You know those people whose taste you instinctively distrust? Who only ever seem to love music that you can't stand? For me, that's Noel Gallagher. Every time he steps up to proselytise on behalf of a band, my heart sinks. Here, after all, is a man whose every aesthetic decision seems predicated on a terrifying fear of the unknown, whose idea of the avant-garde is Beck. If it doesn't fit Gallagher's conservative idea of The Song, he'll never speak out in favour of it. The one great thing Gallagher has done, however, is to have tried so heroically to sustain a career for Mick and John Head and their enduringly wonderful band, Shack. It'd be a bit daft for me to make claims for Shack as a particularly radical group; Mick Head, especially, fits the Gallagher profile of artisanal, traditional, working-class rock'n'roll songwriter to a tee. But for over 20 years now, Head has been investing his songs with an elegaic, hazy quality which sets them apart from virtually any of his contemporaries. Like plenty of other songwriters from Liverpool, the stoned West Coast fantasias of Love have been a particularly potent influence ("Meant To Be" is a perfect recreation of the psych mariachi strain). But really, Shack evade meticulous analysis. Basically, Mick Head is just better at writing songs. About telly and heroin. "Time Machine", which Gallagher is putting out on his own Sour Mash label, is a deserved 'best of' collection; not a 'greatest hits', sadly, despite the best efforts of Oasis and several generations of whingeing music hacks. In the late '90s, it briefly looked as if Shack might creep into the mainstream on the back of the Noelrock boom. A major label album, "HMS Fable", gave Head's ineffably fragile songs some new muscle. NME put Head's weatherbeaten mug on the front cover. And still, it never quite happened. "HMS Fable" felt a bit overfussy to me at the time, compared with the delicacies of the album which preceded it, "The Magical World Of The Strands" (credited to The Strands, and consequently ignored by this comp). Now, though, everything here seems to fit together perfectly, from the rickety acid folk of an early single like "Al's Vacation", through moist, blokey "Fable" anthems like "Pull Together", right up to a couple of feisty new tracks, "Holiday Abroad" and "Wanda". It all makes for a lovely album, although I wouldn't be doing my duty as a music journalist and fan if I didn't complain a bit about the tracklisting. There's nothing from their late '80s debut (as Shack, a couple of LPs as The Pale Fountains preceded it, of course), "Zilch"; a record with a fairly unpleasant, dated production, for sure, but with some undervalued songs like "Emergency" and "The Believers" on it. The Strands' songs are probably my favourites, so it might have been nice to find space for "Queen Matilda" and "X Hits The Spot", say. And while it's great to have a couple of fine early singles ("I Know You Well", which is what you hoped the second Stone Roses album could've been, and "Al's Vacation"), they've missed a marvellous one from just after "HMS Fable", "Oscar". OK, fanboy whining over. "Time Machine" works just fine. And as every aggrieved reviewer will agree in the next couple of months; if you've never given this exceptional band a chance, try this one for size. And if you don't trust me, listen to that nice Noel Gallagher. . .

