Dear Kings of Leon,

How are you? I'm good, made all the better by listening to your latest single Sex on Fire (although with that title have you been listening to much Metallica of late?). What though I wonder are you trying to tell us? Too much sex leads to a fire in your pants, which if the rumours are to be believed you are all no strangers to. Oh no, I’m being overly literal aren’t I, its probably something really deep. But with your gravelly voice Caleb, its difficult to make out what your lyrics are. That Southern drawl is most definitely on top form.

As much as I like you all I can't let that cloud my critical judgement of your musical endeavours. So I find myself thinking Sex on Fire is not quite the sex. Sure, it ticks all the right scratchy Americana rock boxes, but it sounds more like it should be track 6 or 7 of the album, hidden away between the other more stand out tracks. Its your typical style boys, but perhaps a bit too typical. That said though Caleb, Jared, Matthew and Nathan I do like this offering, even if the old saying springs to mind, 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'.

Looking forward to hearing the rest of the album!

Much love,

Derv

Having proved myself to be the resident Micachu maniac at Amelia towers, it was presumed that I'd like nothing better than to go to every Micachu event happening and dissect each and every one for your reading pleasure. What can I say? I like this gal's music, but I'm no stalker. Honest.

Besides, Micachu and the Shapes are keeping a pretty busy schedule right now, in preparation for a super stardom that seems to be promised to them. I'd applaud anyone that could keep up with this busy bunch! Feeling it too big a challenge, I opted out of Micachu's single launch on the 11th and instead dragged fellow interns Mel and Tanya along with me to the Pure Groove record store a couple of days later to watch the band perform in store.

As we arrived to a packed out Pure Groove I was suddenly so glad that I hadn't let this in store performance pass me by. As I had whinged about a teeny-tiny bit before, Micachu's addition of a flesh and blood backing band seemed to me to have changed the dynamic of her performances from intimate and intriguing to something a little less inviting. Perhaps I should just be getting with the programme and not harping on about 'the good old days' (ummm, the one time I had seen her with a mini tape player as backing) but in any case, the more recent live performance I witnessed at Hoxton Bar and Kitchen had left me somewhat frustrated at having to strain to hear lyrics and guitar under layers of fuzzy keyboards and clattering drums.

Not so at Pure Groove! Naturally, this relatively small shop makes for an uber intimate setting for live music. Not only that, but the sound quality was pretty lovely - especially considering that the obviously keen audience kept as quiet as church mice throughout the entire performance. This was great because all the intricacies that I love about Micachu's music, those skipped beats and background beeps, could be heard loud and clear. And lyrics too! Pure Groove punters were priviledged indeed...

This instore performance meant that I had to eat all my own words too, since it proved exactly why The Shapes are an asset to the Micachu set-up. Playing this electronic bedroom music live lends it a whole other quality, which is what seeing an act live should be all about (after all, it gets dull watching bands who are so formulaic that you might as well be listening to them on your itunes). With The Shapes Micachu's music becomes more immediate and driven. The innovative percussion was a joy to behold too (check out the wine bottle and table top drumming combo in 'Guts' as recorded by Pure Groove themselves).

"I've never done one of these instore things before..." Micachu admitted to the audience early on, "it's...unusual." She seemed to take to it like a duck to water though and I'm hoping this won't be the last time we will get to see her and the Shapes in such a setting, as it really is the best way to hear this music.

Familiar favourite 'Golden Phone' was pulled out towards the end to much foot tapping (interesting to hear that this track will be polished by production until 'squeaky clean' on the album). Mel tells me this track was her least favourite, however, much preferring the whining electronic guitars and bassy buzz of 'Lips' instead.

As the crowd dispersed, I was so pleased that I had decided to go along to this performance rather than the single launch. It may have been a much more low key affair but that's what made it so great. The music came across so much better in this lovely little venue and I was reminded of everything that had excited me about Micachu's music the first time I saw her. I was also feeling quietly confident that I'd made two new Micachu fans of Tanya and Mel (am I right, ladies?). Okay, who can I convert next?

Tuesday 26th August

Be Your Own Pet and The Hot Melts - Dingwalls, London
We Are Scientists – Empire, Middlesborough
The Miserable Rich, The Sleeping Years and BB & The Dead Dog - Betsey Trotwood, London
Crystal Castles – Exeter University
Dirty Pretty Things and Florence and the Machine

Wednesday 27th August

Yacht – Barfly, Glasgow

Yacht is the R&B tinged pop jewel in the DFA crown. I’d really like to see just how effective his tracks are at getting a crowd moving live.

Conor Oberst and The Mystic Valley Band - Electric Ballroom, London
Turbowolf – Thekla Social, Bristol
Ra Ra Riot and The Daves - Monto Water Rats, London

Thursday 28th August

The Week That Was, School Of Language and Absentee - The Barfly, London
Maths Class – Underworld, Edinburgh
Bombay Bicycle Club – End Bar, Newcastle upon Tyne

Slow Club - Hoxton Bar & Grill, London

If Slow Club aren’t worthy of being your entertainment for a Thursday evening, then I’m not sure we can be friends.

Skream - East Village, London
The Week That Was – Barfly, Glasgow
Yacht and Sportsday Megaphone - ICA, London

Friday 29th August

Gig of the week

The Faint - Cargo, London

So long as the number of new tracks is limited then this would be so awesome. I hate when bands play loads of songs off new albums that nobody has heard. Why do they do that?

Saturday 30th August

Offset Festival - Young Knives, XX Teens, Chrome Hoof, Little Boots, Ox.Eagle.Lion.Man and more - Hainault Forest Country Park, London

A festival in a wood, just 30 minutes out of London, with animals. I am officially there!

