Glastonbury Festival - Mylo Mind Bender

Mylo

Mylo Mind Bender

Dance Tent - Friday

I'd forgotten what the dance tent was like. At the back, sweaty ladies in bikinis are lounging around on the grass like it's a harvest festival in a lingerie showroom, while down towards the noise, muscle men are peeling their tops off and waving their hands in the air like they just don't care.

Mylo are playing live as a bass/guitar/synths trio, starting off slowly with the mellow soundscapes that have led critics to compare them to Royksopp, and understandably so. But everything soon speeds up a notch with 'Zenophile'. Is it easier to dance when there's a roof above you? I mean, I know this is called the Dance Tent for a reason, but nobody's doing this at the other stages. Not yet. Booty and hips wiggling, arms flung overhead, and I've not even had my lunch yet. They haven't even played 'Drop The Pressure' yet, and I need to hear that one tune more than anything else, the tune that makes me bounce around bedrooms and nightclubs and fields with utter joy in my electric legs. (That would be electric in a Billy Elliott style, I mean it's not like I've got prosthetics or anything.)

A party of gay gashionistas come over to ask me if I'm in Chicks On Speed. It's all getting a bit bonkers in here, and I was having enough fun just ogling the three identikit men on stage and playing a new game I've invented called 'Which One's Mylo?'

I decide it's the one wearing the album sleeve on his T-shirt. And they do play a lot of tracks from 'Destroy Rock n Roll' (next up is 'Beauty Of Love') but with some extended mixes thrown in. The only real departure is a track they say they wrote yesterday, which I would have caught the name of had I not just fallen in love with the boy next to me. It's a banger, anyway, and oh, his hair. Excuse me. Even the pilled-up bodybuilder who keeps trying to slobber on my lips doesn't seem so unappealing now, and I'm not even on drugs. Blonde lesbian porn appears on the screen as the dance lovesong 'In My Arms' kicks in, and the porn becomes another lovesong, of sorts.

"Do you want 'Drop The Pressure'?" they ask. As if they need to. But crucially, the sound seems to fail at the last and the bass never quite booms out, at least not where I'm standing, and I'm left wanting a little bit more. Perhaps that's how it should be.

Sophie Heawood

Review supplied by playlouder.com

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