So day one of Glastonbury is – with the exception of the festival’s many, many bacchanalian late night dance areas – pretty much over. What’s in store for day two? Paul McCartney you already know about (and what an event that will be), but there’s a barrel-load of other great stuff to mark in your ledgers. In a classic piece of counter-programming, Megan Thee Stallion is headlining the Other stage at the same time that Macca is on at the Pyramid, while Róisín Murphy tops the West Holts, Jessie Ware does the Park and Jamie T’s on over at John Peel. There are some juicy sets further down the lineup too: the brilliant Big Thief at the Park at 6.15, Self Esteem and Pa Salieu at the John Peel, and the bonkers Black Midi at West Holts. We’ll have reviews of many of these and plenty of others, and of course you can catch all the action over on the iPlayer. For now though we’re going to wind the liveblog down and head off into the night in search of adventure. Thanks for joining us, and see you tomorrow! Billie Eilish reviewed Alexis Petridis has delivered his verdict on tonight’s headliner, and he was suitably impressed: “Her performance doesn’t just seem like a musical shift for Glastonbury, but a triumph as well,” he writes in his four-star verdict. Just following on from Keza’s comment about the bass at Little Simz, it does seem to be a remarkably bassy festival this year. There were points during Billie Eilish’s set where the windows of the Guardian cabin were rattling, and last night at the festival’s new dance venue Lonely Hearts Club, I encountered bass so forbidding that I could practically feel the fillings in my teeth loosening. What’s going on? Have sound systems gotten even more boomingly bassy? Or have we lost our tolerance for bass during the largely bass-less pandemic years? Little Simz reviewed West Holts “Allow me to pick up where I left off,” snarls Little Simz at the beginning of her menacing, enlivening banger Offence – but she has come far since she first played Glastonbury. Her latest album, Sometimes I Might be Introvert, from which much of this set is drawn, was a giant pandemic hit. She comes out swinging, with several of her most energetic and swaggersome tunes upfront, striding across the West Holts stage in a hat and sunglasses, treating us to some of the bassiest sound I’ve heard so far at this festival. She is killer on Rollin Stone. Give her her cheques, give her her plaques. The turning point of the set comes during the brilliant Standing Ovation when Simz takes off her sunglasses and talks right to us about “The motivational speakers and the honest Black leaders, the divine healers, the every day low-paid believers, the overachievers in the shadow of the gatekeepers.” It gave me goosebumps. She started the set with all her best rap braggadocio but from here on in we’re brought closer to her, deeper inside her head, on her more confessional and intimate tracks. She even shares a new one: the product of a “period of transition”, as she puts it. All of which gives the show a strange flow, getting slower as it goes along, and some of the interludes feel a bit laboured in this setting. But she’s such a compelling, idiosyncratic rapper that it’s impossible to stop paying attention to her. Self-belief anthem How Did You Get Here feels especially poignant here, as Simz tells us between tracks that she’d been anxious about this gig for days. As in her music, in her banter she alternates between boldness and vulnerability, expressing pride and disbelief that she’s headlining West Holts tonight. “I stepped out here and felt so welcome,” she says, calling out her family in the crowd. She chats to us a lot, though she won’t take any backtalk. Despite the presence of her five-piece band, Little Simz looks quite alone up there, strutting that giant stage (except when she invites Cleo Sol up there for Woman and Selfish, both of which get the crowd swaying. But she commands that stage, finishing on the brilliantly acerbic track Venom, getting the crowd bouncing to her rhythm. “I’ll see you next time at the Pyramid,” she says, before stepping off – but this is one of our finest rappers, made up of the same stars that she wished upon, and she has nothing left to prove. In all the excitement around Billie, I forgot to mention that the Eiffel 65-covering Spanish guitarist (see 21:59) went on to play a host of reworked 90s Euro-cheese, including a mournful, flamenco-tinged cover of The Vengabus Is Coming that I never knew I needed. Foals reviewed Other stage With their current album, Foals set out to exorcise and indeed exercise the torpor of the last couple of years through highly aerobic dance-rock workouts, and they admirably purge the horrors of two years without Glasto at this Other stage headline slot. They do undeniably lack dynamic range. The sliver of daylight between 2am and My Number, played one after another, is as thin as the precision lasers being fired around the site: they’re both similarly taut and white-funky, fussing around with pretty little circular guitar riffs. Their other mode is brawny rockers, and some of these, such as Black Bull, are pretty forgettable too. But when they’re good, they’re very, very good. 2001, the highlight from Life Is Yours, is like a wedding band trying to come up with a new version of Duran Duran’s Notorious – and as lame as that sounds it’s actually very endearing, with frontman Yannis Philippakis finding a little-used but lovely upper-middle register of his voice. 