Bass Clef, Leonie and Brass Roots - Vibe Bar, London
So So Modern – The Freebutt, Brighton
Ladyhawke, The Checks and Nathan Haines feat Vanessa Freeman and Mike Patto - Koko, London
Capitol K, Micachu and Untitled Musical Project - The Monarch, London
The Chemical Brothers - Olympia, London
Eugene McGuinness and Agaskodo Teliverek - The Macbeth, London

Sunday 31st August

Offset Festival - Gang Of Four, Blood Red Shoes, Hot Club De Paris, So So Modern, Metronomy, Slow Club, Prinzhorn Dance School, Ipso Facto, Radioclit and more - Hainault Forest Country Park, London
José González and Juana Molina - Open Air Theatre, Regent's Park, London
Future Of The Left, Working For A Nuclear Free City and Dinosaur Pile-Up – The Harley Sheffield
The Clik Clik, Eliza Doolittle and Mpho Skeef - Wonky Pop at The Lock Tavern, London

Stepping into the Water Rats last night felt like stepping back in time to one of the awful rock club nights I used to frequent aged sixteen. This didn’t bode well. I felt rather out of place waiting for Fighting With Wire to go on, being as I was the only person there not shod in a studded belt and a popular make of skater shoes. Things got more ominous when the sound system started blaring old favourites by The Clash, At the Drive-In and Incubus. Incubus, I kid you not.

As Fighting With Wire started it sounded like they would blow the cobwebs out of the crowd’s badly dyed red and black hair. Unfortunately, after a forceful start, the music slowed to a banal, sing-along chorus reminiscent of Biffy Clyro or Foo Fighters’ duller moments. This was a pattern that could be heard in almost every song of their tired sounding set.

The singer seemed to be emulating the look of Dave Grohl too, with his checked shirt and dark wavy hair falling in his eyes. Regrettably, what this young whippersnapper failed to realise is that thrashing around stage with your guitar uncontrollably and singing really quite loudly does not a rock god make. You’re never going to be ‘rock’ with song titles like ‘Last Love Song’ and a chorus that has the energy of a limp lettuce leaf.

Thank the lord that Future of the Left pulled us out of the 2002-sounding time warp we were in. By contrast, when they started with the fantastic ‘Wrigley Scott’ nothing sounded more fresh and straining with energy. Until something went wrong with the bass amp and they had to stop playing. The singer, Andrew Falkous (formerly of Mclusky), kept things ticking along with some amusing banter; usually this sort of thing really grates on me but the wit evident in Falkous’ lyrics thankfully shined through, until the gig was in danger of morphing into a stand-up routine.

Every song that followed was perfectly succinct; sounding like a more aggressive, stripped down Les Savy Fav. Nothing in the music was superfluous; everything had been considered but still sounded artlessly spontaneous. The use of both the lyrics and the driving, infectious sound was almost annoyingly clever - yet Falkous and the gang could never be labelled the kind of musicians that act like intellectual poseurs, the music is too raw and fun-filled.

The deceptively simple sounding melodies had me breaking out the classic uncle-at-a-wedding heeltap and head nod, while everyone else in the venue was jerking around with not quite the same amount of grace. The fact that the set was being recorded added to the already dynamic atmosphere, the sound had to pulse its way through the sweat-filled air.

I, like everyone else, was rapt for the whole set. The mantra from the brilliant ‘Manchasm’ encapsulates Future of The Left’s ethos: ‘Audience please! Every minute matters!’ And it did.

Lunch time gigs are something I’ve very rarely experienced, but if there is one thing I know about them it's that unless the band are more than captivating you’ll find your mind will drift off into thoughts about sandwiches. I will therefore remember Cut Off Your Hands as being more entertaining than lunch; quite an accolade I think.

Kate and myself arrived at puregroove to find a nice little turn out for a daytime gig. Cut Off Your Hands are not the most known of bands, and I couldn't help but think how almost criminal this is. What they may lack in originality, they make up for by simply offering perfectionist pop punk that rivals The Cribs.

Their hyperactive stage presents could strike some as sickly, they certainly appear to have eaten one too many smarties, bouncing around like children full of E numbers. Being twee always seems to split the crowd, and I’m often left feeling that presenting yourself in such an inoffensive manner isn't necessarily a bad thing, it just makes creating music that interesting a lot more difficult.

With want of a better expression, they could definitely make a record label a lot of money quite easily. There's a market for them, and although it's ever so slightly saturated, they are a lot better than most bands they would sit alongside. Put it this way, if people who love The Pigeon Detectives loved these instead, and there were an awful lot more canvas bags with their faces on, and the number of cd-r's made by local indie disco djs had their tracks on increased - then I’d find the NME ever so slightly more readable.

There was a time when I used to watch, point and laugh at eighties music videos on MTV... oversized shoulder pads, leg warmers, parachute pants need I go on?!
I remember this as I catch myself gazing longingly at the golden silvery lead, admiring his Esser-outdoing mop, and instead a smile to cross my face as the Spandeau Ballet video for True springs to mind.

The sound quality at The Macbeth certainly is awarded a 10/10 (even if these trendy bums and their clumsy footsteps do begin to grate on me). After a couple more tunes (and beers) my moves loosen up and I could even be accused of stamping on their feet a couple of times. Effortlessly punching the keys of his keyboard, dreamily humming his tales of love and loss there is no doubt these tunes are as catchy as velcro yet, perhaps a little limited in content. After all, there is more to life than just girls, boys and heartache (or perhaps that's because I'm a bitter spinster)?

