As I write these words, Britain is in that strange temporal hinterland of early summer; girding its collective loins before the schools disgorge their excited charges into the waiting towns and beaches. Before those frantic six weeks, though, we're treated to two spectacular and quintessentially British events; Glastonbury Festival and Wimbledon.
I didn't attend Glastonbury this year, but remember reading the line-up with a practiced Art Student sneer. 'Oh dear oh dear, this won't do at all.' It only took one name to rupture my tissue-thin veneer of pomposity, however. I fell in love with Queens of the Stone Age during my early teens, which coincided with the release of their third album, 'Songs for the Deaf' (2002). With that album the band reached a creative pinnacle that they've yet to match since, and if you load that disc into your car's CD player and set out along your favourite road, at night, I defy you not to be seduced. QOTSA have somehow eluded most of the pomp and circumstance that surrounds a great deal of modern rock and metal bands, and their uncanny ability to craft intelligent, exciting hits means their name can be uttered in the same breath as Led Zeppelin or The Doors. Watching their set took me spiraling back almost ten years to the boy who could play all their drum parts on his knees and recite every lyric, even the incidental radio interludes on 'Deaf'. QOTSA just seemed to 'get' Glastonbury; their setlist was chosen by their fans before the gig, an un-self-conscious 'best of' that both the fans and the band themselves seemed to relish. It came as a breath of fresh air after Radiohead's Friday night 'Secret Gig', in which the band played a set consisting mostly of new and album tracks. Playing such a gig at Glastonbury just seems to bypass the spirit of the festival entirely. I can sympathise with those bands that feel an expectation to churn out their hits again and again, but I can scarcely imagine a more rewarding, life affirming experience than hearing your lyrics sung back at you from ten thousand upturned faces. Isn't that why people become musicians in the first place?
Wimbledon is one of those unique sporting events, like a World Cup or the Olympics, that seems to galvanise people across all social strata. I know people (and count myself among them), who despite having no interest in Tennis throughout the rest of the year will follow Wimbledon with an almost religious fervor. There's just an indefinable quality that makes the tournament more engaging and exciting than any other. Wimbledon produces an abundance of unforgettable moments; Goran Ivanisevic's phenomenal wild-card win ten years ago springs to mind, as does a young Roger Federer's usurping of the then unbeatable Pete Sampras in the same year. In 2010 we had the longest match in the sport's history; an eleven hour slug-fest between John Isner and Nicolas Mahut, and this year hasn't been without its surprises either. In the women's singles tournament we've lost the ever-present Williams sisters already, alongside world no.1 Caroline Wozniacki. By far the most talked about aspect of the whole tournament, though, is the chances of Great Britain's highly-rated Andy Murray. At the time of writing, Murray is set to take on Spain's Feliciano Lopez in the quarter-finals, a match he is widely expected to win. As with most sporting events, Wimbledon is hugely partisan, and the chances of any British entrant are extravagantly talked up. Tim Henman was frequently vaunted as a potential challenger, and never progressed beyond the semis. There's certainly an element of all this in 'Murray Mania', but he's a proven competitor and deserving of his world number 4 status. Progressing from the quarter-finals is one thing, but Murray could potentially find himself facing world number 1 Rafael Nadal in the semi-finals, and that's a different challenge entirely. Looking at their previous meetings, the balance of power lies 10-3 in Nadal's favour, so a real turn-around of fortunes is in order if this year's tournament is to have a fairytale ending.
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