Saturday at Glastonbury: Paul McCartney headlines the Pyramid stage – live!

Right – that’s yer lot. And what a lot it was! McCartney, Springsteen, Grohl – and that was just one Pyramid headline set. Amazingly there’s much more to come tomorrow. I assumed every band in existence had played here already, but apparently not. Expect Kendrick Lamar in the headline slot, Diana Ross in the afternoon legend’s corner and much, much more. Keep an eye out for Alexis’s review of Macca in the meantime. Good night!

Paul McCartney, Dave Grohl and Bruce Springsteen perform on the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury Photograph: Harry Durrant/Getty Images Róisín Murphy

West Holts, 10.15pm

Where Paul McCartney gives the people what they want on the Pyramid, Róisín Murphy makes us work for it. She starts with a wonderfully louche rendition of Moloko’s Fun for Me, and builds through a gentle Let Me Know and Incapable, when she starts to show the diva power in her formidable voice. She has an entirely self-possessed stage presence, high-kicking, spinning and gyrating with her foot perched on a monitor, and teases her prowess, waiting until the end of Moloko’s The Time Is Now to truly wail. Even when it comes, she has an enchantingly withholding presence, barely singing the chorus to The Time Is Now because she knows the non-McCartney faithful will do it for her.

Frill seeker: Róisín Murphy performs at the Park stage. Photograph: Scott Garfitt/AP

Throughout her set, Murphy changes costumes about a dozen times, gradually disassembling from a fabulous red suit to a lime green and purple look, red ruffles and blue glitter and many iterations in between. It mirrors her glorious deconstruction of dance music: she is poised yet unpredictable, a live wire yet utterly calm, her music minimalist but furiously bodily. At the climax of Overpowered, she is bent backward as the static whirrs; on Murphy’s Law, her voice pixelates and yet Murphy – now in a fabulous padded cropped pinstripe blazer – is hoofing her chunky heels in the air. “Just look where we are!” she yells as the set concludes, and the band traipse off one by one – only to proceed back onstage for an acoustic rendition of Moloko’s Familiar Feeling, Murphy singing down the camera in typically, fantastically confrontational fashion.

Updated at 20.42 EDT

The iPlayer’s coverage of Macca has just concluded – so, viewers at home, what did you make of it? Were you on board with the set list? What was missing? Was it Temporary Secretary? It was, wasn’t it? As ever, let us know in the comments.

It’s a mark of Glastonbury’s scale that, as vast as that McCartney crowd was – and it was truly huge – there were still quite a lot of people enjoying other things. There was a crowd spilling out of the tent for Jamie T over at the John Peel and Megan Thee Stallion pulled in good numbers over on the Other stage. I walked past people going wild in San Remo, Glastonbury’s mock-Mexican hotel dance venue. I even saw two lads dancing to some drum’n’bass being played out of an ice cream van. Truly something for everyone here.

Updated at 20.14 EDT

Over on iPlayer with its curious tape delay, Macca is howling through Helter Skelter. I missed the last hour and a half of his set, as I was off watching a shirtless Jamie T, so all of this is new to me. Dave Grohl and The Boss, huh?

Jessie Ware reviewed

Park stage, 11pm

You’ve got to be committed to make the hike up to Park stage (leaving Macca, midway!) to catch Jessie Ware just before midnight on Saturday – but we’re well rewarded with a typically polished, sensual, energetic set. I saw her at Primavera in Barcelona earlier this month and it was among the best times I’ve ever had at a festival; why she’s not a national treasure, headlining the Pyramid stage, I don’t know – but there’s still time. Certainly this crowd knows every word she sings, and is a pleasure to be part of, whereas, where I was standing, the crew for Macca (just for example) seemed casually engaged at best.

Ware, regal in long-sleeved silver sequins and flowing trousers, is a consummate professional, a disco diva staging shows that will make your night, if not your festival. From opener Spotlight (from 2020’s What’s Your Pleasure?) on, her exchange with her dancers is easy and polished, her moves precise and considered – and her songs can’t fail to move your feet, even if you don’t know them. “This festival never gets old,” she tells us before Wildest Moments. “It is the greatest festival in the world, and you are here, a part of it.” If you are looking for a disco diva, as many Glasto-goers are, you can’t do better.

Hi Gwilym here, subbing in while we pop Ben into a cryo chamber to recover. Some furious liveblogging there! I can hear the Arcadia spider belching fire into the night sky. Calvin Harris will be playing over there at 1am. Just because the big five stages have wound down for the evening, doesn’t mean that Glastonbury is finished for the day.

This thing’s got legs! The infamous Arcadia spider. Photograph: Keza MacDonald/The Guardian

Updated at 20.14 EDT

Someone in the crowd told our Sophie: “The only thing that could follow that is if Jesus, Moses and Muhammad showed up now with three ukuleles.”

Jamie T reviewed

John Peel, 10.30pm

Jamie Treays and his band have only played one small gig in advance of his return to festival performance. “Unrehearsed, fat and old,” he warns of tonight’s set. I’m not sure that’s true on any of those counts: they sound pretty tight from where I’m stood and Treays is in reasonable nick, though when he takes off his jacket and accidentally shows a bit of midriff he sings “belly’s gonna get you” (ask your parents). As for the “old” charge, Treays has been around for 15 years now and about to release album number five but is still remarkably only 36.

His fans are younger still. In front of me a 10 or 11-year-old kid is perched on his dad’s shoulders, totally hopped up on the colour, noise and light, revelling in the late bedtime. There’s a nice whiff of juvenile delinquency in the air: the now ubiquitous pyro smoke filling the Peel tent, every song promoting a mosh pit. Someone has snuck a massive parasol in and is thrusting it back and forth because … why not ?

Treays does his bit, too, tinnie in hand, furiously spitting out every last lyric. He’s got a deep bench of foolproof festival bangers now, from his early, cheeky punk poet stuff to the snarling careworn recent material. Sticks’n’Stones, Back in the Game, Dragon Bones, and, of course, Sheila are all received exuberantly.

As he rounds things off with a pummelling Zombie, Treays whips his shirt off, spare tyre exposed to the world. “I don’t give a fuck,” he snarls. Older? Sure. Wiser? Hmm. But great all the same.

We’ll have a full review of Paul McCartney from Alexis Petridis shortly, plus reviews of some of the headliners of other stages around the site: Jamie T and Jessie Ware.