Golden Silvers sound like a splash of Duran Duran mixed with sugar sweet melodies, rippled with spicy synth action, a dash of Talking Heads and a slight pinch of Pete Doherty's voice... shaken up in a disco ball. Great live acts, but possibly not the most varied poetry to have on your headphones.

The finale of Arrows of Eros with a guest guitarist

The first few thoughts you have about an album often leave you with a lasting impression. On my first listen of Dungen's new album I just seemed to have a running commentary through my mind saying things like "Mmmm", in a voice very much like the M&S advert voiceover lady. Though I was initially worried by this, I decided to take it as a sign that this was indeed a great album.

Every one of their tracks has this instant familiarity quality to it, much unlike their previous work, which was several curious mushrooms more psychedelic. Gustav Ejstes (who likes to refer to himself as bandleader - a rather fantastic position to hold I should think) would have us believe that this tightening of song structure is due to developments in his hip-hop style of production. I can't quite grasp the idea behind this though. I thought hip-hop production was about sampling Isaac Hayes, sipping on Gin and Juice and using giant MIDI keyboards, all from the comfort of the backseat of your gargantuous, oversized car.

Saying that though, the production on this album is half of what makes it sound so amazing. 'Bandhagen' sounds like Beck making music for a ballet, while the soulful. Saying that though, the cinematic lushness of 'Fredag' is a testament to how great Dungen are as musicians.

The album is packed with indulgent pop songs created by exciting, talented musicians. It's reminiscent of when pop music was simply music that was popular because it was good, and that in itself makes the album worth picking up.

Electro-poppers Morton Valence were headlining at Cargo tonight, aided and abetted by the amazing Anchorsong and some rockabilly DJing from the Truckin Lauras.

Improvising a soundscape of looped vocal, keyboard and percussive samples, Anchorsong (AKA Masaaki Yoshida from Japan) mesmerised the audience with his unique take on old-school electro and dance.

Then, in the words of Flanagan & Allen, taking to the stage “underneath the arches” of Cargo’s main hall, and with keyboards balanced on an old ironing board, Morton Valence launched into their set. Morton Valence’s music slips effortlessly from hushed intimacy into full-on stompers, incorporating tinkling xylophones, trumpets and megaphones along the way. We were treated to their most recent single, the lush Chandelier, as well as Veronica’s Blades, an instrumental which sounds like New Order’s Everything’s Gone Green reworked by Blondie. There was playful vocal interplay on Bob and Veronica Crickets and, of course, probably their most well known song, Sailors (a particular favourite of mine), with its’ synth riff and insistent rhythm.

With a fan-financed debut album in the pipeline and several recent plaudits under their belts, Morton Valence are sure to become a more well-known fixture on the scene, so make sure to check them out when you can!

It's with a curious sense of snobbery that bands in any way connected to televisions tampering, are met. Sometimes justified, sometimes quite beautifully, not.

Thankfully, for the sakes of personal sanity, Envy and Other Sins fall into the latter. In the relatively claustrophobic blood red walls of the Buffalo Bar, its hard to believe that these are the bodies that graced the nations screens on Channel 4's Mobile Act Unsigned show and as they play to a crowd not much stronger than 40 - your upturned nose won't last for long.

Although it isn't necessarily the scene, Envy appear to be tonight's messengers from the Victorian ages, with mentions of regal calls, paupers and the dashing waistcoat complete with pocket watch chain that Ali Forbes sports. Intelligently written and scattily presented, anyone that can construct Carpe Diem and Rubicon into one song gets my vote, although I doubt it's a soft drinks reference. 'Man Bites God' is reminiscent of early Blur brushing past the Super Furry Animals on their way to meet the queen. Call it pop, but there certainly is more of a nod towards the Britpop age of the 90's than todays electro weighted versions. So don your baggy tweed trousers and burn your skinny fit jeans at the stake if you dare.

Support act, Bang Bang Club make a lot of noise for one keyboard and two microphones, almost rocking the stuffed pheasant on stage, off his perch.

Unfortunately it sounds more like a twenty-minute reference to 70's garage rock and if they haven't called upon The Velvet Underground somewhere, I’ll never eat a banana again. You can't claim they're not entertaining though, as the Jagger-esque singer prowls the stage like a caged tiger, smashing his tambourine on the floor before marching off to the toilets before the last tracks even finished. Absolute gold.

L.A. is a funny place. It’s the place where more than a dozen Arnie and Demi wannabes pop their gum while waiting tables, but it’s also is the place where the musical gems Health and No Age call home. Both touted as the ‘next big thing’, both peddling a different version of noise and both playing Scala last Monday night.

If you listen to your dear old Aunt Betty, she would tell you that modern music is just noise. And with Health, Aunt Betty is kinda right. Health make an awful lot of noise. Ear bleeding, nose bleeding, eye watering, pace wearers beware noise. “Take earplugs” is a frequent suggestion when someone learns you are going to see Health. And walking into the Scala I was not disappointed to learn that their noise levels were cranked up to a million! Screeching, whining guitars compete with banging drums and hair swinging from the band. When ‘Triceratops’ pounds down I am reminded of how much an intense live performance Health put on. By the time ‘Perfect skin‘ is given an airing I feel my ears might drop off. Feeling ever so slightly relieved when Health call time on their performance I head to the toilets to double check my eardrums are still intact.

