Features

As Uncut’s temporary Welsh psych-folk correspondent, I’m pleased to report that the – admittedly small – scene is in fine fettle.

It's a criminal shame that one of the finest bands to come out of the planet's lower end should play to a half-empty tent. Australian indie charmers Howling Bells were more than up to the challenge, proving unequivocally that a voice like a loudhailer channelling angels can overcome anything – even having Arcade Fire as their audience competition.

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.

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.

It's a loveable tick of Latitude that you get kids sporting squeaky-clean floral wellies in the same ground as well-heeled WI members. "He’s got lovely tattoos," says one old chap admiringly, pointing at Cold War Kids frontman Nathan Willet's inked chest. Still, while indeed lovely, they're not really enough to keep a crowd visually entertained for 45 minutes.

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.

A lively afternoon at Latitude today, where the conditions are fluctuating between blazing sunshine and torrential rain. It's oddly suitable for Andrew Bird, whose fascination with meteorology led him to call one of his old albums "Weather Systems".

Down by the lake this morning, there's a large band dressed like bad mime artists in boho pierrot gear. At ten thirty, the flute and oboe players are making bird noises at each other from opposite banks of the lake.

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.

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.