Sunday at Glastonbury 2023: Yusuf / Cat Stevens, Lil Nas X, the Chicks – plus Elton John still to come – follow it live!

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Hey folks! Keza taking over from Laura here on the liveblog – I’ve just sprinted back from Blondie, which was one of the most heartening performances I’ve seen in a while. It doesn’t matter if you get old! Just keep rocking!

While we await Ben’s review of Blondie, here are a couple of snaps of Debbie Harry apparently having a whale of a time on the Pyramid stage.

Photograph: Oli Scarff/AFP/Getty ImagesDebbie Harry getting up close with the crowd. Photograph: Oli Scarff/AFP/Getty Images

Updated at 13.10 EDT

Viagra Boys reviewed!

Jenessa Williams

Park stage, 4pm

“None of you hippies better be sitting down out there … I know its 4.30, but this is your last chance to have fun, unless you want to see Elton John choke on a prawn…”

The prawn is somewhat inexplicable, but this kind of surrealist specificity is what Viagra Boys do well. With singer Sebastian Murphy introducing them tonight as “Scandinavia’s worst band”, they approach the art of dance-post-punk with vim and vigour, lacking in the kind of self-seriousness that has sometimes held similar-sounding bands back.

Ain’t No Thief, Slow Learner and Punk Rock Loser are kitsch in their bawdiness, driving grooves that mimic the glory years of Skins parties and indie discos, but with a steelier political edge. With 2022 album Cave World taking on broad themes of pandemic-era vaccine hesitancy and conspiracy theory, they dedicate Troglodyte to “the fucking right wing, fucking everything up”, drawing enormous cheers. With a ch-ch-ch-ch hook that echoes that of My Sharona, it ignites the masses and everything from here in on is an easy win.

Sebastian Murphy of Viagra Boys on the Park stage. Photograph: Scott Garfitt/Invision/AP

Sports is still their best known banger – chanting through the mundanities of chest-puffed toxic masculinity as Murphy delivers illustrative wheezing press ups – but they close on a version of Research Chemicals which quickly turns so feral that half the band are in the crowd, a dustbowl cloud forms from all the dancing, and one particular lad down the front starts throwing his own toddler high in the air, health and safety protocols be damned. As chants of “one more song, one more song” are bellowed but ultimately not met, the energy is, quite frankly, insatiable.

Updated at 13.09 EDT

Yusuf/Cat Stevens reviewed

Alexis Petridis’s review of Yusuf/Cat Stevens’ ‘Sunday legend’ performance is in, and he found it quite the tonic …

Updated at 12.52 EDT

Speakers Corner Quartet reviewed!

West Holts, 4pm

For an hour or so this afternoon the West Holts stage is transformed into the dimly lit bar in Brixton where Speakers Corner Quartet hold court, inviting jazz, soul and spoken word artists to follow them down the rabbit hole. The quartet’s debut album, 17 years in the making, is followed here by a victory lap performance where many of their long term collaborators – Tirzah, Shabaka Hutchings, Kae Tempest, Joe-Armon Jones – make an appearance in an unceasing conveyor belt of British talent.

Befitting this assemblage of characters is a wildly varied set, each song generously deferring to the characteristics of its collaborator. Hutchings’ propulsive free jazz saxophone is backed by a swirling, hypnotic composition, while Tirzah’s unconventionally accented, whispered alt-soul vocals are given a delicate, respectful backing and Coby Sey’s barked spoken word is supported by a doomy repeated riff.

But it’s the track featuring Tempest, Geronimo Blues, that truly spellbinds, the swirl of strings and flutes building alongside the rise and fall of their stirring spoken word pronouncements. Afterwards Tempest, in a rousing speech, underlined the importance of music and community in fractious times. Speakers Corner Quartet are surely proof of that.

Updated at 12.57 EDT

Toyah and Robert Fripp reviewed!

Acoustic stage, 4.10pm

Fresh from their popular pandemic covers series, husband-and-wife duo Toyah Willcox and Robert Fripp appear on the misleadingly named Acoustic stage for a set of songs by artists that either the pop star or the King Crimson guitarist have worked with. Willcox, 65 and lithe in a glossy red catsuit, beckons their six-piece, besuited band (with Fripp front and center) to open with a fiery version of her hit Thunder in the Mountains. “We thought we were in the heavy metal tent, I’m really sorry,” she says afterwards, before shouting out her Birmingham hometown and fellow Brummies Black Sabbath. “This is our acoustic version,” she jokes of the next track, jerking and twisting her body as the band launch into a pummelling, and very much electric, rendition of Paranoid.

