Welcomed like a god, we get an extended introduction to the eponymous reworking. There’s a few uneasy looks as the over digital set-up seems to have stripped any real warmth from the tune. Then Sonic Youth’s Steve Shelley pounds in with the signature motorik beats and everything seems alright. For once, the notoriously muddy sound of the Picture House working to the band’s advantage.

And, that’s kinda how it goes on for the rest of the set. The often “my first mutli-fx pedal” guitar countermanded by just how driving and thumping it gets. It’s minor quibbles, because the peaks are just so high, and there’s more of them. At its best it’s a big groovy juggernaut with every hipster favourite caught in the headlights and shown no mercy.

Short set, one encore. Left us wanting more, I suppose. But, not necessarily in the way they intended.

[Part of The Edge festival]

White Heath (Solus Tent) are marvelous. End of story. WH make epic folk music. Using a fairly eclectic collection of instruments they build a maelstrom of sound, underpinned by a deep melodicism. It’s hypnotic and ridiculously catchy at the same time. It’s like that big music you hear talk of. There’s a thin line between serious (both readings) intensity and pretentiousness. WH are not just walking that line, they’re doing back-flips down it. And artful and truly exciting band. A band that can only really bear comparison with The Phantom Band, insomuch as they’re making something truly unique from a solid folk base - the sound is completely different. It’ll take a lot to beat this as the best thing seen here this year.

Canada’s Grass Mountain Hobos (Summerisle Stage) play bluegrass. You know the kind that’s honed perfectly for events of this size. They’re damn fine too, thoroughly entertaining. You’re not interested? Ok, well move on then…

The worst name of the festival award has to go to The OK Social Club (Solus Tent). In fact, I’d already formed an opinion based on this and was going to give them a miss. But the rain came on. Thank you rain. They start with a number that seems unwise; its obviously their best. The big hooky beast. It’s usual to finish with the biggy. But, then they do another. And, another. I’ve been dragged to see The Wildhearts on numerous occasions. And, from what I was promised, I expected something like this - they never were. Every single one is a stone-clad first-in-the-air classic. Seriously. Honest, sweaty, rock and roll that passes the whistle test.

More bluegrass with Blueflint (Acoustic Village). No, come back! Been meaning to catch this duo for a while now. The judicious swapping of locations for the dance tents and acoustic village meant this wasn’t going to mean the trek it would’ve been in previous years. So, I have now sampled their gentle americana imbued with sweet tunefulness. A little one dimensional but its a nice enough dimension.

Conquering Animal Sound (Solus Tent) are a glitchy girl/boy - laptop/guitar duo. The use of multi-effects and loops on the vocals lends a character to this that lifts them slightly above the myriad of others messing about in this area. It gets rather hypnotic after a while. In the good way.

Devotional art can be transcendent. I used to visit a friend in Deptford and always be tempted to head for the gospel hall at the end of their street on a Sunday morning. It sounded so awesome. Who knows, maybe it could even turn me. The Glasgow Gospel Choir (Summerisle Stage) are the sound of the most cliched happy clappy vicar’s easy 70s MOR collection with the word ‘God’ thrown in here and there. Looks like satan still has me for a (dead) sunbeam.

What seems, initially, like another of the ATD-i acts, United Fruit (Solus Tent) (really, is there a dreadful name sweep going on this year?) reveal a lot more depth over their set. Mainly this is due to the jazzy interludes and storming bass-playing. Still, even with the wider influences, they seem to be pulling the shapes and making the sound but have yet to really find their own voice. But, I’m looking forward to them doing so.

Car trouble (oh yeah) means that Withered Hand miss the start of their set. A couple of the OK guys come on to lead the crowd in a rousing cover of Teenage Kicks while we wait. A few tracks in WH appear. Unfortunately, the hassles and rush seem to have taken their toll on the band. We get a stab at a few songs. They’re flat and distracted. All of which is completely understandable. Hats of for being troupers, we feel you pain.

Huzzah for Kitty The Lion! Fantastic kitchen sink drama lyrics (about not getting out of bed all day, having chewing gum in your hair etc). All deceptively mundane. And delivered with deceptively simple guitar parts. Slightly country tinged. Certainly the most dancing going on I’ve sen for any act in this tent yet. If this don’t put a smile on you face, your dead. They won’t thank me for this, but: It’s like Kate Nash if she was actually as good as the Guardian seems to believe. And Scottish.

