Mud, mayhem, an absolute plethora of quality live bands and rumors that Michael Jackson is dead; welcome to Glastonbury 2009. Despite the biblical downpours that welcome in Friday morning, it's business as usual here. Well, what is Glastonbury without the slippy sliddy mud trenches and wellington boot sales after all.

First up is Irish pop punkers General Fiasco on the John Peel stage ? bashing out giddy, fizzy indie rock, General Fiasco bound through their set with a mixture of nervous energy and emo tinged attitude, clearly in thrall to the likes of Jimmy Eat World and Superchunk, this is a decent start to events, if a little uninspiring and vanilla.

Over on the Other Stage, The Whip bang out some electro dance to a rainy field of mud. Clearly better suited to sweaty dancefloors than mid morning, hungover audiences, the band deal in storming electro pop just the right side of anthemic, and closing with a rousing take on their finest moment thus far, Trash ? they deliver a winning performance despite the daylight and storms.

Regina Spektor takes to the Pyramid Stage under similarly weather challenged conditions, and plods through a pleasant but ultimately underwhelming set. Front loading it with the hits perhaps works against her here and we're left with about an hours worth of middle of the road piano ballads and the odd expletive strewn acoustic campfire sing along. A fit of the giggles midway through also suggests Spektor is perhaps having a better time onstage than a large percentage of the audience watching.

In Glastonbury '09's first truly spectacular moment so far, it comes down to American hardcore band Fucked Up. The John Peel stage is packed and heaving as a fired up and bare chested Pink Eyes hollers and screams his way through a tight set of melodically inclined anthemic hardcore punk like a version of Henry Rollins without the lifetime gym membership and raised on a steady diet of McDonalds and KFC. Certainly the most visceral and thrilling performance so far, Fucked Up absolutely kill it on the John Peel Stage, and as Pink Eyes growls the words, ?forget MJ and remember John Peel, a true legend? as they close their set, the band win more than a few hearts and minds here this afternoon. N.E.R.D take to the Pyramid Stage in confrontational mood, berating security and time constraints, ultimately refusing to leave, despite having their power cut mid song at the climax of their set. Clearly upset and riled up about something, front man Pharell Williams whines on about the length of their set throughout the performance, an irritation only made up for on account of their winning combination of smooth soul, melodic rap metal and true stage presence. The likes of Rockstar and Lapdance induce excitable crowd participation and a stage invasion as they climax gives the performance an edgy punk rock attitude sadly lacking in your more conventional so called modern day punk rockers. Still singing despite having their power cut for going over their alloted time, Pharell stands defiantly at the edge of the pit, howling acappella for a good five minutes; cutting a passionate, inspirational, if a little petulant and childish vision.

Fleet Foxes take to the stage as the sun finally breaks through the clouds and exacts its blazing, sun burning revenge on pale and pasty skin everywhere. Never quite buying totally into the hype surrounding the critically lauded album, Fleet Foxes finally click into place here this sunny afternoon. Their glorious folk harmonies brush gently up against the mesmerizing guitar playing, giving headliner Neil Young a bit of healthy competition. Effortlessly gliding through their gorgeous set, the band exchange nervous glances and stumble through the odd awkward attempt at stadium rocking banter, clearly still struggling with their impending stardom; all of which however somehow adds even more to their Southern rocking charm. Dumbest comment of the festival so far ought to be handed to a voice overhead commenting midway throughout the set, ?I never knew they were American? though, yeah its something about the plaid shirts, soothing country folk, mountain man beards, choral southern folk and general aura of uber Americana they maybe should have tipped you off somewhere along the way.

White Lies on the Other Stage do their moody Joy Division anthemic indie rock thing, banging out anthemically inclined pop; though the fact that it's a take on Bruce Springsteen's Dancing In The Dark towards the climax of their set that draws the biggest cheers and reactions is perhaps a little telling and worrying for the band.

Scott Matthews runs through some sublime balladeering over at the acoustic Tent; closing up with an elegiatic take on his sublime, Elusive, this is hairs on the back of your neck, spine tingling stuff. Neil Young does the wrinkly rocker thing over on the Pyramid Stage as darkness finally draws in. Delivering all the hits and still raging after all these years, he ploughs through the likes of Cinnamon Girl and Rockin' In The Free World, all guitars blazing and yearningly cracked vocals delicately aching; you really wouldn't expect anything less.

Animal Collective close things up over at the seemingly miles away Park Stage ? playing to a packed, appreciative audience and delivering euphoric dance infused beats married to anthemic, quirky chanting and the odd glimmer of freak folk. Lengthy drum jams and playful experimentation prove that despite headlining the stage, Animal Collective haven't lost any of their pioneering sonic inventiveness or spirit.

Day Two and saturday brings the sunshine back in full force as the mud begins to dry and its finally time to abandon the sweaty, cumbersome wellies. Baddies take to the John Peel Stage early on the saturday morning and bang out a tight set of taut muscular indie rock. Imagining the Futureheads bashing heads with Fugazi, the four piece make an energized racket here, playing to a small but enthusiastic audience.

