Early in Panic! At The Disco’s headline set, guitarist Ryan Ross apologetically refers to the Las Vegas band’s latest album, Pretty Odd, to a virtual null response from the crowd. It’s the album that’s offended the band’s fanbase by rejecting their emo origins in favour of Sgt Pepper-flavoured rock. But if this masterful headline slot revealed anything, it’s that the backlash is unfair. A few songs later, Behind The Sea has the audience swaying along, Hey Jude-style. Later, there’s a campfire singalong (Folkin’ Odd) and the first attempt by a band this weekend to get fans to finger-click – not clap – along to their music. Pretty odd indeed, but pretty good too. Dan Stubbs


Yank new wavers We Are Scientists have a tidy line in onstage banter, singer/guitarist Keith Murray encouraging the massed throng to “find a fresh piece of mud and hump it” while his bass-playing cohort Chris Cain inverts trad festival sexism by mock-excitedly pointing out men with their tops off.

Sadly, the front duo’s obvious wit and intelligence is allied to nondescript indie-disco fare that exits the memory as soon as it’s over. Even the guest appearance by Dev ‘Lightspeed Champion’ Hynes, beatifically strumming an acoustic guitar, can’t cover the fact that these supposed smart alecs’ slower tracks sound like bad Simple Minds.

In contrast, The Enemy don’t have a cynical bone in their whippet-thin bodies, crashing through their earnest Brit-punk to a fervid, fist-punching crowd. With the Union flag draped over amps and a lad-friendly sonic palette – everything sounds like A Very Angry Jam B-side – you can’t doubt their commitment, even if a little variety wouldn’t go amiss. Manish Agarwal



If ever there was a band to channel the joy, charm and righteous geekiness of ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’, it’s Brooklyn’s Vampire Weekend (pictured) who rightly draw a huge crowd – heavy touring has only energised them more, the twinkling Afro-pop of A Punk a sheer delight.

Piano popster Ben Folds’ ability to light up a stage, even in the drizzle, should be assured – but too soon, Folds defers center-stage to Dresden Dolls singer Amanda Palmer, whose theatrics are the antithesis of Folds’ understated sweetness. Happily, he comes back with a fan fave, his cover of Dr Dre’s Bitches Ain’t Shit.

Hoosiers bounce on in fancy dress to deliver their airwaves-friendly indie pop, joined for their Worried About Ray finale by a troupe of dancing model Wonderwomen – a perfect match for their spotless, flashy pop.


Angular and moody though their music is, Skins soundtrack heroes Foals are a great party band, and a grooving brass section brings a Pigbag-style joie de vivre to their set. “Glastonbury is mystical,” declares singer Yannis Philippakis, “like a mountain.” The sodden crowd respond by jumping like crazies. Sophie Harris



Late changes to the line-up causes early morning confusion among Australian flag-waving hip hop fans, Adelaide’s Hilltop Hoods being replaced by Norwegian punk princess Ida Maria. The singer seems confused, too, apologising for their hungover start.

With kohled eyes, top hat and white spotted shirt, she’s like a whirling, polka-dotted Droog, but even the spiky indie rock of the lascivious I Like You Better When You’re Naked is no match for the drizzle.


Miles Kanes’ Rascals play cocky Scousedelic pop, but always seem to teeter on the edge of smug. Unfortunately, only final song Out Of Dreams reaches the escape velocity needed to release them from the gravitational pull of their Beefheart/Love influences.


Joe Lean And The Jing Jang Jong are fronted by shape-throwing, piratical stick insect Joe, a man who dances like a young Mick Jagger dragged through Keith Richards’ wardrobe backwards. They reward huge cheers with indefatigable modish indie and lyrical hooks that could have been written in the Brill Building during the ‘60s.

A glimpse of watery sun gets an even bigger cheer, and although conditions are swampy, the party has definitely started. Andy Fyfe