What ever happened with Sons & Daughters (Summerisle Stage)? Remember when it all seemed like theirs for the taking? I genuinely couldn’t tell you how many albums they’ve released or if they have any credibility any more. Judging by the crowd reaction, their are still in the good books. And, understandably so. The swampiness that threatened to subsume some of their material seems to have been traded for a dark grooviness. Wave by wave, the crowd gets bobbing along. By the time Johnny Cash comes along you could be convinced its the best thing in Scottish music in the last five years, instead of just the best thing they’re ever likely to do.

It’s one of the things about these festivals that an act can be over-subscribed if they can bring good crowd of their mates in. Glasgow’s Alex Kapranos (Acoustic Village) must be a popular guy, he’s managed to stow out the acoustic tent. And, it’s understandable. He’s peddling a set of bouncy, squiffed pop numbers that seem destined for arena tours as soon as he finds the band to back him.

I’m guessing record labels are still looking for [INSERT TOWN HERE]’s answer to the Arctic monkeys. They could do a lot worse than Hip Parade (Solus Tent) as that quaint little fishing village on the Clyde’s candidate. In addition to delivering the huge instantly catchy punk-tinged tunes, they have swagger and great snotty attitude to them. I mean, what’s the point in having choruses if you’re not going to make them this big?

And, its another thing about these festivals that you catch as many acts on their way down as you do in the other direction. Always latecomers to the whole Big Beat thing The Go! Team (Summerisle Stage) seem destined to be the band that defined 2006. Of course, then they take the stage and they couldn’t be more relevant to right here, right now. You probably know the score, but to me this is a revelation. Let’s take this damp scots crowd and bounce them until the grin hurts. And, by god, they do.  Some people pay good money for that sort of thing.  they may have just come on and did everything you know they’re going to do, but the import of that needs to be experienced.  It all makes sense and seems so important.  Not sure I’ll ever buy any more of their records than I have, but I will camp out overnight to get tickets for the next Barrowlands gig. By the time they finish, I’m contemplating dancercise and WANT to be the Go! Team. Not in the band, not one individual, but the whole entity. How great would that be?

Ocean Colour Scene play that tune off the telly; we set fire to the big fella and the 808 State djs play Voodoo Ray (yes) for what seems to be about six hours. Another fantastic Wickerman down.

Is it next year, yet?

Polarsets, however, are in a strange place; they’re very evidently influenced by the clutch of vaguely 80s bands (Killers and their ilk) so big a few years ago. So, too late for jumping the bandwagon and too early for a revival (or do these things come round sooner now?). Hopefully the latter, cause god knows they need the time to work on material.

To my ears, we take a step back to last years bands with Galleries. Only there’s not a stupid beard or fiddle in site. Instead they take all the massive epic bits of Arcade Fire and instead of emulating them do something new with them (pay attention at the back). Delivering this stuff as a straighter rock band gives it a completely different edge. They step on the toes of James and Muse with the size of the noise they make - but in a good way. No, that is possible. A band you want to see on a much bigger stage with a massive. They’re reaching for the sky and we celebrate their ambition. Plus they have a song about The Wombles.

Panda Su’s recorded output has always suffered from a strange schizophrenia. One of ‘those’ vocal deliveries, you know very singer-songwriter. But, rather subtle instrumentation always made the stuff never less than worth-a-listen. In the live arena, the dichotomy is just magnified. A girl with a guitar and a bunch of avant knob-twisters and never the twain… It just doesn’t gel at all. There’s much to commend each of these parts, but when the whole is less than the sum of the parts you’re doing something wrong.

And, nearly completely opposite is Edinburgh’s Black International. An underwhelming recorded output gives lie to what turns out to be a serious kick-ass old school power-pop trio. There might be great songs in there, but it doesn’t matter we’re carried along by the sheer drive of their energy. Fine stuff. Now, let’s see if you can get that recorded.

The bars of Duncan of Jordanstone will be empty tonight. Here come Dundee’s The Lost Torodovs an eastern European folk tinged troupe mixed with surreal burlesque. If you can’t imagine that I can’t get any more accurate. We are treated to some rather lovely laments and just as it’s threatening to be a bit one-dimensional (musically) it blummin’ well kicks off. If I could do that kicky dance thing, I would’ve been, instead I had to make do with hading off for a few good shots of vodka.

This is really what we need just now. A bit more colour, More glamour. More fun. And, Dundee? I’m sure that’s only because it’s where the family settled when driven out their home by cossacks.