Courtesy of Upset the Rhythm

A lot easier on the ears are No Age, with their weary vocals and droning guitars they could easily sound like a drag. But, no doubt as I’m sure your aware, in the hands (and vocal box) of Randy Randall and Dean Spunt (what ace names) their music is anything but dull. In testament to this, ‘Everybody’s Down’ engages the young pups at the front to frolic onto the stage where they roll around like the Andrex puppy, for pretty much the rest of the set. This invasion eventually pulls the plug on ‘Neck Escaper’, but ever the trooper Randall powers through. Now that’s what you want to see in a musician. Probably not either bands best performance I have seen, but no doubt about it Health and No Age know how to put on a show. Consequently grins are as broad as the Cheshire cats and isn’t that what music is supposed to be.

Courtesy of Upset the Rhythm

After a day of becoming educated about climate change from those more knowledgeable, many of the climate campers were in the perfect mood to let there hair down at a good old Céilidh.

Believe it or not, this was not my first Céilidh experience. Due to my regular yearly attendance at Warwick Folk Festival, I should by now be learned in the dance. However, no matter how much experience I may have had at such dancing, I still have no idea what I'm doing for the majority of each dance. I like to think that in a way this is all part of the fun though.

Myself, Tanya, Dearbhaile and Kate all rocked up to the tent where Amelia's band Cut A Shine were due to play, a little merry and ready to get our do-si-do on. As soon as the band appeared, everyone seemed to be getting a little eager to commence dancing. Slowly, a form of order was regained and Amelia began to direct everone as to how to perform the dance successfully. The crowd had formed into two circles, one at the front and one at the back, and unfortunately we were at the rear. Which made hearing Amelia's directions quite hard work, and when the music started up we were perhaps caught a little off guard. There were a few hair-raising moments when we were lost amongst all the other dancers, but I'm pretty sure we weren't the only ones out of sync. Anyway, everyone seemed to be having a great time and straw was flying everywhere due to peoples enthusiastic moves.

We had either had a very long day, or we just weren't cut out for the amount of exercised involved, as it wasn't long before we were all completely out of breath and in dire need of a rest. This served as a splendid excuse to get more drinks before rejoining the fun for the last few dances. I think our collective favourite of which was the one in which one pair had to pass under an arch made by another pair. This led to many failed attempts in which the wrong pair was attempting to go through a rather confused arch. After a few attempts though we had got the nack and managed to successfully complete the dance for several repetitions.

The bands set ended with a freestyle dance in which everyone seemed to opt for linking arms, moving speedily from partner to partner. By the end we were all completely worn out, and all the exercise had given the alcohol a bit of an extra kick. Actually, i'm not sure which was more tiring, the dancing, or all the laughing.

We just about had enough energy left to make our way back to the London tent for a good sit down, and a bit of a natter before making our way back to the tent.

Monday 18th August

Lord Auch - Durr at The End, London
Menomena and The Week That Was - 93 Feet East, London

Tuesday 19th August

The Death Set - ULU, London

Catch The Death Set on their apprently never ending tour. I really don't know how they do it, i get tired just watching them.

The Cribs - King's College Student Union, London
MGMT - Waterfront, Norwich
The Metros, Underground Heroes and The Pepys - The Macbeth, London
The Last Shadow Puppets - Guildhall, London

Wednesday 20th August

Future Of The Left and Fighting With Wire - Monto Water Rats, London
Dan Sartain and Gemma Ray - The Luminaire, London
Tokyo Police Club - Ruby Lounge, Manchester

Gig of the week

Pivot - Roundhouse, London

Pivot are almost definately the best live band i've seen this year. They are a band that have something truly unique and there album is a fine body of work.

We Are Scientists - Academy, Oxford
Yeasayer and The Week That Was - King's College Student Union, London
Selfish Cunt, No Bra, Pre and An Experiment On A Bird In The Air Pump - 100 Club, London

Thursday 21st August

Broadcast 2000 and Kinzli - The Lock Tavern, London
Cut Off Your Hands - Pure Groove Records, London
Das Pop - Hoxton Square & Kitchen, London
Noah & The Whale - Duchess, York
Finn Peters, Micachu and The Shapes and The Invisible - Cargo, London
Operator Please - Bar Academy, London
Pharoahe Monch - Jazz Café, London
The Ghost Frequency, The Clik Clik and Rosalita - Madame JoJo's, London

Friday 22nd August

Bombay Bicycle Club - Koko, London
Underground Railroad, The Bleeps, Nayfo and Daughters Of Hendrix - 93 Feet East, London
The Wave Pictures - Joshua Brooks, Manchester

Saturday 23rd August

Cut Off Your Hands, Green Man Says Go and Swanton Bombs - The Macbeth, London
Conor Oberst & The Mystic Valley Band - Carling Academy 2, Liverpool
Holy Fuck - Push @ Astoria, London
Madonna - Millenium Centre, Cardiff

Man Like Me, Micachu, Popof and Joe and Will Ask - Secret Location, Shoreditch London

For Man Like Me, Micachu and Joe and Will Ask, it may actually be worth going on a hunt around Shoreditch for this secret location.

Napolean IIIrd - Bloomsbury Bowling Lanes, London
Yacht - The Faversham, Leeds
So So Modern and Velofax - Proud Galleries, London

Sunday 24th August

LCD Soundsystem - The Medicine Bar, Birmingham

This is perhaps not a gig i would most enjoy on a Sunday evening. LCD Soundsystem are just too much of a party, and The Medicine Bar can become quite a raucous and heated venue. I'm sure it will be lots of fun though.

People sheltering from the rain under the band stand

For me, Saturday mornings are supposed to be about late rises and very large breakfasts; but the Saturday of Field Day was one very large exception. The coming of Field Day meant that I had to co-ordinate the meeting point of many friends at one spot in central London. With them all arriving at different times, I opted to solve it the only way that seemed reasonable. Tell them all to meet us there and bring drink so that we could wait for the rest to arrive. This seemed like the perfect plan, apart from the fact that the few I had already found and myself were then stuck under a tree, in the rain, drinking gin and tonic.

