Glastonbury 2015: How Florence Welch and Lionel Richie sent festival-goers home happy

Even Pharrell's misogynistic set couldn't dampen the spirits at Glastonbury

Florence + the Machine fans at the Pyramid Stage (Reuters)

As the sweaty, mud-encrusted festival-goers packed up their tents across the sombre, litter-strewn, post-apocalyptic wasteland that remained at Pilton yesterday morning, several new narratives were being created among friends about what this Glastonbury meant to them. Was it the year that old British rockers showed the big-name US artists who's boss, proving that expensive lighting rigs (Kanye) and well-choreographed backing dancers (Pharrell) were no match for interminable back catalogues, decades of experience, and an old-fashioned bit of guitar windmilling? (The Who).

Or was it about karma? The bands that threw themselves into their sets, staring wide-eyed at the seemingly never-ending sea of people watching them, telling them how happy they were to be playing Glastonbury (Kate Tempest, Florence Welch, Lionel Richie) were also the ones who received the most love back from the crowd. Or was this year more about seeking out the amusements that lay beyond the main stages? Was it about hug therapy, basket-weaving and gong baths in the Green Fields? Or living it up at the Beat Hotel, where the crowd seemingly parties all day and all night, some of them never even seeing a band?

The beauty of a festival this size (Worthy Farm grew to a population the size of Oxford at the weekend) is you can make what you want of it. But one thing most of those weary groups heading home would agree on as they sloughed off the dirt of the day, and began posting up albums of the festival on Facebook, was that the acts proved to be just as unpredictable as the weather, which scorched and soaked the revellers in turns.

A giddy crowd, many of whom had been waiting since Wednesday morning for the festival to get into full swing, weren't let down by the bands on Friday, who seemed genuinely thrilled to be playing at Worthy Farm, whereas the big American imports with slick well-drilled sets who flew in on Saturday night gave off the feeling that this was just another show to them, particularly evidenced by Pharrell's bizarre shout-outs to, "All you people with English blood in your veins". Did he even know the name of the festival where he was performing?

Sunday at Glastonbury could soon earn the moniker "dad day" with its line-up of cuddly men of a certain age and a preponderance of craft beer drinkers, but they also proved to be a good fit for both the young families and those who'd overindulged on the two previous nights and just needed the soothing balm of Lionel Richie's "Hello" to ease their aching heads.

In many ways the festival mood peaked too early on Friday night when Florence + the Machine more than managed to fill in for the Foo Fighters' headline slot. In a tribute to the band, who had to pull out due to Dave Grohl's broken leg, Florence Welch played a beautiful cover of the Foos' hit "Times Like These", and the crowd fed off her enthusiasm as she flailed, danced and ran her way through the 90-minute set, ending on a celebratory note with "Dog Days". Just before, Hot Chip performed to a massive crowd at the West Holts stage, with frontman Alexis Taylor acknowledging: "We've played here a few times, we've played the Other stage, but this tops them all, thank you", before launching into the bracing "Don't Deny Your Heart."

An insanely large crowd had turned up for the Charlatans, who drew possibly the largest ever for the festival's opening band. Big hits like "Weirdo" provided the perfect warm up to the weekend while elsewhere Stornoway defied the rain with a characteristically surreal celebration of the beaver. "Good news, everyone!" frontman Brian Briggs declared, "The first wild beaver has been born in the UK for many years! We'd like to sing "Get Low" to celebrate the return of the beaver." This received an improbable amount of cheering.

There were a few dud moments on Friday, too, though. After much speculation over who would play, The Libertines filled the gap left by bumping up Florence's slot on the Pyramid. While a dedicated contingent of the audience were willing to overlook their saggy, uninspired set for the sake of their brilliant closing number, "Look Back into the Sun", the overriding feeling was that the once-talented Pete Doherty and Carl Barât had lost whatever spark once made them great. They seemed desperately bored as they strummed old hits and new flat songs that failed to inspire.

On Saturday a worse-for-wear Glastonbury arose gradually to the jolly strains of George Ezra. Looking awed by the turnout at the Pyramid stage, the fresh-faced singer captured the sunny afternoon mood, playing through hazily lilting numbers from his repertoire, including several from his new album. Even though the crowd were unfamiliar with all but a handful of hits, including a dreamy rendition of "Barcelona", an up-tempo cover of Macy Gray's "I Try" and his biggest hit, "Budapest", everyone was happy to sway along.

By the evening the mood had shifted and everyone was ready to party. Ella Eyre kicked things off early by introducing her bouncy brand new single "Good Times" with catchy drum and bass backing to the up-for-it masses. The former Fleet Foxes drummer Josh Tillman, aka Father John Misty, added a surreal note to the proceedings, with a commentary on how Glastonbury resembled Game of Thrones. He got raucous applause for "Bored in the USA", a meandering piano ballad lambasting America's sub-prime loans, expensive education system and white Christianity that managed to be both funny and poignant.