The set is unambiguously geared towards members of their generation, with rock sing-a-long standards paired with entreaties to remember one’s first detention or first kiss. Often Willcox plays up to her rock-chick status, making explicit her own active sex life. “I’ve been married to this hunk for 37 years; in fact he’s 77’ years of pure rock sex,” she says of Fripp, who is in headphones, seated on a black block beside her, with a tablet presumably displaying his guitar tablature. He smiles benignly. “Now going to the other side of the spectrum, let’s go to my pop career.”

She flings herself into Martha and the Muffins’ Echo Beach, and the mostly pentagenarian or over crowd ramp up from swaying hips to appreciative bobs, holding aloft phones in card-wallet cases. It is swiftly followed by her own It’s a Mystery, which she heralds as having soundtracked everything from detentions to conceptions. “Oh my God, this man is so cool,” gushes Willcox again of her impassive husband. “And I made him breakfast this morning. I’m so glad I slept with a guitarist!” The gusto and energy of her performance unsettlingly contrast the brisk and functional band, like she’s hogging the mic at karaoke for rock hits from Metallica to Neil Young – but the crowd reciprocate her energy with equal enthusiasm.

Updated at 13.05 EDT

Here’s the view from Blondie from two different angles, down at the Pyramid stage…

Blondie performing on the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury, 25 June 2023. Photograph: Keza MacDonald/The Guardian

And from the Park stage.

The crowd at Blondie as seen from the Park stage at Glastonbury, 25 June 2023. Photograph: Josh Halliday/The Guardian

Up at Blondie, they’ve done a keytar-centric rendition of Call Me, Debbie has now removed her visor, and given some insight on putting the setlist together. “We gotta get those phone songs outta the way early, because none of it is relevant today.”

Jury’s still out on Britney appearing with Elton, but …

Updated at 12.13 EDT

We try to plan our reviews and editing shifts so no one has to miss anything they’re desperate to see, though there’s usually one casualty of the schedule. For me it’s Blondie, who sound great even coming through the cabin window.

Inevitably, it’s even better out there, says Keza: “Debbie Harry ROCKING IT in thigh highs and a kind of RoboCop visor. Hangin’ on the Telephone sounds huge even from the top of the hill.”

Updated at 12.12 EDT

And here’s Dylan B Jones’s account of his attempts to face off against the inevitable Glastonbury filth. Years ago a friend told me to always shower before bed, no matter if it’s 6am and you’re feeling somewhat “refreshed”, which has always served me well. Saying that, I just touched the back of my head and realised there’s a bird’s nest going on back there, so who knows how aesthetically effective it is …

Updated at 12.11 EDT

Ahead of Elton John later, here’s Rich Pelley’s attempt to live like him at Glastonbury …

And here’s the view from the front of the Pyramid stage as people camp out waiting for John to play …

Updated at 12.07 EDT

A few updates from the field: Viagra Boys just dedicated their song Troglodyte to the “fucking right wing, fucking everything up, especially here in Europe”. Very different to the vibes at Cat Stevens’ legends slot, where Father and Son set off a lot of happy-sad tears. Meanwhile during Speakers Corner Quartet, Kae Tempest called for everyone to hold onto community, music and Glastonbury. “This is a special place, hallowed ground, we used to break into this fucking place,” they say.

Sebastian Murphy of the Viagra Boys on stage Photograph: Scott Garfitt/Invision/AP

Updated at 12.29 EDT

Cat Burns reviewed!

Woodsies, 3.30pm

Buzzy TikTok-famous singer-songwriter Cat Burns has a pretty fanatical young fanbase, but it doesn’t look like much of it is here for her heartfelt bedroom-pop songs today. There’s a decent-sized crowd but you can hear them chattering over her sparse, emotive guitar and emotionally naked lyrics. She sings about young-people stuff – breakups of all kinds from toxic to healthy, romantic to friendship; jealousy; mental health; finding yourself – in a way that is universally relatable but oddly non-specific.

Halfway through the set she does a cover medley of Ed Sheeran’s A Team and Justin Bieber’s Love Yourself, which makes me feel 1,000 years old. She channels those artists a bit on a new song about “not being chosen”, and suddenly we get a much bigger sound from her: “I’m entering my pop-rock era,” she tells us. “Just once every so often, when I’m feeling a bit different.”

