Infinitely better than standing. Unless you're 16.
Huge glitter platforms, tiny dress, heart shaped sunglasses, it's no wonder the camera crew keeps panning up Alison Goldfrapp. That and they can see her knickers. All dancers are present and correct: wolf heads in 'Train', mirrored horse heads and tails for 'Ride a White Horse', and those really creepy masks that make them look like Noh air hostesses. Sod Kylie, this band has the best Showgirls in live music.
Standing on someone else's head is, like, way harder
Mystery Jets have eased up on the wigouts since 2004 which has paved the way for the sparky songs they've just done on the main stage. The new one about being "half in love with Elizabeth and half in love with you" is particularly good. Over on the acoustic stage, an anonymous guitarist is showing off some lovely songs - whoever he is, head to ammusic.com, or the borderline on Tuesday. He's very good. Heading along to the electric lure of Goldfrapp, we stick our heads around a later than scheduled Niteversions set. It's blistering, but sadly we've got needs that require dancers wearing animal heads so can't stop. Mmm...UV lights.
The bearded one finally graces the stage a mere 20 minutes after his set was supposed to start.
What do you do when your singer doesn't turn up? Well, first you tune up for ages, then you play an instrumental before giving up and walking off. When he finally rocks up with fifteen minutes to go, some tunes finally get a look in. While ordinarily we hate reggae with every fibre of our being, when it involves an orthodox Jew bouncing around like a spindly puppet, we'll stick around. Especially now he's started rapping: that is ACE.
Right, now quite clearly this is a milkshake, and not electro icon Thomas Dolby. It is however the greatest milkshake ever made and deserves to be recognised as such. What it can't do is recount stories about its one man show in the 70s, or the scene that gave birth to Soft Cell, but happily Dolby does that instead. Boxed in by several synths and a computer, he's very helpfully put a camera on his head so we can see what he's doing. In the world of ironic, Miss Kittin-style vocals that now feature heavily on electro records, Dolby's earnest words wobble precariously between cheese and charm. He's also mapped pictures of the planets in tune with his synths which is mind-blowingly odd, but strangely enthralling when you see parts of the Sun reacting to what he's playing. The anecdotes are the great part though: "I've been away for 14 years. My favourite rumour was that I was running a taxi firm with the guitarist from Haircut 100."
"So I suppose you're the lot who don't like football then?"
It's not just the tedious prospect of watching England stumble through another World Cup game that's got a reasonable crowd into the NYPC's set, but the buzz that the band have created about their music. Funky, urgent beats, wacky synths and delighted singing adds up to a big yes please for us. Think Bloc Party with less of a strop on and more interesting percussion and you're getting the reason why you should pay attention when they say "I DEFY you not to dance!" We're not arguing.
Luring us away from reading. As good music should.
Soaring sonic warblings coming from the XFM tent meant our plans to eat Calippos and read the papers in front of the main stage have been put on hold. Confident and lovely, check out young upstarts Polytechnic.
We particularly loved the security guy bouncing along with his little girl.
Eleven and 14 is very young to be in an established band, but Keisha Sugababe started at 14 and isn't doing too badly, interchangeable band mates aside. While you might expect people that age to be singing into their hairbrushes and doing their Grade 4 piano exams, the precocious American sisters have toured, won famous fans, and, on the basis of what they're doing tonight, recorded a good album. It's definitely not pop either, not twee enough. Oh God, it's growing on us. Who is this Brad they're singing about? He sounds like a nutter.
Last time we saw the Kittster he was flanked by a band of wondrous weirdos with big hair. This time he's on his own, pre-recorded bass and drums and his guitars. It's back to basics, which is how he recorded his best album 'The Big Romance': in his room, playing all the instruments. He looks a bit martyred at playing to a small crowd he doesn't think will know his stuff, then thaws when we cheer at the intro to 'Song for Hope Street...' "Cool. This might be better than I'd thought." Well, yes and no. The benevolent grins have disappeared and one new track appears to have stolen its rhythm from that Holly Valance song. At least he knows he's loved anyway. More love for David Kitt please
No you're not dreaming, that blob is indeed a string quartet
We want mad skills. Those of Killa Kela and his crew border on the Frankenstein: sure you've seen beatboxers before, but singing at the same time? Expletives fail us. It centres around Kela and his insane voicebox, but there's no wasted talent. As well as roping in keys, strings and a singer, there's a great stint as MC Trip freestyles to the crowd's possessions: 'My trainers are so white, Kate Moss tried to snort 'em.' You should have heard the line about the bloke in the front row's sideburns...
Much as it nourishes our aural needs, there's been a bit too much indie schmindie featuring in our wireless listening this week. We shake off the pleading calls of Beth Orton and sprint to the Xfm stage instead for the Freestylers who are magnificent. Why are there so many bloody rubbish art rock imitators scourging London? If you can make beats this crunchy with the same instruments there should be no excuse for whining about how your blazer doesn't match your haircut and calling it music. Good art rock, yes, but there's enough now. Move on boys. We're going to have a dance, do excuse us.
