Supposedly we're biologically determined to have sex in the summer to ensure an adequate food supply at birth in the spring. So the more than a little glamorous (alright, amorous!) Mark Hammerton playing bare torso at Old Street last summer was either
a/ a conscious nod to rock star heritage
b/ a piss take of Johnny Borrell
c/a come on and aid to circulate pheremones. Muscle-bound and tattoed, what a disgusting specimen (I don't think so!).
Who else did see Glastonbury, the 2006 film-documentary? A hugely enjoyable socio-cultural overview not of music per se but the changing faces of Festival attendees. And the early 70's psychotropic version of letting it all hang out in the name of peace and love was a little scary. May be this fear is one of animalism, our unchecked inner pulses. The full heavy-handedness of the law was revealed as Glasto acted as a refuge from the Battle of the Beanfield in the mid-80's. The travellers constructed a car sculpture of Stonehenge as a testament to the indefatigability of the human spirit. Forming the keystone/lintel was a cornflower 1971 Hillman Avenger just like mum used to drive. Cruel, like slaughtering a much loved family friend, but an apt metaphor for the ruthlessness of capitalism.
Today's Glasnost is commercialised but Michael Eavis hasn't necessarily morphed into a bad guy. Simple supply and demand economics, and only the middle class and corporates with slick online connections are abel to reserve tickets which in any case sell out within two minutes.
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