It’s food time, so we decide to check out I Blame Coco (Summerisle Stage). Ok, the bar’s down that way too. Ok, I wasn’t really holding out hope for some top pop star in the making. But, I really wasn’t expecting the abominable 6th form type band that was up there. Seriously, I had to get close to the stage to confirm those were bona fide old session musicians. As for the songs…. I know parents are meant to support and encourage their kids, but sometimes the truth would be kinder.

All of which I mention because next we catch (a slightly stripped down) Aerials Up (Solus Tent), who peddle a particular kind of poppy rock that - to me - seems very Glasgow. Big gregarious songs with no pretensions. Hearty backslap of a tune. I can assure you L’il Ms Sting would kill for half of one of any of these numbers. Fine stuff. The rumour going round is that Be A Familiar have knocked it on the head just as it was about to happen for them. The perfect opportunity for these guys to nip in and fill the gap, IMO.

Och, I know we’re meant to be above the raw fun of Goldie Lookin Chain (Summerisle Stage), but c’mon it’s a festival. GLC was, as the do. The (really young) kids loved them.

I wish I could be as positive about Tony Christie. I’d like to think he was taking the money and not caring about the half-assed pub crooner performance. Even so, you think he’d have the self-respect to care that folk seemed to be enjoying it as joke. Remember he’s not here for all the good work Hawley et al may have did to rehabilitate his name. He’s got the gig because of Peter Kaye. It’s woeful and quite painful to watch.

Which is pretty much the exact opposite of what you could say about Mitchell Museum (Solus Tent). Debut album The Peters Port Memorial Service has been universally lauded and the guys seem to be determined to celebrate that. The sizable (biggest in the Solus of the weekend I reckon) are quite happily to go along with the sentiment.

On return from visiting the facilities on site (and let me say they seemed to be much better cared for this year) I spot a freak chance to nip into the Scooter tent. Last year on the closing night they had imposed a one-in-one-out policy for the last night closing act Bad Manners. This year it seemed to kick in mid-afternoon. So, when I see a gap I reckon I need to at least take a look at Ed Tudor Pole (Scooter Tent). Coz you do, don’t you? And, he was fantastic. Just him and an acoustic guitar that appeared to be held together by gaffer tape. We get treated to a mix of old standards, new songs by him (mainly about how rubbish so/self-called punks are these days) and the ‘hits’. All sprinkled with anecdote and gentle ribbing of the audience. But the most surprising thing is that he’s an astounding rockabilly guitarist. And, the instrumental he wrote for Malcolm played entirely on the open guitar is rather touching.

Far from what the name would suggest Midnight Lion (Solus Tent) do a kinda 80s synth thing. It’s quite reminiscent of the good bits of Ultravox. And, they do it well - the audience are loving it, just not me. So, I go check out the other 80s tribute act: The Futureheads (Summerisle Stage). What can I say? They’re damn slick on a festival stage these days. They have some corking tunes. And they even have the crowd pleasing comedy cover version (replete tonight with gender specific backing vocals for the crowd). If anyone asked me, I’d say I really like this lot. But, I never listen to their albums I’ve bought and the live set didn’t have me rushing back to them.

It’s possibly the most glorious day of the summer so far. So what could be better than a little Teenage Fanclub? I think they may have finally had the official national treasure stamp this year. They get a huge crowd who seem to just be exuding nothing but good feeling toward them. It’s a hits heavy set and there’s dancing and bouncing and singling along from the off. But, I think the slipped in more from the new album than they normally would at an event like this. The crowd don’t mind: A stranger’s just a friend you haven’t met yet. No, really, it was like that.

Then it gets a bit chaotic. Having made the heartbreaking decision to skip Buzzcocks (Scooter Tent) due to the probability of not getting in. It was off to see Django Django. But they seemed to be late starting, so I thought I’d take advantage of he big screens over at the scooter tent for a bit. Then I ended getting herded about with the crowd as they were all at the exit not the entrance. Got back to the Solus and the band seemed to be playing the most interminable and dull intro. So I went back for more ‘Cocks. Of course after failing to get in or seeing anything it struck me that I should go back and check DD. got there for the last number and it was completely blinding. Damn. Shoulda stuck with the first plan - always the best policy

Day one down.

For those unfamiliar (shame on you), when Harper performs live it’s him and his guitar. In the studio he makes full use of all the tools on hand. I don’t want to sound like I’m advocating an Albini-style approach to this (although…), there are some real great uses of that studio time. Passing Chord manages to out-string anything by Elbow and has a touching majesty at its heart that wipes the floor with any of their empty stadium pomp. There’s something brilliantly exhilarating about the weirdy glam/space-rock keyboarding on the title track. And, Silly Daddy – featuring his daughter, Lily, on vocals – manages to capture both the heartbreak of being apart from ones family and the happiness of knowing they’re there. And, it’s a fantastic tune.

