They open with the entrancing, Fleetwood Mac-ish Want You Back, from their upcoming second album. It’s due for release in July – or, if Danielle gets her way, a little earlier: she tells us she may leak it, although she reckons she “might get in some trouble”. Perhaps, Danielle – perhaps.

The trio then go straight into beefed-up versions of their early pop-rock hits, including Forever, Don’t Save Me and the electro-inspired My Song 5 (“We all need to be angry sometimes!” Alana says), before brilliantly twangy new single Little of Your Love and Falling, its icy synth refrain sounding as fresh as it did in 2013. Overall, Haim show off a more rocky, more confident version of their 70s- and 80s-inspired rock, and evidently have a ball doing so. With their infectious energy and evolving sound, they prove a late afternoon delight. Oh, and cheers for the sunshine.

It’s our third and final night watching Glastonbury on the tellybox. As we speak, I’m witnessing Shaggy doing some violent pelvic thrusts to It Wasn’t Me. Before that, BBC2 screened Barry Gibb’s Sunday afternoon slot. I haven’t felt that jealous of the festivalgoers this weekend, but I got a bit of a pang when he played Tragedy. It sounded absolutely epic.

Tonight brings the closing headline set from Ed Sheeran on the Pyramid stage, plus Boy Better Know on the Other stage. We’ll be focusing on the ginger juggernaut, unless it gets unbearable, and posting some other reviews, too, starting with Haim.