Finally we began our field day with a mad dash over to the Adventures In The Beetroot Field tent to get out of the rain. We were met with cheers, not for ourselves obviously, but for White Lies who had just taken to the stage. They played the few songs they have to a packed tent, but there was something a little lack luster about the show. We found ourselves talking, much like the rest of the crowd - finding ourselves easily distracted due to the less than deafening sound levels. Our growing interest in a plastic horse we had found served as proof that there really was no reason for us to linger.

White Lies

We opted to brave the rain again, heading over to the main stage to catch the end of Wild Beasts. It seems like if you can stand Hayden Thorpe's falsetto vocal assortments, you fall in love with them very soon afterwards. The ridiculousness of it all seeps away as soon as it's teamed with structure of 'The Devil's Crayon', leading fans to a point of defense as soon as remarks like "He sounds like someone got him by the John Thomas" are made. I'm sad to say though, it was over all too soon, and we were forced to find shelter in the colourful bar/tent.

This was when horror stories of the previous years Field Day began to surface. Toilet queues, inaudible sound levels and sold out bars made it sound like a very traumatic experience, and I was comforted by the fact that apparently a whole host of sound and management experts had been roped in to rectify the previous year problems. Fat load of use they were though. The toilet queues stretched as far as the eye could see, and the noise levels, well, I’ll speak about that a bit more later - but to put it bluntly, two borrowers could have had a long and intricate conversation right at the front of the tents, without having to repeat themselves at any point due to mishearing.

The new village mentality idea was a bit of a washout. I’m sure it would have added some much needed fun factor to the day, if it hadn’t of been for the persistent rain. I couldn't help feeling that perhaps they should have sorted out the lots of more basic aspects of the festival, before putting so much effort into something like this.

The village mentality not really capturing people's imagination

I then headed over to the Bugged Out tent to check out Modeselektor. The German duo have been on my to see list for ages and by the swelling mass of people at the mouth of the tent I’m guessing I’m not the only one. Perhaps one of the most bizarre things about it was that everyone seemed to have different ideas as to whereabouts in the tent would be best to actually hear the music. Some were trying to get as near to the front as possible, others opted to stand by the smaller speaker at the back.

Modeselektor and the less than enthralled crowd

Basically, it was a shambles, and in the end Modeselektor stopped about halfway through their set announcing that, “if there is no bass, there is no point”. To which everybody was infuriated, yet understanding. The annoying part was that it obviously wasn’t the artist’s fault, and I don't eve think it's even really the organizers fault. It's just a case of people wanting to kick up a fuss over nothing; I just wish people could be a bit more lenient in these kinds of situations. London is hardly a tranquil haven, how is a bit of music any worse than the cars, trains, tube and planes we have surrounding us?

of Montreal being Fantastic

Well, now my rant is over I suppose I should speak some more about the music. One band that were a real treat from start to finish was of Montreal. A band I had heard a lot about, but hadn’t really been exposed to. A friend’s persistent statements on how he was longing to see them however won me over, and I’m very glad they did. If Patrick Wolf were to make NY-esque disco in a similar vain as Anthony Hegarty and his Hercules and the Love Affair shenanigans, it would sound like of Montreal. I know that’s probably a statement that some time fans don’t want to hear, but to me, that’s how it came across. The real treat of their show was the epic ‘The Past Is A Grotesque Animal’. Clocking in at approximately half of their set it should have had people slowly filtering away, but instead the sound grew and grew around the same hook. People were transfixed, if not on the on stage performers, then on my friend who seemed to know every word. It was astounding.

Brainlove Records began in 2003, setting up camp firmly left of centre and offering shelter to genre benders, weirdos, and all manner of arty bands. No one would be deemed too strange, Brainlove promised, proclaiming themselves to be the label for all those bands who were too “far out to fit in anywhere else, all kinds of bands and artists that the label felt deserved more exposure.”

Years later then, and the not-so-old-yet-not-so-young Brainlove have amassed quite an array of odd-ball artists (36 in total, if their website is to be trusted in it's up-to-datedness) and their new album 'Two Thousand and Ace' is a taster of what they have on offer.

Disregarding the advice not to judge an album by it's cover, you can tell - just on looks alone- that with 'Two Thousand and Ace' you are are in for a kaleidoscopic, messy journey through all the most loony tunes Brainlove has to offer. If images of ponies prancing through a rainbow filled twinkling universe don't give you a clue about where this album is coming from then I don't what else can.

Cats in Paris start the album off as it is destined to go on with the everything-but-the-kitchen-sink (there's even dogs barking in there) sound of 'And Ugly'. Building up like the countdown to a blast-off, this synthy,
keyboard-tastic tune really feels like it should have been used on some 80's kids cartoon about spacemen. Pseudo Nippon carry on in the same crazy cartoon theme, although anime would obviously be a more suitable animation style for this twisted J-Pop peddler. A treat for all those old school Nintendo nostalgics out there, the high octane 'Constellation Jebubu' will gnaw into your brain and happily sit there, tearing your brain cells out and replacing them with brightly coloured pixellated acid crystals.

There is a lot of glitchy craziness on offer throughout this album, and though it's all great fun sometimes a change is as good as a rest. One of the highlights of the album is when Junkplanet offer us some respite from the full on Korg-o-rama with a wonderfully melodic 'The Half Life'. Starting out as a bluesy a capella round, it gently breaks down into a fuzzy, mashed up electro buzz (see, there had to be some 'electro' in there somewhere!). Also showcasing some very pretty singing skills are Alice Musics. Their track, 'In My High Heart There's A Fox Dying', is a pure vocal piece that goes gently around and around until you feel calmly hypnotised.

