We've just come back from The Stooges at the JJB/Puma Arena, sweaty, exhausted and exhilarated. Rarely have we ever seen a performance so elementally powerful, and rarely have we had the urge to get right down the front and go mad like we did tonight. "We are the fucking Stooges," says Iggy. Kicking off with 'Loose' and 'Down On The Street' is quite a beginning, but following it up with '1969' and 'I Wanna Be Your Dog' is something else. Then you get 'TV Eye', then 'No Fun', then '1970'. This is some show - these are more like nihilistic hymns than songs, more like forces of nature than constructed tunes. Iggy scales the speaker stack, undoing his trousers. He jumps down to meet the crowd, and the bouncers stand up on the rails, telling each other to push us down if we try to invade the stage. This isn't Snow Patrol, that's for sure. The Stooges are mostly over 60, but it's hard to believe how hard they rock. We might be sweaty, we might be exhausted, but we've just seen one of the best gigs we're ever likely to see. Long live The Stooges. Words: Tom Pinnock

Their audience may have been tiny (to be brutally honest, the smallest we've seen in the JJB/Puma Arena this weekend), but every single one of them was hopelessly devoted to Rilo Kiley. Except the guys who were just hopelessly devoted to singer Jenny Lewis and her heart-stopping wardrobe, that is. The energy from the audience was palpable, even when Lewis and the band ran through new songs from their very-shortly-forthcoming album 'Under The Blacklight'. Dressed up in his usual formal tie and waistcoat, Blake Sennett looked every bit the dapper US indie gentleman, while Lewis, squeezed into a sparkly hotpant combo, was a quintessential frontwoman minx. All the better for their breathily sexual songs, however, like 'More Adventurous''s 'Portions For Foxes' and 'Breakin' Up' from their latest record. As usual, Lewis' voice was pure loveliness, especially on closer 'Does He Love You?'. A great band, unfairly overlooked amid V's more 'casual listener' audience. Crossing over to Guillemots on the Channel 4 Stage, we managed to catch the end of their set, including 'Annie Let's Not Wait' and a mammoth 10-minute version of 'Sao Paulo', which ended with thirteen people on stage banging drums and tambourines. We assume they were another band, but next time pick a more recognisable one for your stage invasion next time Mr Dangerfield, ok?! We're now getting slightly over excited about Iggy & The Stooges in the JJB/Puma Arena later on... Words: Tom Pinnock

Having just seen Seth Lakeman on the JJB/Puma Arena at V Festival, we're pleased to report the Devon folk sensation's performances have got quite daring - yes, Lakeman seems to have dropped some lemon drops, toddled off to visit the fairies in the woods and gone psychedelic. Ok, maybe we're exaggerating - Seth has gone to visit the piper at the gates of dawn, but only on one song. Joined by his three-piece band for the rest of the set, it was on 'Kitty Jay', the Folk Awards' star's most famous track, and his solo piece, that he really shined. With his band offstage, Lakeman launched into the song, his violin swooping and sliding like John Cale's viola, but never overshadowing his singing. At the end of the track, Lakeman upped the pace and, with his violin bathed in a cavern of reverb, turned out an unbelievable violin solo. Far out, man. The rest of Lakeman's set seemed to cast him more in the mould of a British Bright Eyes than a 'trad' folk singer, never a bad thing. Watch this space. Words: Tom Pinnock

"Not bad for a bunch of old cunts, eh?" says Mani at the end of Primal Scream's set - and he isn't wrong. Following up their triptych of electro-punk terrorism albums with the watered-down Stones-lite of 'Riot City Blues' wasn't the Scream's brightest idea, but tonight they redeem themselves. Gone are the gospel singers of that album's overblown tour, leaving the band stripped down to a tight six-piece. The group are electrifying: a hailstorm of fuzz and techno beats, Stooges' energy and My Bloody Valentine noise. Even 'Riot City Blues' tracks are given the make over, draped in harder and punchier arrangements. Primal Scream's stylistic leaps over the last twenty-odd years could have led to a disjointed set, but it all somehow made sense, 'Loaded' fitting perfectly next to the likes of 'Swastika Eyes' and 'Burning Wheel'. If only they'd played 'Kowalski', then the night would have been perfect. They do, however, debut a new song, 'Can't Get Back', which Bobby claims is about "mumble...mumble....drugs....". Business as usual, then. It sounds like a continuation of 'Riot City Blues'' back to basics rock, but via the MC5 fuzzfest of 'Evil Heat''s 'City'. It bodes well. We also managed to check out a bit of Foo Fighters' headline slot on the main stage, beginning when Dave Grohl came out to play a strangely anti-climactic solo version of 'Everlong', before the full band launched into the mighty 'Monkey Wrench'. It's undeniable that the Foos put on a fantastic rock show. Although they pursue lowest common denominator crowd-pleasing in the way they drop out to let the audience sing the chorus of every single song, they do it so well, and it's so life-affirming, they effectively elevate the singalong to the status of high art, ahem. Everyone knows the words to every song and it's a real communal event. God Bless Dave Grohl. Next week he'll surely be uniting Israel and Palestine with the dumb rock thrills of 'All My Life' or 'Low'. Words: Tom Pinnock