At nine o'clock, the omens are not great. Sly And The Family Stone are meant to be starting their headlining set right now, and the strict curfew on this inner-city festival is 10.30. On the main stage, though, Chris Stein has decided to add a five-minute guitar solo to "Rapture", while Debbie Harry looks on with a sort of professional vapidity. Blondie, in all their lumpen, functional weariness, aren't going to be finished any time soon. It is, then, nearly 9.50 before Sly And The Family Stone arrive onstage. Actually, it's just The Family Stone. And if we're being picky and going to believe the Wikipedia entry, it's not even The Family Stone, but a tribute band fronted by Stone's sister, Vet, who until recently were called The Phunk Family Affair. Of course, we were expecting nothing more. Sly Stone's recent and highly unlikely return to the stage has provoked a bunch of mildly outraged reviews, as collated on that Wikipedia page. We know the form: the band will play a few of his hits, then Sly himself will wander on for a couple of perfunctory tunes. Maybe the band will carry on for a while, but that'll be it. It doesn't sound like a great deal, but the prospect of seeing this strange and reclusive man, who at least was a genius once, is irresistible to me. Barely sighted onstage in over two decades, Stone is playing just down the road from home in Hackney. However ill-advised it may sometimes be, I can't resist going to see the old heroes, the reformed bands I give a damn about; it's almost an urge to collect heritage scalps, I guess. So anyway, here are the band playing "Dance To The Music", as you might imagine, and to be honest a lot of the crowd don't seem to have noticed that the leader is absent. They're a decent funk showband, a little too fond of taking solos, and fronted by a woman - Vet Stone - who's a capable singer but who doesn't have much in the way of presence. It's OK: the edge of those old records is missing, of course, that precarious mix of tension and euphoria. As they roll out "Everyday People" and "Hot Fun In The Summertime", the pleasures are less complicated; those of a party band, not a blazing collective with a revolutionary subtext. But after about half an hour, just as the rain arrives, so does Sly Stone, and everything changes. He doesn't look great, to be honest - hunched and swivelled, seemingly dressed like Flavor Flav, though at least the towering blond mohawk that he sported at the 2006 Grammys has gone. But then he starts singing "If You Want Me To Stay", and it's terrific; fragile and wandering a little, but with all the emotional resonance that he summoned up nearly 40 years ago. It's quite moving, too, and thankfully the band have cut the showy fills. Earlier reports have portrayed Stone as an invalided, Wilsonesque figure, marooned behind his keyboards, but he seems much stronger and stranger than that. Next is "Sing A Simple Song", that impressionistic, wasted mutter still beguiling, and he's doing this shambolic dance, a kind of stooped shadowboxing, round the stage. Watching him, it occurs to me that his short appearances are not due to physical infirmity, quite, but more down to an extreme version of soulman narcissism. We will tolerate fleeting appearances, goes the thinking, because we are grateful to be in the presence of such a stellar talent. The thing is, if you go to a show like this expecting to be disappointed, as I did, you can deal with such primadonna-ish behaviour. After two songs, Stone appears to say something about going for a piss, and disappears. The band look momentarily flummoxed, and the bassist decides to play another solo. But then they just carry on with the set without him, with "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)". Amazingly, he comes back, and "I Wanna Take You Higher" is great, too. "Stand" is even better, and now Stone is sat on his piano stool, spinning round and round, singing with this great parched feeling, and - judging by the close-ups - an expression of justifiable rapture on his face. Towards the end, he scuttles off without even acknowledging the crowd, and seconds later the curfew shuts down the band. That's it. OK, I didn't pay to get in, so I can't say for sure whether I would have felt ripped off as a 'real' punter. It's not churlish to expect more than four songs from a festival's headlining act, though I personally suspected we might only get three. I do feel, rather sheepishly, privileged to have seen a legend in my own backyard, still with a palpable grasp on his genius. He may be back here again and again, deconstructing his myth with revival after revival. He may never play again. Me, I'm just glad I made the effort tonight.

