ALL TOMORROW’S PARTIES, SUNDAY;

Today’s opening act The Tints prove an enjoyable Sunday morning (well, afternoon) wake-up call. Billed as a “teenage girl power trio”, they had me sold from the start, and many others too it seems given the unusually large crowd for the time of day. Unbearably pedantic note: they’re NOT a power trio. Power trio is guitar, bass and drums, the Tints are guitar, organ and drums. I know, I know, sorry to waste words on such nonsense, but I’m pretty picky about my power trio definitions, and the sanctity of that particular rock geometry must be maintained. So yeah, the Tints – they’re pretty good. They make harmonious, janglified, mannered and feminine pop sculpture out of the skeleton of third album era Velvets in a manner highly reminiscent of the great Slumber Party, and, lest I forget, they have some real fine, catchy, foot-tapping tunes too. Good things all! Basically they seem a bit like the Carrie Nations from ‘Beyond the Valley of the Dolls’, but with better music. I’m a little uncertain about the super-cute singer/guitarist’s decision to take the stage wearing some kind of questionable hot-pants / pyjamas combo (er, how old is she again?), and the fact that they may as well have played to a back projection of Vincent Gallo’s leering face, but apart from that, lovely.

Nearly pole-axed from the start by severe technical problems, Gang Gang Dance thankfully manage to pull it together and emerge as one of the most impressive and unusual bands of the weekend. Clearly well versed in sonic history and deliberately difficult to pin down, GGD’s sound basically involves crafting a dense, FX laden, shoegazing haze out of the most unlikely elements – NY mutant disco, new romantic era electronics and faux-ethnic electric ragas to name but a few - all pulled together via the explorative tendencies and new noise craving of the best kind of avant-rock. The guitarist picks out trailing, trippy arabesques through a flange-drenched, crystalline fuzz while the synths/electronics guy mixes death disco keyboard stabs with menacing thunderclaps of sub-bass. The drumming is big on those tribal poly-rhythms and echoed cymbals, taking an unpredictable approach to the beat that keeps the audience and players on their toes. Stand-out instrument though is Lizzi Bougatso’s majestic, wordless voice, weaving through the sound in tremulous high-register like some exultant Bollywood wedding chorus heard through the midst of a bad trip. Gang Gang Dance make music like something you’d expect to hear blasting out of an inter-stellar Moroccan market stall in a William Gibson fever dream. By trawling over some of the more under-utilised sounds of the past and twisting them into overwhelming new futures, they’re heading towards an entirely new definition of the psychedelic – check ‘em the fuck out.

I knew I gonna love Magik Markers when guitarist Elisa’s soundcheck ritual went as follows; plug guitar into Marshall stack. Hear immediate roar of crippling feedback. Shrug. Drop guitar. Walk off stage. Actually, that’s not true, I knew I was gonna love Magik Markers as soon as I read they were Sonic Youth’s new favourite band and saw accompanying photos of two wild, geeky looking girls kicking the shit out of a bunch of vintage guitar equipment. “Let’s rock!” None of this though quite prepared me for the level of primitive ultra-punk extremity Magik Markers bring to their performance. An expert in what The Wire, god bless ‘em, terms “non-interventionist guitar techniques”, Elisa adopts the persona of a sugar-hyped cave-woman completely unfamiliar with the concept of a musical instrument as she stalks the stage wielding her axe like a wand, a phallus, an anvil and, well, an axe, as the audience whoops and the feedback blares. Noise-rock and no wave might have made us familiar with the concept of great bands who can’t play their instruments, but the Markers are kicking it one stage further by being a great band who WON’T play their instruments. “It’s not a guitar – it’s an alien engine I pulled out of the ground – when I hit it it makes noise – it makes good noise.” After a vicious vocal tirade defying anyone tempted to call the Emperor’s New Clothes card on them to get up and do better, the band proceed to rock it viciously, wildly and joyously, Leah punching violent, open string non-chords out of her bass, drummer Peter trying to get to grips with this shiny new kit he’s just had for Christmas. Lyrics, as is usually best, are shrieked pop culture references and swear words. I don’t know whether Lydia Lunch is still hanging around, but I hope so cos I’m sure she’d approve. I can now die happy knowing I’ve seen a band who sound like Teenage Jesus & the Jerks without the tunes. Energy levels sag slightly towards the end of their set when the drummer picks out a few actual chords on a guitar and they attempt something approaching a ‘song’, but for the most part Magik Markers are fucking inspirational, hitting me between the eyes with that ‘GODDAMNIT, I’VE GOT TO START A BAND – NOW!’ feeling that’s ever rarer in this streamlined and apathetic world of ours.

What Motorhead are to headbanging, Prefuse 73 is to headnodding. Previously unfamiliar with his work, but assured it’s gonna be great, I’m initially rather unimpressed with Prefuse and his band’s stoner hip-hop instrumentals. I’m too tired and my feet are aching too much to put up with ninety bloody minutes of this DJ Shadow mush, thinks I. Then, as I’m hunkering down to sit (or rather stand) it out, it clicks! This is great! This is some real beautiful ‘close yr eyes and go on a journey’ kinda shit. You’ll probably laugh at me and throw me out of the hip electronica club for making such a lame and out-dated comparison, but it makes me think of the Orb, only more rhythmic and musically adventurous. Rather than the perfunctory scratching and backing tracks favoured by certain other DJs, Prefuse comes across as a really dedicated and ambitious dude, pulling all matter of wild and weird sounds out of his turntable set up which I won’t even try to describe, whilst his live rhythm section lay down the kind of heavy, dense groove that goes way beyond just counting off the right number of bars. I still would have appreciated this set more equipped with some pillows, personal space and what I believe you cool kids refer to as a ‘phat blunt’, but still, I close my eyes, nod my head, take a trip through some forest and mountains, crawl along some melting summer pavements, and a whole hour just disappears.

A brief trip upstairs, and we catch the tail end of a set by The Zombies. The first couple of numbers we hear tap into a somewhat disappointing vein of ’72 vintage easy-listening prog, but will maintain a place in my heart because a cute girl asks me to waltz and I make a complete prat of myself realising I don’t have the faintest idea how to. And I can’t hold anything against the Zombies, just because they seem like such a nice bunch of old fellas. “This is a song we wrote many, many years ago..” they say with the gentle voices of old fashioned Childrens TV storytellers. They also go down in history as the first band to ever ask an ATP audience “does anyone here know the Alan Parsons Project?” (“YEEEAAH!” yells one guy at the bar amid all-consuming silence). Then they kick things back into ‘60s shape for a storming run through (what else?) ‘She’s Not There’. And then, well, let’s put it this way – if you were a nobly reformed ‘60s rock group renowned for your wide influence and transcendent pop classicism, what would YOU play for the encore at your comeback shows? What the Zombies play is ‘God Gave Rock n’ Roll to You’!! Totally fucking earnest – as it should be. What absolute DUDES! God bless them! Lighters are held aloft, and I have a smile on my face a mile wide and a tear in my eye.

What a brilliant way to end a festival. OK, admittedly, the Vincent Gallo All-Star Jam Band rocked around a bit with Yoko Ono and Youth Movie Soundtrack Strategies did another surprise closing set, but I’m gonna rewrite history and say that the festival finished with the Zombies offering their own tribute to Kiss, and to the spirit of rock n’ roll.

And so, in conclusion; be good to rock n’ roll, my children, and rock n’ roll will be good to you.

That is all.