I've blogged previously about Grindhouse's abysmal showing at the American box office, and last night I finally got to see the version of Tarantino's extended Death Proof segment that's getting a UK release in September.


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They call this time the gloaming -- night coming down, all colours leached from the sky. It seems a remarkably appropriate moment for the Arcade Fire to take the stage and close Latitude Year two with an enormous bang. And some fireworks.


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The last few hours of Latitude 2007 and it’s starting to feel like the fall of Saigon, but only in a genteel and latte-sipping way. As night engulfs the woods and almost the entire remaining crowd is sucked towards Arcade Fire’s headline set, there are precious few refuges left for cultural dissidents who may be immune to epic Canadian folk-rock.


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The festival's most entertaining front man is, by a country mile, Jarvis Cocker. His colourful, between song digressions are frequently priceless and, on the odd occasion, better than the songs themselves.


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Here come The Rapture. They are loud, they are rowdy, they are woo-yeah funkay for tha laydeez - but frankly, they are also a bit dull. Come in, let’s be honest, the flavour has drained a little from all this knowingly retro punk-funk now that the formula has been hammered to death by every disco-rock chancer from London to New York and back.


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It's good to see the UNCUT Arena pretty much rammed by the time Cherry Ghost come on, just after 3pm, a lot of interest being show to this Lancashire five-piece.


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OK, so far today I've caught some fine comedy from Phill Jupitus, and been dragged by Farah towards a showgirl workshop in the Cabaret Tent. Oh, and earlier this morning I bumped into a bloke called Danny Kerwin.


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Last night, we went feral in the woods. It’s not often you see your editor at a rave, and a rave in the woods at that, but last night UNCUT’s Allan Jones was getting down with the kids to all manner of dub-step and breakbeat classics. And he didn’t even mention Nick Lowe until 2.40 in the morning.


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Damon Albarn, being something of a native as he hails from nearby Colchester, closes tonight's set by The Good, The Bad & The Queen by displaying his intimate knowledge of the A12. It's perhaps not the most rock 'n' roll way to end a festival, but then The Good, The Bad & The Queen aren't necessarily going to play by the rules.


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Ah, so this is art rock, Latitude style. Sad to report, it does nothing very much for me. But I guess it's always going to be hard to follow the Hold Steady.


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Editor's Letter

Inside this month's new Uncut…


A month, perhaps, of surprises. On the rather intimidating new Scott Walker and Sunn O))) album, there appears to be a joke about Michael Flatley's testicles. Somewhere in the elevated aesthetics of Kate Bush's Before The Dawn, there's an equally dubious comedy routine that hinges on the...