Throw in some techno-tango, a Quo-ramalama love song to a mountain (yay ROCK!) and you’ve got (as I said) a very enjoyable record. Just not the one we want from him. And, we know he’s got it in there.

For those unfamiliar, Harper is a modern day troubadour: A man that with a guitar and songs that can melt your heart. But, from a simple rock ‘n’ roll perspective he’s one of the most astounding and inventive guitar players you are ever likely to see. Were it not for the resulting noises, there’sd be laws against how he treats that guitar. It’s truly astounding.  Jeremy Renner in The Hurt Locker is the near spit of the man.  And, once realising this, his character’s intensity and obsession takes on a completely different emphasis.

There must be something in the water in Shropshire. This lad seems to be walking a similar neo-pagan path as near-neighbour Julian Cope. Just without the self-mythologising and posturing. And, we’ll let him off with the occasional near hippy lyric as the underlying message is about another way. He tells us he’s not on the left, not on the right, but way out there.

There’s a very bizarre interlude when someone who may or may not be the promoter – she has kept his wine glass gladly charged throughout – indulges in some very get-a-room flirtation. As with everything Harper does it is handled with great grace, humility and a lot of humour.

“They seem to have pigeonholed me as Folk” he opines “so, I wrote a folk song” and he gives us Fields Of The Cloth Of Gold in which he shows the folkies how it really should be done. (I had one of those arguments with a friend about this when they first saw him doing it. Y’know the one: Look it’s an original.) And, he’s right. Not only does Harpic not deserve pigeonholing, but he’s far more rock than most of the so-called rock bands about at the moment. At his most epic you could swear you were listening to Muse. Except it’s just one guy with an acoustic guitar. This is a good thing.

By the close a slightly withdrawn audience are baying for more. He’s near carried shoulder high in triumph.

Haste ye back, sir. And, next time, you lot come see. I’m almost tempted to offer you a money-back guarantee.

Bristol’s Spiro come with about the best endorsements you can get in roots music from that end of the country. Signed to Peter Gabriel’s Real World and lauded by members of Portishead. Current album Lightbox is a rather interesting folky cyclical thing. Y’know when the players take a theme and riff on it round and round changing all the time? Kinda like anti-jazz no real solos, just waves? Live, freed from the restrictions of Real Studios they are a gloriously warm, rich creature doing that same thing. Only in 3D. Hypnotic lovely stuff. When they coming back?

The Penguin Cafe Orchestra were a strange beast.  As punk was being born, Simon Jeffes decided he wanted to make louche continental music.  He succeeded and has basically left (after an early death) a body of work that filled documentaries and Sunday supplements while Elbow was just a cute word from that Jack Lemmon film.  There was something unpinnable about PCO. But, ultimately, they were all about melody. When they seemed arch, no - they were just being tuneful.

Now, Jeffes’ son Arthur is keeping the name going with Music From The Penguin Cafe who openly do “reworked material and their own compositions”. And, that love of the melody is what’s central here. Jeffes Jr’s troupe (including some former pop stars - just like his dad did) take the original and give us stunning versions. They also play with the original and give us stunning versions. We get new material that sits beautifully in there.

It’s amazing.  Melody may be a devalued commodity these days, but it still has its power. At it’s best you could call it ‘frivolous’. Still it touches something deep and emotional. Frivolity as emotional experience, that’s what Jeffes Sr had mastered. Dad would be proud.

Last time I had them down as a garage-fueled funk. With the high fidelity, it’s a little less of the garage. But, they still funk. It’s that jaggy Devo type of the stuff. Played with a level of brio that puts us in mind of Franz, but with bigger choruses , less hooks and a serious rocket up their ass. It’s good stuff.

Every Future Of The Left gig is a must. In their short life, they’ve produced two studio albums with a compexity belied by their shouty exterior. The opening four songs tonight are a teeth rattling statement of intent. Battered through at nosebleed speed. We’ve got the biggest bouncing crowd of dedicated FotL fans yet. They relax into the usual crowd goading banter. And rock.

So, what’s wrong with tonight? (Other than a slightly dodgy sound - whatever happened to Tuts?) Nothing, really. It’s great. Yet, lacking. We’ve wracked my brains on this and can’t justify the sense that something just isn’t working as it really should.

Familairity breeds contempt?

Oh, they’re dismantling the drum kit again. Hurry up.

