The Sugababes’ set at Glastonbury , an unexpected must-see for, anecdotally at least, absolutely every person with a ticket, quickly became its own kind of hell. Signs near the West Holts stage urged latecomers to stay away due to overcrowding. Unverified reports say there were people fainting in the crowd.
This was pointless, easily avoidable chaos. In terms of current chart success or creativity at this particular moment in time, Sugababes may not be Pyramid stage material, but for many punters here they tick numerous boxes: nostalgia, bangers, brand recognition. Shoving them over on West Holts is misguided at best, irresponsible at worst.
On stage at least, the band appear to be having a blast. There’s something incredibly affecting about seeing this trio smile. At the peak of their commercial zenith in the early Noughties, they were recognised and beloved for being pop’s grumpiest girl band – three moody teenagers so preternaturally jaded that it was sometimes less fun to watch them live as it was to speculate which one could beat you up the quickest.
(Mutya, obviously. It was always Mutya.) Nearly 25 years since their grungy, surf guitar-led debut “Overload” and in the wake of at least 30 different member line-ups (OK, like four), they hit the West Holts stage with the relieved, endearing joy of grown women who’ve seen all the destructive chaos of more than two decades in the music industry and come out glowing.
As a show, this contains a lot of synchronise.