The droning post-rocking wall of noise that The Big Pink emits is another reason to stick with The John Peel Stage this morning, their Velvet Underground meets My Bloody Valentine meets Mogwai sound is perhaps enjoyed in darker, less sunnier surroundings, yet they somehow manage to make it all work perfectly here, the moody gloomy atmospherics transcending location and drawing you into their gloriously sullen post-rocking headspace; one of those unexpected Glastonbury delights. Esser on the other hand fail to conjure nearly the same euphoria, banging out dull indie dance grooves that fail to really hit the mark here this afternoon.

It's left to Australian collective The Temper Trap to bring things back to life, delivering THE set of Glastonbury 2009 so far. Opening with a metallic sounding instrumental that's more Black Sabbath than their usual anthemic alt-pop, the band soon transition into the glorious Sweet Disposition, proving themselves the band most likely to succeed of this years admittedly impressive John Peel Stage line up. Dual drumming mayhem sees the band shifting into excitable dance pop territory mid set and as they close proceedings with Science Of Fear, The Temper Trap leave stage to an ecstatic, euphoric uproar, a healthy indication that this band are clearly headed for very big things.

Portland, Oregon dance rockers Hockey deliver bouncy punk funk workouts next, not forgetting to inject enough hyperactive sing along hooks amidst all the angular riffing to ensure they're equal parts The Strokes, LCD Soundsystem and Gang Of Four. With their Replacements esque anthemic rock, The Gaslight Anthem conjure up rock n roll spirit by the bucket load next, careering through the majority of their latest record, The '59 Sound with full throttle attitude and energy, effectively upping the ante for headliner Bruce Springsteen later tonight.

Passion Pit play to a rammed, sweaty and heaving John Peel Stage next, riding on the back of a wave of hype and anticipation following their hipster blogosphere word of mouth and sparkling debut album, Manners. Doing nothing to disappoint today, the bands collision of melodic falsettos and sparkly electro synth pop comes together effortlessly, the US collective rocking a set that proves them as wonderfully capable and captivating live as they are on record.

Making the Pyramid Stage their own, Kasabian draw on three albums worth of anthemic indie dance rock, blasting out hit after hit with a crowd pleasing set. Newer material from the just released West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum is amongst the strongest songwriting of their career so far, already sounding instantly familiar and epic; though its still the likes of Empire, Fire and Shoot The Runner that go over the strongest.

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street band perform a lengthy but enjoyable closing set on the Pyramid Stage. Opening with a cover of Joe Strummer's Glastonbury themed Coma Girl and eventually closing with a rousing Born To Run, Springsteen and his band run through a two and a half plus hour performance. Though perhaps benefitting from a little shorter run time, Springsteen remains energized and sprightly throughout, constantly bounding around the stage, leaping into the audience and offering friendly everyman banter with the audience; highlights include The Gaslight Anthem front man Brian Fallon duetting on No Surrender, glorious renditions of Thunder Road and a surprisingly spirited run through of recent single Working On A Dream. Sure, they could've shaved the odd half hour off proceedings and banged out a few more high profile hits along the way, but ultimately Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band deliver a rousing and spirited set here tonight.

Sunday at Glastonbury 2009 closes the festival in typically spirited fashion. A mixture of more family friendly fare like Tom Jones, Rolf Harris, Madness and Status Quo amidst the more intriguing fare, Sunday is always a more eclectically flecked affair.

Over at the John Peel Stage, Good Books open the day with their upbeat indie rock antics, bashing out spirited guitar pop to a small but appreciative audience. Wave Machines follow, taking to the stage donning weird masks and delivering melodically infused marriages of Supertramp and the Beta Band. One of those unexpected festival highlights, this is a band able to veer between upbeat pop and truly epic moments, a band definitely well worth checking out if you get the chance.

Art Brut bang out their none-more-indie ramshackle pop over at the Other Stage, raging against bands like the Killers and Kings Of Leon for having nothing to say and stumbling through songs about lo-fi bands and drunken text messaging, front man Eddie Argos and co give a shambolic but fun set here, in a scruffy indie rock kind of way. US emo merchants Brand New are next up and go about business as usual, yearning guitars and plaintive vocals rub up against more rocking, harder edged material; the tender acoustic closer providing one of those spine tingling moments that resounds the loudest.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs run through the hits, Karen O and band as entertainingly impressive as ever, strange costume choices and guitar smashing abuse all present and correct. Winning takes on Maps, Zero and Date With The Night close their set, Yeah Yeah Yeahs on fine form, but criminally far down the bill here. Bats For Lashes are mesmerizing next, their atmospheric pop bringing some much needed calm and melancholy to sunday afternoon, closing with a glorious take on Daniel that induces mass shivers and tingling spines for miles to see.

Bon Iver proves a surprisingly stadium rocking experience on the Other Stage, his more introspective recorded work transplanting to the live arena in much more anthemic, rousing form. The likes of Skinny Love, Flume and Blood Bank induce mass audience sing alongs and handclaps, whilst extended guitar jams and walls of feedback see Bon Iver bolstering their sound to noisier, rockier sonic territory.

Glastonbury 2009 provided all the thrills and spills, mud, mayhem and hijinks you'd expect. With weather ranging from torrential downpours to blazing sunshine and a line up never anything less than interesting. When the only complaint you can come away with is the usual overpriced bar prices and food stalls, the typical mud baths and the fact that there are way, way too many bands to see than is physically possible, compounded by some truly evil and heartbreaking stage clashing decisions that leave you cursing the whole 24 hours in a day thing then you know that this year has been something truly special. Roll on 2010.