Friday
Edwyn Collins
Walking stick-stamping, son-featuring, typically touching lunchtime set from one of our greatest melody juicers.
Yann Tiersen
Francophonic multi-instrumentalist with more strings on stage and crescendoes seeping through speakers than Latitude would require crèches to contain the innumerable rug rats crawling the site.
Deerhunter
Petulance and prime shoegaze from the nigh on voiceless Bradford Cox et al., a sublime Helicopter figuratively taking off with his ego, as well as all rationale.
Caribou
Not even being jabbed with a GP's briefcase-worth of spindly, syringe-like elbows detracts from the heady, sweat-sodden elation of Sun, Odessa, etc.
Jonny
Odes geared towards Gloria Estefan and rudimentary drum machine capabilities make for an endearing, emotive half hour lakeside.
Glasser
Were Björk reared by Shaolin monks in a kaleidoscopically-coloured, cushion-laden haven above Visions Of Trees' infernal bass rumblings in the four walls below, neighbours could garner a vague impression of Glasser live.
Paloma Faith
Toting ethnic headdress seemingly composed of a minimum of three birds of prey, dubious new songs are seemingly not merely snubbed by label execs, but also by this evening's audience. Faith's cellulite serenade finale would certainly be best kept surreptitious.
Cat's Eyes
If you went down to the woods on Friday, clarinets, clattering garage nostalgia and vibraphonic melancholy provided the surprises.
Saturday
Adam Ant & The Good, The Mad and the Lovely Posse
Backed by a buxom pair snatched from ironic Blackpool Calling postcard, Adam Ant stands the test of time, and delivers, tearing tees and stomping Sparrow-like.
British Sea Power
Half a woodland quivers to the tremolo frenetics held within the disco ball down at the Valhalla Dancehall, Georgie Ray akin to first kiss incarnate.
Y Niwl
Hauling the Welsh microclimate over to Southwold, frantic surf pop proves wonderfully apt beneath Biblical deluge.
Sunday
Anna Calvi
Despite being five foot tall and tottering about in size twos, a voice bigger than Suffolk, vastly innovative Telecaster howling and Rider To The Sea sounding like Leone sundown shoot-out result in Calvi captivating.
Gwilym Gold
Sporting the Sim-ish short back'n'sides, Gold delivers retrograde soul beamed out joyously from the untried'n'untested MacBook and knackered, attic-residing Rhodes combo. Success.
Oh Land
Pristine pop belted out vaguely vacuously from behind woodland creature masks and more mythical paraphernalia than a warehouse rammed with unsold Little Boots merch.
Foster The People
Sun-like (star, not paper) psych ascent suitably set in the Sunrise Arena. Copious levels of yelping, INSERT GRATUITOUS ORACULAR SPECTACULAR-ERA MGMT COMPARISON HERE.
Lykke Li
Wounded Rhymes sliced and diced with silent cries and a Silent Shout. Ms. Zachrisson again bemoans a lack of crowd participation and motion, yet adoration is nigh on tangible.
Suede
Anderson yelps and croons, resembling a shrivelled prune sucking on a stalk robed in progressively unbuttoned sartorial satin. Beautiful Ones, bellowed at the mud-caked mass, drifts beautifully awry.
Next weekend we're taking the festival obsession indoors for the inaugural UK leg of ATP's I'll Be Your Mirror. More info can be found here, whilst limited day tickets are still available via our preferred ticket outlets Stargreen and Ticketweb.