2001 also showcases a Foals strength, which is properly understanding the propulsion of dance music: In Degrees, while sung out of tune in its early section, really gets at the relentlessness of techno. Meanwhile the thin, pealing guitar notes that were their early signature have gone from neurotic to purely gorgeous, as on recent single 2am. And their intended farewell to Covid (actual case numbers notwithstanding) really has finality at two key moments. Spanish Sahara’s “leave the horror here ... it’s future rust, it’s future dust” is suitably elegiac and its slow build matches the valedictory mood. Their best song, Inhaler, remains an epic ode to wide open space and again, its patient build-up doubles the gigantic pay-off. “Impossible: possible”, asserts Philippakis to the smell of burnt flares, glorying in how fields of tens of thousands of people have become possible again. Khruangbin reviewed Park stage Time to psych out on the Park, where Khruangbin are prowling the stage like extras from a Robert Rodriguez film, matching black wigs and outfits gleaming. Their rise from indie crate-diggers to Very Big Deal seems to have gone quicker than you can say “the Alamo”, and now the sun is setting behind them, poised to provide the globetrotting soundtrack to ease everyone into Friday night’s festivities. This is the new hipster chillout music: largely instrumentals, save for some gentle cooing, Khruangbin’s delirious grooves draw on everything from 1970s Thai funk that sounds like it’s been found in a glove compartment (known as luk thung) to, if you can be so broad, Middle Eastern soul, via Mexican cumbia, African boogie and beyond. It could be tricky to make such floaty, wallpapery music stick, sounding as it does like it’s on mushrooms. It might well float into the ether if it wasn’t underpinned by such deliciously elastic bass – Laura Leezy, plucker of said instrument, has allegedly never changed the strings on it, which is why it sounds so, for want of a better word, vintage – alongside outrageously talented guitarist Mark Speer and drummer DJ Johnson, completing the trio. They’ve turned their gentle bops into a hypnotic show, though: great lighting, great looks and great twists and turns. Just when you thought you were on a hazy road trip, they double-drop into a disco-fied section, heavier on the dance than on the noodle. Fellow Texan Leon Bridges, with whom they’ve collaborated most recently – adding some respite (ie gorgeous soul vocals) to their music – joins them on stage in a white bolero jacket. “It’s a match made in heaven,” one dude in the crowd can heard saying to his friend as they play the upbeat Texas Sun and transport us briefly to a dusty dive bar. Back at Glasto, the ’Bin’s set is not without some tongue-in-cheek action. They’ve always seemed to blur the line between ice cool and pastich, and none more so tonight than when they break into a medley of Miserlou by Dick Dale and Apache by Incredible Bongo Band, like the Pulp Fiction band they were born to be. Or covers of Snap’s 90s vocal house anthems Rhythm Is a Dancer and Crystal Waters’ Gypsy Woman (She’s Homeless), playing to their huge crowd with a knowing wink. After all, this is a band without limits, who could go anywhere, do anything; a fantasy film soundtrack rendered in glorious Technicolour. Tarantino, are you listening? For a slightly more considered take than my on-the-whistle ramblings, keep your eyes peeled for Alexis Petridis’s Billie Eilish review, coming later this evening. Billie Eilish: snap verdict That was a superstar-cementing performance from Glastonbury’s youngest ever festival headliner. Billie Eilish’s command of the stage is pretty remarkable – for so much of tonight it was just her out there alone, demanding the limelight. I’m not sure she quite has the back catalogue to match her ambition and status just yet: with only two albums worth of material to pick from, there were a few lulls tonight. But the highs – Bad Guy, Therefore I Am, Happier Than Ever – were very high indeed, and her star-wattage is undeniable. You suspect this won’t be her last time topping the Pyramid. Eilish rounds things off with Happier than Ever. It’s another huge singalong – and accompanied by a huge barrage of fireworks too. The entire floor is shaking here, it’s a monumental finale, and Eilish ends it by sprinting furiously around the Pyramid stage before collapsing to the floor. Finneas and Eilish’s drummer follow suit. Eilish lingers for a while, soaking up the applause. She’s deserved it, having thrown everything into this performance. Two songs left, Eilish sadly announces, and the first one of those is Bad Guy – probably Eilish’s biggest banger, the track that made her a superstar. Everyone in the crowd loses their minds and dignity when that wobbly synth line hits, and quite rightly too. This is more like it. The thumping All the Good Girls Go To Hell with Finneas on axe-wielding duties. Eilish has been at her best here with the uptempo numbers, when that punishing bass hits and the stark strobe lighting starts flickering. For When the Party’s Over, another brooding ballad, Eilish pulls up a stool. She’s been bouncing up and down the stage so much, a quick sit down seems advisable. Billie’s getting the crowd to do breathing exercises now. Come for the minimalist pop, stay for the stress relief. Getting Older, a musically lovely but lyrically pretty bleak song about trauma, is next up. We could maybe do with a bit of a change of pace here, to be honest. Finneas carries on strumming for Bellyache, another mid-paced number. We’re in the sad bangers portion of the set. “Youngest headliner in Glasto history – whaaattt” Eilish boasts. Fair enough, really! Sugarbabes reviewed Avalon stage There is no better description for this set than pure joy. The stage choice is dubious – Avalon is a tent with no screens, so unless you’re right in there you can barely see the original-li neup Sugababes (Mutya, Keisha, Siobhan) – but actually it hardly matters. This was always going to be a singalong where you could barely hear the gals anyway (though to be fair, when they do an acoustic version of Caught in a Moment, they really do show off those immaculate vocal harmonies). With punctuations of electric guitar solos, the crowd chanting along to melodies as much as lyrics, this is just banger after banger: the opening sequence is Push the Button, into Overload, into Hole in the Head. They do a couple more obscure tracks for the heads, then make the inspired choice of revisiting their cover of the UK garage classic Sweet Female Attitude’s Flowers. And when they finish on the polish of Round Round, into the sugary pop of About You Now, into the head-banging chaos of Freak Like Me? They remind us exactly why they remain among British pop’s finest. Other kids my age dreamt of getting a Hogwarts letter but my hope was getting the call to one day become a Sugababe. Tonight that dream dies, but I’m okay with it: this show cements that the original formation of the once ever-changing group is innately the final, most wonderful one. Tara Joshi