More acoustic goodness comes from Jam On Bread who is a master of low-key, wryly funny, sweet songs. In 'I Heart Labrador Records', lone band member Steve strums his ukulele along to mournful pinings that he was signed to the afformentioned Swedish label. It's quite good of Brainlove records to allow this blatant cry for a record deal onto this compilation, considering, but I'm sure they saw the funny side.

Speaking of funny sides, something that all Brainlove bands seem to share is a good sense of humor. Applicants' jangly number entitled 'History Has Been Kind To Spike Milligan' is testement to this, as is Napoleon IIIrd's 'Zebra', which includes the line “I'm not surprised that you're the last zebra, those white stripes never suited you, they look better when they're on my wall.” Both the Applicants and Napoleon IIIrd are sparkly, rocky, indie types, a sound that is also well represented on this compilation (with Bearsuit and Aela being welcome inclusions).

Some other tracks to listen out for on 'Two Thousand And Ace' are Modernaire making science sexy with their Leslie Hall-esque track 'Science' and The Oracle's consuming 'Sunny Graveyard', a personal favourite, with its cut up voices acting as beats becoming sort of reminiscent of the Chemical Brothers 'Dream On'.

Keyboard Choir interestingly see 'Two Thousand And Ace' as a chance to offer up a weird, yet wonderful, electronic rap sampled piece with 'In This Situation, Thinking Won't Help'. It's a bit different to the spacey, warpy calm feeling tracks they usually give us, but sits really well alongside all the other tracks.

Brainlove's new compilation is a tumble through many different styles, each as weird as each other. Whilst Brainlove as a record label may represent bands from various genres, this album will delight those who are especially into electronic madness and humorous indie. You will definately get on well with the Brainlove sound if you don't take anything too seriously (in fact, perhaps a pinch of salt would make a good free gift with this album?) With a limited number of 'Two Thousand And Ace' available, those who are in need of a happy helmet should hurry along to the Brainlove site and snap up a copy. Whatever the weather outside, this album is sure to bring the sunshine indoors.

This World Is Crazy cheeps Karen. And yes, I certainly agree as I swiftly cancel order of my vodka and cranberry juice when I realise its £9.50 a pop. Opting for what I thought would be a safer option for the linings of my pockets I alter to a straight cranberry juice. At £3.50, Charlotte my companion and I stare into the glass expecting to see gold leaf or maybe even crystals floating, but no. Just juice.

Well at least the waitresses were cheerful, sneakily attempting to swipe my 50p change then bitterly chucking it on a silver tray with a bitter glance which seemed to question why exactly I had turned up to this place. I too had the same question as I occupied my square foot of standing space. As a fat 6 ft tall drunken toff decides to be particularly charming (these lot are soooo down to earth) and block my view. I bite my tongue, again, and again.

Drizzled in Arabian decor, this place certainly felt like another world. I squeeze into my section of standing space which is rapidly disappearing and begin to allow the soothing drools of Karen to take my mind away as Casablanca seeps to every corner of the room. Like a slightly bewildered china doll trapped spinning in an antique jewellery box she whirls a web of melodies. Undertones of innocence work well with her fragile presence, complimenting each other well to create a sense of sincerity in her tales.

Or perhaps not. Karen is not lonely nor in disguise. Her real name is in fact Tanja Frinta, supported by some dark and dishy chaps a.k.a Marc Melia Sobrevias and Giorgio Menossi who, as they unleash an accordeon, bells and a ukulele, capture an atmosphere reminiscent of a scene from Ameli. Not only is it a real treat to hear such an eclectic mix, but a certain theatrical essence is created, reeling in the crowd through the highs, lows, flows and twinkles of every piece. Picking to play smaller venues to create more intimacy, you can find Lonely Drifter Karen globetrotting across bars and clubs in Europe over the summer.

Before listening to this Ep, I had heard of Slow Club but never listened to any of their songs properly. Slow Club are on Moshi Moshi, therefore Its almost agiven that I will like them. I put the Ep, "Let's fall back in love" into my cd player and am greeted with sweet twinkly guitar mmmmm, I sigh with relief at finally hearing some good modern noise. I am sad to admit that I have been decidedly lost when it comes music lately, I have very little desire to buy cds anymore, why why why would I be interested in the ting tings? or whoever are supposedly this years kooks? i dont want to listen to the banal sound of nothing coming out of the radio. I just want good noise! It seems I have found it now! In the air of sleepy happiness lovely voices of Sheffieldian boy-girl duo Slow Club. Listening I Immediately think of Shout Out Louds, Spinto Band and Tilly and the Wall. Much as i love all those bands, the sound of Slow Club is much simpler, its cheerily different, perhaps due to their only having two members. The title track, begins with a strange choir like jaunt about a fake brother and has a folksy jangle to it, aah nice tambourine i think, though after reading that Rebecca occasionally plays the chair, yes thats right the chair, I am less convinced about my instrumental identification skills and start to question all the gloriously curious little sounds I'm hearing.

Dance till the morning light, is definitely my new favorite song, its sweet, quirky, lovely yet self deprecating tone develops into clever little ryhming lines of thought. Its soft, pretty and not overworked or over considered so feels really pure to listen to. Charles sings, 'i can tell you that im not the one you need', is this perhaps almost a Bob Dylan line that creeps in? not that i mind you understand! 'Im always 3 steps behind the dance and the times' feels like my motto! "Trick question", is my close second, its just so pretty! its a twinkling air of sadness in my ears. At one point her voice is so soft you can barely hear it, then it develops into bright genuine melting little melodies. Summer shakedown is also really nice, it's a brilliantly mischievous song that will have everyone within hearing distance tapping their feet.