She’s super confident up there in a slouchy blazer with rolled-up sleeves and shorts, chatting breezily, totally unfazed by the occasion. People Pleaser is an easy clappable singalong; Love More serves up anthemic if bland positivity (“If there’s something you want to do, just do it – don’t let your head stop your heart from moving”); and her giant slow-burn hit Go closes the set. Only now, for these final songs, do the audience feel truly enthused. “Four years ago I was busking on the South Bank, singing for my supper, and now I’m here,” she says. She seems determined to go further.

Updated at 11.28 EDT

The site is abuzz with people convinced that Elton John will be bringing out Britney Spears later to perform their updated club version of Tiny Dancer. Shaad spoke to some people camped out at the main stage who swore blind she was coming; there are already any number of clickbait articles piecing together “clues” from Spears’ Instagram, where she recently mentioned coming to London to go shopping and shared images of [checks notes] an apple that may or may not be cut into the shape of the St George’s flag? A painting of a McDonald’s Filet-o-Fish next to a rose captioned with three Union Jacks??? Plus there are the entirely unconfirmed “reports” of her being spotted at Bristol airport doing the rounds. Personally I think it’s really unlikely – Spears was anxious enough about the recording of Tiny Dancer coming out and hasn’t performed live since 2018 – much as I’d love to see it.

Updated at 11.24 EDT

Black Country, New Road reviewed!

West Holts, 2pm

It’s testament to the originality, musicianship and emotional wallop of Black Country, New Road that they can draw a crowd this big for a set of what is essentially long-form prog-folk songs, without any of the tracks that made them famous.

They play the whole of the set that features in their recent live album Live at Bush Hall, plus a couple of new songs: one a rather meandering one helmed by Georgia Ellery (also of Jockstrap) singing and playing mandolin, the other absolutely terrific, based around a fiendishly intricate and beautiful melody and a vocal from bassist Tyler Hyde.

In the wake of vocalist Isaac Wood leaving, the singing is split between four members and each has their appeal – but it’s Hyde who has the most affecting moments. On this new song she creates the sense of coming to terms with something in real time, while on Laughing Song she sings “I have accepted that no one else will make me laugh like that”, adding a crushed little “ever again” after the band has gone silent. The weather broods and fusses, unsure of whether to rain.

Dressed in the manner of every generation of art student – clothes so rejected and uncool that they go round the other side and become cool again – the band has some hideous ties and three-quarter length shorts on display here. There’s also a lovely sense of camaraderie as four of them huddle together, hug and chat while Ellery and pianist-vocalist May Kershaw perform pristine ballad Turbines/Pigs.

It’s also wonderful to see them moving around masterfully between vocal duties and instruments: drummer Charlie Wayne picks up a banjo, say, while singer Lewis Evans toggles between sax and flute. Songs will drift or waltz around before ramping into crescendoes, some of them violently intense. Dancers ends with Wayne screaming down his mic, and he gives Turbines/Pigs a pummelling climax totally at odds with the delicacy of Kershaw and Ellery’s earlier passages, while I Won’t Always Love You goes almost math-rock in its colliding banks of noise. There’s room, though, for some traditional festival fist-pumping on Across the Pond Friend. The large audience – who have been almost silent during the quietest moments, amazing for a crowd of this size – seem totally beguiled by this singular band.

Updated at 11.11 EDT

Keza is up at Cat Burns, who “has just covered Ed Sheeran’s A Team into Justin Bieber’s Love Yourself – really baiting gen Z here.”

The Chicks reviewed!

Pyramid stage, 1.30pm

The Chicks (FKA the Dixie Chicks) filled my own personal legends slot, no disrespect to Blondie. They haven’t played the UK since 2016 and had to delay the tour for their 2020 comeback album Gaslighter for obvious reasons. During that time they’ve also been reclaimed by a generation who were kids in 2003 when the band were blacklisted and pilloried by the US country industry, and had protestors burning their CDs outside their shows, after singer Natalie Maines said the Texan trio were ashamed to be from the same state as George W Bush following the invasion of Iraq. Beyoncé invited them to perform her song Daddy Lessons live at the Country Music awards in 2016, and in-demand pop whisperer Jack Antonoff produced their brilliant comeback record, which assessed Maines’s divorce in cutting detail. In hindsight, that blacklisting was evidently nothing other than rank misogyny by an industry keen to cut some exceedingly powerful women off at the knees – before they come on, the compere reminds us they’re the biggest-selling all-women band ever – and the Chicks’ return to their rightful stature validates the message that courses through their music about women’s righteous (and often deliciously vengeful) pursuit of freedom.

