Features

Just back from the Mercury Prize shortlist announcement which, as you might imagine, was a hotbed of hype and low-level grumbling about the 12 nominations. I was doing some media-slag punditry, a lot of which revolved around the high-profile absentees: Coldplay, Duffy, The Ting Tings, Kate Nash and the one which actually annoyed me, Portishead. But before I start ranting, here’s the shortlist if you haven’t seen it yet:

Farah's just coded a bunch more links to our stories from over the weekend. There's just about everything we covered here, I reckon. . .

More chances to be wrapped up in their ethereal wonderful sound

Back from Latitude, then, and plenty of things to talk about. I spent the weekend blogging over at our dedicated Latitude blog. Lots of highlights, as you might imagine. . .

Over the weekend, the Uncut team filed innumerable reports from the Latitude festival. Here's a quick round-up of links to help you find your way through it all. . .

There's a term for a person who knowingly and consensually allows another person to inflict pain on them, and from this day forth they shall be known as Black Lips fans.

As I’m nearing the main stage, a mournful funeral wail of a riff starts up, soon to be joined by stiff drums and icy synth. If Sigur Ros hadn’t started their set with “Svefn-G-Englar” last night, it would surely be the most doomy headline set opener of the festival. Of course, it's Interpol.

“Given though this is a family affair, we all know someone who’s a meth head or a speed freak,” thus it is that Kim Deal endears herself to the good ladies and gentlemen of Latitude.

The good folk of Latitude are becoming more lucid and lyrical, as guest blogger Terry Staunton has discovered...

Toddling over from The Breeders’ shambolic but utterly brilliant set, I check in on Okkervil River, who seem to be practically filling up the Uncut Arena. This is obviously a band who inspire a lot of love. Unsurprising, of course, looking at their clothes. All the band are dressed to the hilt in tailored suits, white shirts and braces like a transatlantic Pogues. What’s not to love?