Slow Club are sweet but nowhere near sickly sweet, they are clearly sure to become a regular comfort on my strange wooden retro cd-record player, and after listening to this I vow to see them live and cannot wait for their new album to come out. Moshi Moshi never disappoints me, I love this, in fact Im off to listen to it again, bye!

Photo: Gabriel Green

Impromptu songs are always a treat, and Late of the Pier were kind enough to play three different version of 'Torch Song' right at the beginning of their set. The song consisted of 3 seconds of noisy bass outbursts, and it was in honor of the gigs lighting system. The shop's lights had been turned off and small torches had been handed out to the crowd, making the whole gig feel like a sleepover in a tree house where ghost stories were told.

There is so little about this band I dislike that it makes writing about them a bit of a yawn fest. Not that I’m a negative kind of guy who thrives on disappointment or anything. It's just a bit boring to read. Ever since I heard their zarcorp demo I was delighted by every expenditure of their talents, consistently wowed by their live performances and never bored by repetitive listening. See, told you it would be dull.

What was even more annoying was how they didn't treat such a small gig as throwaway, putting on a performance that would be less than thrilling. Instead they seemed almost as excited as the most hardened of fans in the tiny crowd - and the tiny crowd were all pretty excited. About as writhing as it's possible to get at 7pm on a Tuesday, the mass were even willing enough to support lead singer Samuel Eastgate's crowd surfing adventures.

By the end of the gig I had realised that the whole thing just doesn't add up. They can fill a set with great songs easier than some bands that have been around for 10 years or more, often with twice the originality and half the ego. It's probably for the best that i just avoid the solving of this conundrum; I think it might ruin my listening.

It’s night and the crickets are out. The valley’s humid with ancient air and a mosquito is sucking the above-proof blood out of somebody’s arm. That arm is attached to a hand, and the hand hits the half-broken red switch – “rec start”. The tapes are rolling. Andy LeMaster, some gringo record producer, looks up and says, “Whenever you’re ready.” That’s how “Valle Mistico (Ruben’s Song)” begins, seconds before a conch player (Ruben?) blows long, exhilarating notes into the pitch black around them. Or, at least, that’s my best guess. Maybe it was in the middle of the day.

Conor Oberst’s first solo album in 13 years is the Music From Big Pink for the post-emo generation. It’s certainly his most accomplished collection of songs since 2002’s Lifted, or the Story is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground, which, predictably, was as inspired and as infuriating as its 14-word title. This time, there is no title. Oberst has, for now, even rid himself of the Bright Eyes band name, preferring to have his press people dig up his teenage cassette albums as points of reference instead of his more recent, high-profile successes. Holing up in a mountain villa in the middle of the Mexican wilderness, Oberst happily frees himself from the baggage of the New Dylan tag, and, perhaps, from regular collaborator Mike Mogis’s increasingly oppressive production style.

It’s a case of one step backward, two steps forward. The distracting tape-sampling that plagues most Bright Eyes albums is kept to a strict minimum, as is the over-compressed bigness of, say, Cassadaga’s “Hot Knives”. In their place is a relaxed ambience that brings to mind Will Oldham’s lo-fi Palace doodles or Bob Dylan’s Basement Tapes. The informal intimacy of 1997’s scratchy A Collection of Songs… hums in every semi-stoned attack on the guitar strings, and in every tremulous vocal.

Lyrically, Oberst is on top form. Opener “Cape Canaveral” comes to life as the singer watches a “face age backwards, changing shape in my memory”. The Uncle Tupelo-esque stomper “Danny Callahan” flits between casual insight (“Some wander the wilderness / Some drink Cosmopolitans”) to the unflinching story of a boy with cancer. “He lay still / His mother kissed him goodbye / Said come back,” he sings, with a simplicity that is all the more powerful for its uncharacteristic restraint.

The flipside is that no Conor Oberst album, however great, is complete without its moments of failure. Slow songs like “Eagle on a Pole” sag when burdened by their unnecessary portentousness. The Elliott Smith-inspired “Lenders in the Temple” crumbles under the weight of lines like: “So watch your back, the Ides of March / Cut your hair like Joan of Arc”. Its loaded references – to Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, to a dead French saint – overwhelm the song with a gravity it simply doesn’t have. Meanwhile, even classics like “Cape Canaveral” are occasionally blighted by the kind of lyrical obfuscation that Dylan outgrew with his first beard: “…the waterfall was pouring crazy symbols of my destiny”.

But these hitches are easy to forgive when the music itself is so inviting. “Get Well Cards” boasts a Bowie chorus in a Skynyrd swirl of polished guitar strings, while “I Don’t Want To Die (in the Hospital)” is the gene-spliced offspring of M. Ward and the Replacements. Despite its often serious themes, Oberst’s self-titled album somehow manages to be an optimistic, shimmering treat. Its attitude can be summed up in the Neil Young-infused refrain at the heart of “Moab”: “There’s nothing that the road cannot heal”.

Rolling through the beautiful countryside of Cambridge, pulling over for directions every ten minutes (it's location is secret after all) with guitars, fancy dress, snacks and booze covering the laps of my back seated allies, our excitement was hard to contain as good old Bob Marley (there is no control over the drivers choice of tunes from the back seat) tingled our ears.

The lake by day

After several picturesque wrong turns and about two hours constructing a mansion sized spangly new tent my organised friend had lost the instructions for, we were finally ready "to participate in anything and everything" as instructed by the Secret Garden handbook. Setting up camp on the Thursday, we kept our sensible hats on and opted to keep this the first night of four gentle. Strolling round the grounds we were bombarded by the beauty of the landscape sparkling before our eyes.