(L-R) Emily Strayer, Natalie Maines and Martie Maguire of the Chicks perform on the Pyramid stage. Photograph: Harry Durrant/Getty Images

Maines and sisters Emily Strayer on banjo and Martie Maguire on fiddle absolutely blaze on with Sin Wagon (“He pushed me around / Now I’m drawin’ the line”), a baller, blaring workout that blows your hair back and shakes out the Sunday cobwebs. It’s an epic in five minutes, the trio backed by a crack six-piece band who ground them so that their radiant vocal harmonies and intricate musicianship can fly. In this heat, you’d pass out if you kept playing at that pace, and they cool the tempo for the poppy Gaslighter, one of several shots at Maines’ ex-husband delivered with tartness and no small enduring amount of rage: “Boy, I know exactly what you did on my boat,” she sasses, a detail that’s only more delicious when you know that she gave him the boat as a present … and it’s called the Natalie Maines. (The song has a wider resonance, too: one woman near us waves a homemade banner that reads “Rishi Sunak is a gaslighter.”)

You have to be a phenomenally tight unit to be this versatile, and the Chicks’ wistful older songs – Wide Open Spaces, Cowboy Take Me Away, both longing for opportunity of different kinds – sound gorgeous, prompting mass singalongs. And the crowd is impressively huge, given the UK’s long antipathy towards country music.

The end of the set skews spikier: Tights on My Boat is another comic shot at Maines’ ex that comes with visuals of a naked Putin riding a unicorn; White Trash Wedding is a ferocious hootenanny; and their cover of Daddy Lessons is a cool flex, backed by intimate visuals of the band rehearsing the song with Beyoncé.

The closing run threatens to undersell the Chicks’ innate power by being over literal. For Pride month, they cover Dolly Parton and Miley Cyrus’s Rainbowland – a nice gesture but a terrible track. March March works better live than on record, where it’s a well-meaning but all-purpose protest song; live, there are powerful visuals of historic freedom fighters, at one point overlaid by the names of hundreds of Black people killed by police, and the performance is all the better for how sombrely the group play it. More striking is the winking subtext in going from the flagrantly political March March to Not Ready to Make Nice, their original refusal to apologise for the Bush fallout. Rain clouds close in overnight, accentuating its message of wounded pride. The message is clear: you can’t keep the Chicks down. Their closing song, the gleefully taunting Goodbye Earl – about a woman killing her cheating husband by poisoning his beans – suggests you’d be very silly to try.

Updated at 11.03 EDT

CMAT reviewed!

Jenessa Williams

Woodsies, 12.30pm

All across the weekend, mysterious stickers have been appearing in the longdrops, promising the rather iconic pairing of CMAT and BRITNEY SPEARS. Spears does not actually show up (maybe she’s saving it for Elton, as is the rumour on site), but it’s solid promo for an impressive showcase of the Irish singer’s playful humour and hearty affection for a cowboy motif.

While her music is entirely different to that of Self Esteem, there’s a similar feeling of communal giddiness in the tent as there was for Rebecca Taylor’s set in here last year: working-class guys, gals and non-binary pals who are thrilled to have found an artist who properly feels like one of them, revelling in all the same pop culture references and self-deprecation. “I’ve been here since Tuesday! And I don’t have a UTI! Here’s a fucking banger!”

CMAT performing on Woodsies. Photograph: Jenessa Williams/The Guardian

CMAT was raised on a diet of Dolly and Dolores O’Riordan, and her vocal trills sound excellent, rarely faltering in spite of all the horseplay: a snatch of ballroom dancing with her bandmates; sliding into the splits on Peter Bogdanovich; a slow-tease removal of her tasselled sequin jacket to reveal a bold vest with another slogan: “CMAT IS A SILLY BITCH”.

The older material makes for a happy bob-along but the double-header of No More Virgos and rooting-tooting new single Have Fun! are the real gems, and a brilliant indicator of her knack for raunchy alt-pop that still feels fit for daytime radio. “I bet some of youse are like ‘Nah, I only came here cos the Guardian told us to,’” she quips, when asking the crowd if they have another singalong in them. She’ll likely be too busy celebrating her biggest set to date to check in on this liveblog, but if she does, count this as a double dose of approval.

Updated at 10.24 EDT