Always different, always the same

OK, so now we’ve got that out the way, well kind of. The new tour ‘ep’ by The Fall is really stretching that definition. Two tracks and a live recording. That’s a single, isn’t it? You don’t even get the live one on the 7″

Anyhoo, to the first new materil since 2008’s Imperial Wax Solvent: Opener Slippy Floor seems to be a paeon to Mark E Smiths recently broken hip. (That did happen, didn’t it? I didn’t just dream it?) It’s a rampagingly cyclical riff with him hollering all over it about being back to 95% fitness nad other stuff that we propbably don’t want to understand. This is labelled as the ‘Mark Mix’ and has the rough-hewn energy of the Peel sessions we all know and love. It is, needless to say, one of the best things we’ve heard this year.

Hot Cake (Part 2) is a glam-tinged bass-driven multi-layered piece-of genius. Samples, rangy guitars, Elena making jungle calls and more ranting at slippy floors. More of the same, but different and wonderful and frightening.

Ah right. I’ve just sussed why the cover features the a Blackburn based junior ice hockey team…

What we have here is the split debut from Be A Familiar and Tango In The Attic. Which, if we ignore the overly clean production that dogs many-a band’s first big trip to the recording studio offers a pair of cracking tune.

First up The Familiars You’d Make A Great Ghost; a perky pop number with a seriously dark heart - as the title would very obviously suggest. There’s something disarmingly mainstream about the Familiar-sound (as I’m sure it won’t become known as). Catchy verse chorus doubles with a building instrumentation and multi-layered vocal part. Building to the huge chant-along ending that makes their live performances so exciting.

Blunderground by the Tango boys has an plaintively urgent verse matched with a Futureheadsy oh-oh chorus. There’s something a bit arch about how they play with this building to the ‘big’ ending. You can almost hear their ayebrows raising to check your seeing how smart the structure is. But, it stops short of being overly knowing. We can expect interesting stuff from them in the future.

As we arrive at the venue, there are signs warning us of “partial nudity” as part of Zen Zen Zo’s perfomance. So, how many people saw that and demanded their money back? In the spirit of burlesque, they turn out to be a physical theatre company who send on some painted blokes in loinclothes to prance about with blankets. They’re then joined with the shocking semi-naked ladies and they do another distinctly unsensual routine. I’m sure their show is amazing. Out of context it’s just slightly amusing. They don’t outstay their welcome.

The Dresden Dolls were always one of those bands I’ve meant to go see on the reputation of an stounding live show, but never go round to. What I heard of their recorded ouvre made decide to wait for when I did see them live. My interest in frontwoman Amanda Palmer was piqued a couple of months back when the internet was rife with her email about how she’d utilised social media to not only create unique and interesting happenings, but also to make more money than her last major label album had earned her - and in a much shoerter time. The blog and Twitter accounts were followed and by the time this gig came round I was ready to fight for the review ticket. But, I come to this as a novice to her music.

From the back of the room a N’orleans style marching band (some festival buskers co-opted through the week) start up and begin making their way through the crowd. Ms Palmer descend the staircase in the Picture House like the ginger daughter of Lili Von Shtupp and takes up the procession lead onto the stage. TBH, the entrance is worth having come here already. She then does a couple of songs at the piano backed by the brass-guys. I don’t know what the songs are, but they knock last year’s Tom Waits’ gig into a cocked-hat.

Then we are left alone with her. Sat at the piano (and swigging red wine) we are treated to a series of glorious 21st century cabaret songs. There’s one about Googling your new beau. It’s hilarious and deeply touching. As her seemless co-opting of Momus‘ I Love You But I Don’t Need You is wonderful (which is huge praise coming from me). We get a tune with the uke (what burlesque show hasn’t?) and it’s smashing. But, it’s behind the piano that she seems at home. And, I begin to noticejust how great she is on the ivories. Like a dramatic Chico Marx. She can really uses all them keys.

There’s a reading from the book she wrote with current squeeze Neil Gaiman. And, I can’t make out a word of it. Thank you big cavernous venue. He then reads another shorter piece which is fantastic. He then reads a shorter piece, which is awesome. Why aren’t all the mics so good.

Back to the music. By this point I’m moving from one side of the venue (where I can see) to the other (where I can hear). She’s joined by her sister on vocals, a drummer’s coaxed out. Then the brass band retake the stage. Followed by The Indelicates for a full pick-up band extraveganza. It is quite staggering.

And, then it’s all over. A fantastic night of entertainment. Amanda Palmer is a goddam STAR!