No raindrops fell on our heads at the Pyramid Stage for Burt Bacharach. A troupe of soul singers filled in vocals for "Do You Know the Way to San Jose", "Always Something There To Remind Me", "The Look of Love" and "Walk On By". The 87-year-old can still run a great show from his piano, saying it was a "joy" to finally make it to Glastonbury. Poet and rapper Kate Tempest's rollicking set at The Park took in fast-paced, spirited songs from her second album, Everybody Down, and the deeply self-deprecating Courtney Barnett, who's risen through the ranks from the tiny peripheral stages at last year's Glastonbury to a 50-minute midday slot at the Pyramid gave a gloriously bratty rendition of "Small Poppies" from her debut Split Peas EP. The day grew more soulless, however, as it progressed.

Pharrell hid firmly behind the fourth wall for his far too polished set that revelled in misogynistic undertones. Although his back catalogue was shown to be formidable, he failed to win over the crowd with a slick performance where he refused to do any of the heavy lifting, allowing his backing dancers to take centre stage midway through, while he played recordings of his hits. Kanye picked up where Pharrell left off, in a big-budget, swaggering set filled with heavy bass, blinding lights and anthemic tunes, no backing singers, and the band – if there was one – was hidden, and there was no mistaking that this was all about one man, one brand.

The stage regularly went dark between songs, as though each tune was a self-contained piece of micro-theatre. He played on his own reputation for off-script diversions when he appeared to cut the set short and the festival-goers responded with angered booing but when he reappeared on a crane above the stage for "Touch the Sky", played "Jesus Walks", while less than subtly implying he was Jesus, and offered a bizarrely beautiful rendition of the intro to "Bohemian Rhapsody", those that had stayed put rather than leaving for another stage were firmly rewarded.

A man given to long self-indulgent monologues, he thankfully kept his chatter to a minimum, but he couldn't resist the parting shot: "You are watching the greatest fucking rock star on the planet." It summed up the self-regarding tone of the whole show and didn't win him any new converts.

On Sunday Lionel Richie was the tonic we all needed. Smiling and unpretentious, he was the anti-Kanye, giving a performance that was all about audience engagement and he was visibly delighted by how many of the crowd could sing every word to "Hello", saying "You didn't all come here to hear me sing, you came to hear you sing." Reminding us it's been 30 years since "We Are the World" first came out, he rounded off a wonderful set with a giant love-in singalong. Perfect for the Sunday "dads" slot but he might also have converted a young new following too. There was a heartwarming "Glastonbury moment" when the Dalai Lama joined Patti Smith on stage to preach the merits of self-expression before cutting a cake ahead of his 80th birthday next week.

The rest of the set was pure rock with Smith ripping the strings from the guitar and telling the crowd: "I'm an animal." When at Glastonbury, your real life becomes a bit hazy. It's easy to believe that you could abandon it completely and become your Glastonbury Self for ever. Of course, for most of us, that feeling fades with our first shower on returning home but it's nice to see some acts at the festival have managed to hang on to their dream of ditching the corporate grind.

In a former life, Martha Tilston worked for a financial services company in London and her uplifting folk song "Artifical" might just convince you to live that Glastonbury dream. Her set on the Small World stage was the perfect opportunity to sit down with a cup of chai tea and let her silky voice wash over you. Balmy Eighties-tinged synth pop from California four-piece Future Islands was a hit, with charismatic frontman Samuel T Herring growling and croaking his way through each syllable.

Many of the festival-goers began packing up and heading home on Sunday evening, but those who stuck it out to the end were offered clear skies, contrary to the weather forecast for more rain, and an embarrassment of riches from the British music canon. Despite filling stadiums on his tour last month, Ryan Adams appeared at the smaller Park stage under a ceiling of fairy lights. His mixed bag of a set comprised new single "Gimme Something Good" and 2005 crowd-pleaser "Let it Ride", rounding off with a winning cover of Oasis's "Wonderwall".

As the sun set over the Other stage, the Chemical Brothers tripped the light fantastic with a laser show, which turned the field into an outdoor night club, complemented by red flares thrown from the audience, making them look like they were on fire. Sunday headliners The Who, with Pete Townshend windmilling his guitar to "My Generation", reminded us that British rock could easily compete with the best of the American imports we saw on Saturday. Roger Daltrey was quick to make light of Kanye's antics the previous night, reminding everyone that Elvis Presley was still the king – despite what the singer claimed.

Additional reporting by Hazel Sheffield and Sarah Malt