Many people talk of music making the hairs on the back of their neck stand on end, personally, this has never (to my conscious knowledge) happened to me. Certainly, this sad realisation for me, being aware that I have never had that ‘moment’, makes me consider that I might be slightly emotionally crippled. Then I dismiss the thought with a waft of the hand and a splutter of the lips and remember that I have welled up watching ‘The Iron Giant’ and have felt euphoric high of watching Daft Punk playing live.

Music for me is moving, but the closest I have ever been to my neck hair standing up is my second live experience of Elbow, circa Glastonbury 2008.

It was Saturday and I was stood in front of ‘The Other Stage’, the evening was beginning to close in and that heavy, sweltering, tight pressure of a summer’s day had just begun to lift. It’s my favourite time of day in the summer, that point where everything is bathed in a soft glow, you feel the worries of the day lift and in turn, rather than watching bodies succumb to sleep and slump in to themselves, people lift up, as though their spirits are being empowered by the fading light, consuming what little heat is left of the failing day. If you know Glastonbury, you will be aware that as the sun begins to set in to the evening sky, it becomes a natural spot light for anyone on that stage, aligned perfectly for almost an hour, bathing both audience and performers in a softening, golden halo, a goodnight kiss from Ra, thanking its followers for their continued worship. It’s an utterly astounding and magical point of the day, one which for me, beats and firework display and light show that might follow it on the Pyramid Stage.

At this point in time, 2008 is my one and only Glastonbury festival, I hope in future years I shall experience it again, but for a multitude of reasoning which I will not bore you with at this time, 2008 remains my one and only Glastonbury festival.

But what an experience I was rewarded with. As I’ve mentioned, this was my second live experience of Elbow, my initial experience being 2005’s Leeds festival, on the main stage, fifth from headlining.

I’ve been a fan of the band since I heard ‘Newborn’ played by Steve Lamacq on Radio 1’s ‘Evening Session’ show, something I have now just realised was nearly a decade ago as that single was released in October, 2001! I had good taste in music for a 16 year old who should have been listening to *just* Nu Metal and Pop Punk (!)

Now I am aware this comes across as somewhat preachy and gushing with praise for the band, like an elongated advertisement for you to buy their back catalogue, but when I saw the band play at Glastonbury, it truly was special.

I was alone in a crowd of thousands, my friends had chosen to see other acts and performers, I had decided to watch Elbow, after remembering how sincere and engaging they were on my last live viewing, they hadn’t changed.

Guy Garvey is a tremendous front man, looking like a tired factory worker, a proud, broad chested, perma-stubbled bear of a man with no qualms or preconceptions of people it appears. He owned the stage, crossing it with surprising agility and speed; he manages to engage the audience on a personal level, his discourse between songs connecting with the crowd and the individual at the same time. They perform songs with a swagger, a sense of commitment, a sincerity and gratitude that I have only seen since in The Gaslight Anthem and this summer’s Pulp performances.

The reason I begun this article is to explain that although I haven’t felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, this Elbow appearance at Glastonbury gave me something better, a punch in the emotional guts. They closed their set with what now seems to be their festival staple, ‘One day like this’, a hymn-like piece which builds and develops in to a crescendo of audience participation and orchestral strings. And it is that audience participation that really hit me for six, alone with everybody, knowing no one but all with this shared consciousness, this communal spirit, all there for the same reasons, all singing the same words, all experiencing it differently but the same, and there sheer sincerity of it all. It was astounding.

I often find it difficult to engage with the lyrics of songs, take Feeders ‘Buck Rogers’ as an example, a fantastic anthem, one which I will shout out in a club with ferocity and commitment, for me though it’s lyrics are somewhat generic. ‘I think we’re gonna make it, I think we’re gonna save it yea, so don’t you try and fake it, anymore, anymore’. I perfectly acceptable song about holding on and not giving up, about trying for that person or person you love. But there are so many songs that have similar or the same message, again, that’s not to insult the song or the band, but it’s just my opinion.

Whereas the lyrics of ‘One day like this’ are so utterly modest, it’s not a grand gesture, no ends of the earth affair, no ‘If I can’t have you, I don’t want nobody baby, if I can’t have you, whoa’, it is (to paraphrase) ‘Today was a good day, another like today would be lovely’, it’s almost embarrassingly quaint in its British-ness, in its modesty.

For me that is what resonates the most when I was in that crowd, the modesty of the lyrics, the earthiness and earnestness of it, it’s all so fundamentally British, or maybe I mean working class, maybe I mean ‘Northern’. I’m not sure, which personally makes it all the more endearing and captivating.

For me, in that crowd of many, I was truly affected by the performance, the lyrics and the communal spirit, it reminded me that humanity can come together as one and be truly uplifted even in this modern day without there being an ulterior motive, no promotion of brands or products, just the promotion of the human spirit and the belief in the goodness of the human condition. That the crowd continued to sing the chorus long after the band had ceased and left the stage only helped to cement the emotional impact the gig had upon me. To this day I still long for another moment even vaguely similar to such a communally, honest experience.

As stated, the closest I have come to similar experiences is watching The Gaslight Anthem at last year’s Leeds Festival, where their sincerity for the crowd and the influence of Bruce Springsteen’s socially aware lyrics made them one of the best bands of that year. And seeing Pulp twice this summer reminded just how much the modern music industry needs bands like Pulp, comfortable in their self-deprecation, cutting through all the bullshit of the music industry, of getting wasted and doing girls, to sing songs about the minutiae of everyday life, about trying not to ‘do’ a girl but just about the awkwardness of flirtation, the embarrassment, trials and tribulations of young lust or the resignation of the working classes station.

Maybe these performances and bands strike a chord with me due to their working class nature, maybe it’s the obvious links to the north, whether it be geographical or socially implied, but I get a lump in my throat and a real knot in my gut when I consider their performances and the emotional impact they have had upon me. Few and far between, but powerful and long lasting seems to be the cards I have been dealt. I may not have had my neck hair stand up yet, it may never happen, I’m certainly not going to lose any sleep over it, but when I consider it, what causes a bigger reaction in me, my neck hair standing, or my gut being punched? I know which one I would go for, what a strange masochist I happen to be.

Tell me, am I weird that at the age of 26 I am yet to feel that tingle on my neck, or is the punch in my gut, the full physical smack of a band/song more important? What gigs, concerts, festival appearances and so on have packed the biggest emotional punch with you?

Words: Fuzz Caminski

About the author: Fuzz fights the forces of evil for gold coins and comic dollars everyday here.