At nine o'clock, the omens are not great. Sly And The Family Stone are meant to be starting their headlining set right now, and the strict curfew on this inner-city festival is 10.30. On the main stage, though, Chris Stein has decided to add a five-minute guitar solo to "Rapture", while Debbie Harry looks on with a sort of professional vapidity. Blondie, in all their lumpen, functional weariness, aren't going to be finished any time soon. It is, then, nearly 9.50 before Sly And The Family Stone arrive onstage. Actually, it's just The Family Stone. And if we're being picky and going to believe the Wikipedia entry, it's not even The Family Stone, but a tribute band fronted by Stone's sister, Vet, who until recently were called The Phunk Family Affair. Of course, we were expecting nothing more. Sly Stone's recent and highly unlikely return to the stage has provoked a bunch of mildly outraged reviews, as collated on that Wikipedia page. We know the form: the band will play a few of his hits, then Sly himself will wander on for a couple of perfunctory tunes. Maybe the band will carry on for a while, but that'll be it. It doesn't sound like a great deal, but the prospect of seeing this strange and reclusive man, who at least was a genius once, is irresistible to me. Barely sighted onstage in over two decades, Stone is playing just down the road from home in Hackney. However ill-advised it may sometimes be, I can't resist going to see the old heroes, the reformed bands I give a damn about; it's almost an urge to collect heritage scalps, I guess. So anyway, here are the band playing "Dance To The Music", as you might imagine, and to be honest a lot of the crowd don't seem to have noticed that the leader is absent. They're a decent funk showband, a little too fond of taking solos, and fronted by a woman - Vet Stone - who's a capable singer but who doesn't have much in the way of presence. It's OK: the edge of those old records is missing, of course, that precarious mix of tension and euphoria. As they roll out "Everyday People" and "Hot Fun In The Summertime", the pleasures are less complicated; those of a party band, not a blazing collective with a revolutionary subtext. But after about half an hour, just as the rain arrives, so does Sly Stone, and everything changes. He doesn't look great, to be honest - hunched and swivelled, seemingly dressed like Flavor Flav, though at least the towering blond mohawk that he sported at the 2006 Grammys has gone. But then he starts singing "If You Want Me To Stay", and it's terrific; fragile and wandering a little, but with all the emotional resonance that he summoned up nearly 40 years ago. It's quite moving, too, and thankfully the band have cut the showy fills. Earlier reports have portrayed Stone as an invalided, Wilsonesque figure, marooned behind his keyboards, but he seems much stronger and stranger than that. Next is "Sing A Simple Song", that impressionistic, wasted mutter still beguiling, and he's doing this shambolic dance, a kind of stooped shadowboxing, round the stage. Watching him, it occurs to me that his short appearances are not due to physical infirmity, quite, but more down to an extreme version of soulman narcissism. We will tolerate fleeting appearances, goes the thinking, because we are grateful to be in the presence of such a stellar talent. The thing is, if you go to a show like this expecting to be disappointed, as I did, you can deal with such primadonna-ish behaviour. After two songs, Stone appears to say something about going for a piss, and disappears. The band look momentarily flummoxed, and the bassist decides to play another solo. But then they just carry on with the set without him, with "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)". Amazingly, he comes back, and "I Wanna Take You Higher" is great, too. "Stand" is even better, and now Stone is sat on his piano stool, spinning round and round, singing with this great parched feeling, and - judging by the close-ups - an expression of justifiable rapture on his face. Towards the end, he scuttles off without even acknowledging the crowd, and seconds later the curfew shuts down the band. That's it. OK, I didn't pay to get in, so I can't say for sure whether I would have felt ripped off as a 'real' punter. It's not churlish to expect more than four songs from a festival's headlining act, though I personally suspected we might only get three. I do feel, rather sheepishly, privileged to have seen a legend in my own backyard, still with a palpable grasp on his genius. He may be back here again and again, deconstructing his myth with revival after revival. He may never play again. Me, I'm just glad I made the effort tonight.

Just got back from an incredibly frenetic show by !!! - the US dance-punk outfit were incredible. Singer Nic Offer fuelled with helium sneakily passed onstage by CSS' Lovefoxxx who was still waiting in the wings having just played another technicolor show, welcomed the baying crowd squeaky high - and the show was on! Power to the site was rectified shortly after the last post, but apologies for the delay in getting back to the laptop - simply had to go get infected with the hi-energy brand of !!!'s dance with loud guitars. The stage was filled with at least nine members of the Sacramento band - with at least three drummers on the go at any one time - and the rhythm was certainly infectious. Abusing/utilising my pass for the first time this weekend, I watched from the side of the stage, and the crowd in and out of the tent stretched far into the horizon, all with their arms in the air. Offer introduced "Shit Scheisse Merde Pt 1" in his newly learnt Spanish, but the crowd didnt really understand, and went very quiet for the only time during the band's stage roaming. Rapping, singing, shouty vocals, it was all covered and more. I've woken up now, and raring to go, The B-52s are onstage now - hope they play the lobster song! I'll file my round-up of this evening's bands a wee while later - highlights so far include Camera Obscura's Tracey Ann guesting with Peter, Bjorn And John, and Os Mutantes brought their psychedelic latin-beats rock to the festival - feel privileged to have seen them as it was one of their rare appearances in Europe. I'll tell you all about it later. Anyhoo - B-52s are calling my name.

