Megan Thee Stallion at Glastonbury Festival review: “Flesh-jiggling naughtiness and immense star power”

 

The Houston rapper starts off an invigorating party at her most memorable appearance at Worthy Farm

It isn't all that far, in that frame of mind of Glastonbury's numerous thigh-consuming trips between areas, from the Pyramid to The Other Stage. Or on the other hand even perhaps, on occasion, similar to an equal celebration, where there were bordered rancher caps, and LED capes. In the event that you a genuine cutie, let me hear you say truly hot young lady sh*t," murmured the Houston rapper (not once and for all), to euphoric shouts, not long after first stepping onto the stage in fishnet leggings, a thronged, faintly S&M bodice and cowhide cap.

 

In any case, while her presence in this sought-after space - a remarkable distinction for a demonstration showing up at Worthy Farm - is plainly about offering an unmistakable, elaborate contrast to McCartney, there is immortality to the control and boldness. Firmly wound, hard-edged, and thrillingly profane it was a show with intrusive, tissue-wiggling insidiousness and huge star power.

 

It seems like, in any event, considering the mixed timetables of the post-Covid age, this triumph lap has been in the post for a brief period. Having first formally articulated its 'Warm Girl Summer' in August 2019 (by means of solitary of a similar name), the previous Megan Pete likely hasn't had the option to completely commend that expression's development into a universal, image-prepared development. Thus, fittingly, if this set - highlighting dark-clad male and female artists in addition to a DJ/publicity man - had a subject then it was that of a star getting the ball really rolling.

 

Freak Nasty (from 2018 idea collection Tina Snow was an early high: a scratch-loaded, snipingly percussive legacy that offered the main opportunity for Megan to flaunt her dexterous, a Capella stream. Simon Says - which sent off the first of many, joyfully got synchronized walkathons - was a kind of x-evaluated Macarena.

Regardless, if you somehow managed to be basic then you could perhaps put forth the defense that the set experienced an absence of variety. That rapper at generally guitar-situated celebrations never again wants to ungracefully pack in rock covers feels like advancement. No different either way, it felt - especially around the hour of Don't Stop's rough, practically modern beat - that the crowd being tossed a melodic bone could never have been the most terrible thing on the planet.