Glastonbury live: Avril Lavigne, Shania Twain and James ahead of SZA and more | Glastonbury festival

Here’s Alexis’s review of the rammed Avril show. I’ve had My Happy Ending stuck in my head since catching it on the breeze an hour or so ago.

Woodsies, 6.30pm

One reason Glastonbury is so beloved is its famous “bubble” atmosphere, where all in the world seems good for a few days and it’s possible to believe that everyone in it (or at least on the farm) is righteously committed to bettering it even more. Very admirable, of course, but Kim Gordon’s set on Sunday evening brings an extremely welcome dose of evil to the peace-and-love vibe. Never mind grabbing a shower – it feels unbelievably cleansing to be strafed with thick, revolting noise on opener Bye Bye, whose piercing synth shards evoke trying to catch your reflection in a broken mirror.

There’s so much tension and release in her music, which is pocked with glinting, dripping synths and scabrous textures conjured by her guitarist attacking her instrument with a screwdriver. During one song that sounds fit to soundtrack a goth strip club, Gordon lays on the ground and dangles the microphone over her mouth. And when metal and heavy music tend to get an underwhelming showing at Glastonbury, Gordon’s trademark dank bass tuning, blasts of monstrous, malevolent hardcore and lurching distortion are filling a void (and evoking one, too).

If only more people were at Woodsies to see it: not to be that person, but it is hard to shake a little resentment that the Other stage is currently log-jammed with tens of thousands of people watching commercial pop-punk brand Avril Lavigne when there’s a genuine, 70-year-old avant garde legend seething about US gun culture (It’s Dark Inside) and restriction of women’s rights (Grass Jeans – originally released to support a charity that assists Texan women with travelling to abortion clinics) on offer. Granted, Gordon can’t match Lavigne for singalong choruses, but she’s possibly the definitive model of what’s possible when you reject nostalgia to prioritise constant reinvention and evolution. I know I said this about Mdou Moctar earlier, but this is hands down my favourite set of the festival.

Here’s my review of Shania Twain, bringing country glamour to the Pyramid stage.

Elle Hunt

Hello there, Elle here taking over from Ben on the live blog. I’ve just filed my review of Shania Twain, a crowd-pleasing, toe-tapping set that met the bill for the Legends slot and the audience’s desire for a mid-afternoon singalong (excepting the man who was standing beside me in the audience, who took the opportunity mid-way through Any Man of Mine – as Shania was literally leading those on stage in a line dance – to brush his teeth).

Followers to the live blog will be aware that someone set up a flatscreen TV in the campsite to watch the England game, after the festival organisers refused to show the game. It turns out that the TV organiser is none other than One Direction star Louis Tomlinson, who had a generator, a telly on wheels and a dongle working in perfect harmony. He left Glastonbury this morning, got it all from Argos, and came back with it. I love this so much.

Gwilym spoke to him. Louis tells us: “It’s the second screen I’ve bought. The first one cracked. I wasn’t going to take credit for it if we lost in normal time but now that we’ve equalised I’m happy to.”

Janelle Monáe reviewed

Jason Okundaye

Pyramid stage, 5.45pm
The odds feel stacked against Janelle Monáe. As if following on from Shania Twain’s anticipated legends set isn’t a raw enough deal, nostalgia frenzy means Avril Lavigne’s Other stage set is rammed, and on top of that the football’s started. As such, the audience size feels barely worth the premier placement of the Pyramid stage. Though these moments are where an artist can truly prove their worth – to be one of those acts you feel some mild regret for missing.

Sadly I’m not sure this can be said for Monáe’s set, which suffers from pacing issues and incoherent production. It takes too long to get going – each member of the band enters the stage one at a time, bows and waves which is nice but tedious. When the singer-actor finally emerges, she’s clad in a floral crown, boots and overcoat for a performance of Float. It’s a fabulous, trippy performance which makes good use of trap drums and there’s a considerable swagger to Monáe. She very naturally transitions between singing and furious rapping but her live runs are inconsistent: sometimes divine, sometimes unimpressive.

On to Champagne Shit and the coat is thrown off to reveal a power shouldered black bodysuit. Last year, on release of album The Age of Pleasure, Monáe enjoyed something of a sexual reinvention, throwing off the previously more conservative dressing, sci-fi glitz and Catholic-style head coverings to be wonderfully scantily clad. This was accompanied by a message of sexual liberation and self confidence, and indeed “it’s all in them hips” as she shakes and twists with her dancers. In her familiar paeans to black queer sexuality she shouts out Pride month, but spends entirely too long talking through different historical icons and getting a band member to perform a solo that she’s ended up nearly 20 minutes in only performing two songs. By Django Jane, though it’s a ferociously good bossy anthem, you start to wonder where it’s all going.

Soon we’re treated to the iconic pink pussy pants with a Jean Paul Gaultier pink bodysuit as Monáe finally comes into her stride with performances of Pynk and Yoga. As she twerks, bends and flashes the crowd a man next to me says “she’s a frisky girl isn’t she!” For I Like That, Monáe excels and the crowd swoons. In a Michael Jackson-like glittering black suit with white socks, she sings while strumming a guitar for Make Me Feel which is groovy, funky, fun.

There is a great, multitalented performer here, and elements of a good production. But the set never really exceeds being just enjoyable enough.