Awaking on Friday with a spring in our step, we were ready to indulge in the enticing surreal world. An afternoon stroll took us past Granny's Gaff. Notorious for their whacky behaviour, these chaps are not to be messed with. Hosting The Granny Prix, my associates and I joined the crowd of onlookers as brave characters tackled the zestful fancy dressed elderly. Ramming their pesky stabilisers and poking with walking sticks as the competitors attempted to dodge to the finish line, we drifted onto the next spectacle having witnessed the lesson never judge a book by its cover.

The Granny's Gaff

The Granny Prix

On looking Pagoda from the bridge

Tucked away like a magpies treasure chest was the stage on water, Pagoda. Not only was this quite a spectacle but there were some rather top class sets from the likes of Firas and Sugarfoot Stomp, giving an excuse for a rave, even at lunchtime!! When the pace got too much and our dancing feet began to wilt, a dawdle to The Great Stage allowed some seated, cross legged entertainment with Absentee floating across the valley of mayhem.

Revived, a leisurely stroll along the banks led us to some very unstable modes of transport lining up. Having spotted these dodgy vehicles being created earlier, I did have an inkling they may be for a further purpose. My concern however lay in the fact that we were about to witnesses to what looked like a fatal event. Fair enough, grown men can look after themselves but when children began to line up alongside them, the sensible side (20%) of me echoed in my head "where the heck are their parents?" Constructed from reclaimed materials including wheel chairs, children's toys and prams these bold nippers had created the most eclectic array of wheels. Sure, they looked like beautiful trash sculptures but that menacing slope looked like it may be the end of them, and their passengers!!

The workshop of reclaimed wheels

The starting line of the Down Hill Race

The aftermath of the Mud Olympics

A spot of hula hooping

The zebras of Zebra World getting ready to run around their assault course

Row your boat gently down the stream

After many spectacles we settled in the Fish Seeks Bicycle tent, who served up ska, swing, and disco with a dollop of dirty beats. Offering the likes of The Crafty Rascals to Dan Spinney this tent was certainly the space to remain for any retro kids. If that didn't rock your boat (pardon the pun) then the Sparkly Nuts tent provided constant crazy vibes with electro and house, as long as you weren't bothered by being surrounded by what seemed like a mass killing at a teddy bears picnic. Stuffed toys body parts ripped off, replaced with dolls torsos, eyes dangling out with arms and legs falling off were at every angle you glanced. Finishing at one o'clock in the morning, low and behold anyone who was getting sleepy. Night time at the garden is when all the sights become alive. The Playhouse by Joanna Rogers, which had seemed intriguing by day now took on a new character, glowing invitingly with lights wrapped around its bizarre cardboard construction. The perfect place for a cosy chat or time out to admire the views.

The safe haven of inside the Playhouse

An evening view on looking the lake from the Playhouse

A gathering deep in the woods

Beware of the high in the tree tops

Wrapped up in my sticky tent early on Saturday morning I had the strangest dream, that I was a godparent and it was my nephews christening. Abruptly awaking to my alarm, I realised this was not my imagination, it was true. I won't bore you with the details. But I made it all the way to Bristol. That was not my final farewell to the garden mind, I just had to come back. Having missed the likes of Esser, Zero 7, Ratatat and the Infadels, there was no way I was gong to miss the finale.

Sunday, the day of rest. Exactly what was needed after my struggle of a journey back. Although excited to return to my associates for the last 24 hours of secret fun, I was keen to stroll around in a calm fashion, to take in what would be my last sights of the Secret Garden 2008. Scrap Shack had caught my eye many a time as I had passed by, and a quiet afternoon without my head punishing me for antics the night before seemed like the perfect chance to go and get creative.

The Scrap Shack front desk

Scrap Shacks contributors had made some delightful installations to entice the punters

My allies for the weekend Helen and Verity getting stuck in

The girls from Scrap Shack modelling some of the creations of the day

The idea for Scrap Shack was to invite the quirky festival types to get involved, selecting rubbish from cans to cartons and making any item they desired. Once finishing their masterpiece, the inventors either left their work of art behind and moved onto the next attraction or took it with them as fancy dress attire, a must have accessory or simply a memory of their talent in return for a small donation. Any pieces which were left behind would then be sold at the kiosk the following day. From rings made from pill packets to tin can hats, this clever collaborative group Passing Clouds were not only providing a wonderful event for all ages to join in and encouraging recycling but making a few coins here and there for the evenings booze.

Some beer mugs ready for sale the following day

Lykke Li the little groover

Florence and the Machines belting 'em out

That evening we settled in Where the Wild Things Are to see that adorable little Swede Lykke Li. With such a tone of innocence in her voice it's a little surprising to hear of her tales of heartache. Yet, how can anyone go wrong with undertones of Bjork and Marissa Nadler? Not only can this girl dab hand with a megaphone on stage, she's a bit of a mover as well. Following up her act later was Florence and The Machine, or perhaps with the way she can belt out those notes, Florence the machine. A top class vibrant and moving performance was had, with even the chaps of the audience down with her vibes.

From 10 ft tall birds nests and doodle dens, poetry to conspiracy theories; the garden catered for all tastes, ages, passions and levels of quirkiness. Music lovers, artists and party animals were all united and spoilt with persistent entertainment 24 hours a day. The Secret Garden Party of 2008; a modern day scene fit for Adam and Eve, a psychedelic garden of temptation and beauty must be visited atleast once in a lifetime.