Dinosaur Jr are one of the veterans playing this year's festival - we are still looking forward to seeing Animal Collective and Calexico this weekend. J Mascis comes on to greet the main stage with long (natural) platinum blond locks, and plugs in his guitar... Like many ‘older’ bands, Dinosaur's musicianship is in a different league to many of the young upstarts currently hogging ‘the scene’. It felt, as he played, that all good artists today have been influenced by the sounds inside J's head. They play a stage completely stacked with Marshall amps and the sound is amazing - it's a wonder they have any hearing left after playing so long. The set list was: 'Almost Ready' 'Heaven' 'Lou#1' 'Fury' 'Been There' 'This Is All I Care To Do' 'Feel Pain' 'Wagon' 'Freakscene' Fast walking to The Klaxons payed off, squeezing into the side of the far too small tent, the anticipation in the air was pretty exhilerating, despite the heat. Starting with “Your Name’s Not Down, You’re Not Coming In”. And indeed, if you’re not alraedy in, you'd have no chance, as the crowd spilling out into the fields around the tent are still straining to see in. Squashed against the tarpaulin of the tent,we still made enough space to have a little dance to the band's muggy sounding riffs. The hits like 'Golden Skans' and 'Gravity's Rainbow' drive the crowd mental. And as a bonus people handing out time multicoloured glow rave bracelets as presents, added to the mental club feel. With the crowd this over-excited, they could have played 'Ace Of Spades', and got away with it. On my way back through hospitality, which is, in true Spanish style, VERY hospitable, we happen across Human League frontman, Phil Oakey. He kindly fronts us a drink, whilst telling me they’ve flown in a whole day early, not fussed about enjoying the delights of the festival, but purely to see Devo live! And then… Devo take the stage. And from the first moment, the crowd are with them; drawn into their world. Middle-age spread doesn’t even register. Three songs in and ‘Secret Agent Man’ gets even the new converts dancing. ‘Satisfaction’ follows with the weirdly sedate vibe. Then the boilder suits are ripped from band members arms during ‘Uncontrolable Edge’, ending with the characteristic group dance. The older fans get far too excited as ‘Mogoloid’ follows, with much robot dancing in the audience, and confused looks from those unaware of the background. In the final section, it’s down to boxers, Devo t-shirts and shin pads, as it all goes a bit psychadelic. The experienced genre-defining musicians onstage rivalling modern electro outfits with their cutting-edge blips and bleeps. From this point on, genius status clearly established and accepted, they could take us anywhere… We are D-E-0V-O! Additional reporting: Genia Davy

Just got back from seeing the best band I've seen in a while. Hey it's Wilco - I know we gushed about their set at Latitude last weekend but, wow, watching 20,000 people go mental just now was icing on the Uncut cake. Sounding like the best bits of Creedence Clearwater in parts, especially during 'Handshake Drugs' - I learnt the word for melt in Spanish - 'Derritir' - that's what Nels Cline's guitar combined with the band jamming behind him made me and thousands of overs feel like. Wilco, as John said so eloquently last weekend, fucking rock. I lost myself spacily in the proggy guitar sounds, and the vocals, and the swathed in mist, woken up between songs by the crowd chanting 'Ole Ole Ole Ole' - a chant started by Tweedy from the start. Very similar set to what we saw last week in Suffolk; 'Side With The Seeds', Spiders (Kidsmoke)' and 'I'm The Man Who Loves You' - but with thousands of people dancing, waving lights and flags, the atmosphere is amazing - Wilco deserve a crowd like this - what a difference a few miles makes. Devo are in the hallway to the press area, all in red builders hats, - very surreal - they are about to do a press conference before playing Benicassims' headline slot a bit later. Off to see Dinosaur Jr now - saw Mascis again about half hour ago - he still hasn't sorted his set list! Hope there's plenty of 'Bug'!