While some recent Babyshambles performances have been like peeking into the rehearsal room of a really bad sixth form band, today they put on a surprisingly good show. Maybe Pete's recent jail threat has calmed him down or perhaps being banned from London has cleaned him up - whatever the cause, Doherty was surprisingly engaging with the audience and every bit the consummate showman. From new single 'The Delivery' to 'Pipedown' to 'What Katie Did', Babyshambles were tight and on top form. Pete threw his vintage guitar into the audience when it failed to work, then brought out a bunch of roses in a Morrissey-esque fashion - he was far from the automaton of past gigs. Doherty even poked fun at his own self-image - something that he's presumably been too smacked up to do before - saying prior to closer 'Fuck Forever': "That's about your lot, that's all you'll get. Can we get paid now?" The Coral were also on top form. A reliable live band, the Hoylake sextet played a greatest hits set, but with some added ferocity to their Merseybeat-psych. 'She Sings The Mourning' and 'Goodbye' were extended into scorching jams, demonstrating the heights of guitarist Bill Ryder-Jones' skills. That The Coral can combine these flights of experimental fancy with the catchiest of tunes is a special thing, and they got the whole Channel 4 Stage singing along to 'Dreaming Of You'. We're off to see Jarvis Cocker on the JJB Stage now - if he does 'Common People', you'll be the first to know. Words: Tom Pinnock

First thing this afternoon, we popped down to the Channel 4 Stage to see headliners Foo Fighters perform a secret gig. Dave Grohl arrived onstage and was immediately faced by a mass of cheers from the small crowd that had gathered to watch the 'band' 606. In no time at all word had obviously spread, and the crowd trebled in size as the band ran through some of the songs that wouldn't make their headline set tonight. Starting off with 'Marigold', a Grohl-penned Nirvana b-side, they then picked through some of their more mellow tracks, including 'See You', 'Cold Day In The Sun' and 'Big Me'. During 'See You', Grohl took the chance to introduce his band at length - and we have to say we were pretty excited when we learned the third guitarist in the line-up was none other than Pat Smear, ex-Germ, ex-Foo Fighter and ex-Nirvana guitarist (if only for 'Unplugged...'). Let's hope he plays with them tonight. "This band 606 are pretty good," said a punter behind me. We also managed to see Editors' set on the main V Stageat 2.30pm. They might have had a slow-burning career trajectory, but they're undeniably massive now, and the crowd clapped and sang along to every song. Expect an even higher billing for Editors next year, preferably in the dark where their twilight-Joy Division-esque-ruminations belong. Words: Tom Pinnock

I was maybe halfway through the entirely improvised new live album by Ghost, when it occurred to me that I might have been fixating on the new psych/folk/freak jams a bit much this past week or so. It was then that I turned to the new album by Beirut, as I have done for the past two or three weeks when I feel the need for tunes, of all things. "Gulag Orkestar", Beirut’s auspicious debut from last year, was an elaborate and meticulously-realised Balkan fantasy, concocted in a teenager’s bedroom in Albuquerque. It felt incredibly self-conscious, occasionally a bit over-wrought, and yet I really fell for it. That teenager, Zach Condon, seemed to be grappling with big, portentous, passionate and ramshackle anthemics with a skill that many of his contemporaries (and seniors, to be honest) were reaching for, but only The Arcade Fire really grasped. "The Flying Club Cup" is, I think, an even better record. The heavy conceptualising remains, though the co-ordinates have shifted. Now 21, Condon appears to be living in Paris, and has made a record about France, as titles like "Cliquot", "Une Derriere Verre (Pour La Route)" and "Nantes" make clear. So far, so adolescent: reading this, I imagine a few of you may be faintly appalled by some kind of chamber pop Conor Oberst who’s seen a DVD of Amelie and got inspired. Well, there’s an element of that to "The Flying Club Cup", I guess. But it’s also a quite lovely and engrossing record, one which fully transcends some of its more, ahem, gauche pretensions. Condon recorded the album in the Arcade Fire’s church studio, and Owen Pallet (a part-time member of that band, and the man behind Final Fantasy) clearly had a key role in the opulent string arrangements that dominate many of these 13 songs: "Cliquot" is absolutely wonderful, a drunken and lush staggering waltz, of sorts. "The Flying Club Cup" is notionally inspired (he says, frantically regurgitating the press release) by a 1910 hot air balloon race held near the Eiffel Tower, and Condon is gifted enough to have perfectly captured that vibe in a lot of this music: flighty, antique, redolent of sepia glamour and adventure. Initially, that feel seemed to be the key, and I wasn’t sure how strong the songs were. But slowly the melodic richness comes into focus, and the likes of "Forks And Knives", "Cherbourg", the pulsating piano groove of "In The Mausoleum" and the amazing title track start feeling memorable as well as detailed. It reminds me of The Divine Comedy circa "Promenade" a little, though in a very modern American indie context. My colleague Mark has just mentioned Sufjan Stevens, which is very true. Our friends in marketing, meanwhile, who I was trying to placate by putting it on, have just shouted something about "Hungarian psycho music". So maybe Condon’s attempt to move on from the Balkans hasn’t been entirely successful. But whatever: great record.