Thanks for coming. Please be my saviour

Like almost everyone I know, I braved the sun, the heat, the mud, a sea of emo kids, dodgy food stalls, dodgier loos and all the other delights that characterised this year’s My Cokefest just so that I could see Muse.

I had heard reports from friends that their live show had to be seen to be believed, and of all the bands that were included in the line-up, they were the only ones I would happily pay to see. I used to love Kaiser Chiefs, but their second album was really disappointing, so despite my usual Anglophilia (a hangover from Britpop days) they weren’t that that high on my list of bands to see before I join the Choir Invisible (and it’s a list that changes all the time — I’m a fickle girl).

After an unexpectedly treacherous trek from the car to the entrance (thanks to four days of rain), we were searched, herded through a series of barriers and found ourselves in a surprisingly unchaotic and well laid-out area. The sound was fantastic, it looked like there was plenty of shade (although an hour later I would be wishing there was more), there were plenty of toilets (in fact, when we arrived, the queues all seemed to be for the gents, which made a nice change) and water stalls were dotted all over the place. There were also guys walking around with rocket-man backpacks who turned out to be serving Coke in paper cups as they wandered through the crowd. So far, so good.

As we arrived, Wonderboom were (thankfully) finishing their set. Prime Circle’s set seemed like a good time to queue for beer. There are some things that you will see at every rock festival, regardless of what trends dominate at the time. There will be someone wearing fairy wings. There will be someone wearing tartan pants. There will be someone with hair waxed into spikes so tall that it’s obvious someone else had to have helped. There will be happy families complete with picnic baskets and blankets, looking strangely out of place. There will be countless numbers of boys wearing Ramones T-shirts. We weren’t disappointed, and we checked these characters off our list as we waited for the international acts to start.

Jared Leto’s 30 Seconds to Mars was up first. I watched a few songs out of curiosity, but for the most part his contrived attempts to be a rock rebel amused for all the wrong reasons. I did feel for them though, when during The Kill, their biggest single, one of the most successful videos ever on MTV and the one to which even those who only knew Leto as a pretty-boy actor could sing along, everything went dead. Oops. At first there was stunned silence, then mutterings about the rest of the concert being abandoned, but it was only a few moments before everything was back on again, and the band continued as if nothing had happened.

Kaiser Chiefs were next, and despite my earlier reservations, they were really good. They performed mostly material from their first album, and pretty soon I was bouncing along like it was 1995 (or just three years ago) and remembering why I used to like them so much. I always love comments from people who aren’t familiar with whatever band is performing, as the response is so unbiased and honest. Someone nearby said: “God, they’re just so freaking happy,” which, I suppose was pretty accurate. They certainly stood out from the general wash of self-conscious angst that coloured the rest of the bands.

Good Charlotte played next. I can’t really remember them, which is probably a good thing. I remember some chatter about Paris Hilton. I remember a moment of dismay when I realised that they were shredding The Cure’s Love Song to bits. But I was really more interested in trying to find a veg burger. A girl must eat.

Chris Cornell was up next, and, although I was there with people who were getting teary-eyed at the notion of being in the same square kilometre as the man himself, I was intrigued more than overjoyed. I was never a grunge kid, never went gaga over Soundgarden. I prefered Rage against the Machine to Audioslave and wasn’t all that familiar with his solo career. But he was amazing. Maybe a bit cool and detached, but the effortlessness of his performance and his phenomenal voice totally won me over. He let a fan play a song with him, which made me like him even more. And the guy standing next to me was so overwhelmed that at one point he yelled out: “Thanks for coming! Please be my saviour!” Which was nice.

Even before Muse started, I was tingly all over. I was standing in a group of people who were there for Muse alone, and their excitement added to my own. And they were phenomenal. They are a band whose songs sound better live, more energetic and urgent, and after two songs I started to understand why girls would faint at Beatles concerts. It was almost overwhelming. From the lights to the astonishing skills of each musician, from the visuals that hypnotised us to Matt Bellamy’s voice, it was perfect. And it didn’t stop. There was no chit-chat between songs (which made some people think the band were “offish”). By the time it was over, we were all a little shell-shocked.

We chose to leave then (as did many people) and not see Korn. We had seen what we had come to see, and wanted to avoid the mad crush to get out of the venue that would follow. Like many others, we heard Korn in the distance as we searched for our car for about half an hour (it’s amazing how things look different in the dark).

We were hyped-up and excitable, with plans to go somewhere else, until we got into the car. As soon as we stopped moving, the whole day caught up with us. Some had lost shoes in the mud, others were hoarse from shouting. I still have a bruise I can’t remember getting.

It was a good day.