Me (that's the white hairdye, BTW -- not very white really, I'd say), Niall, tinyjo, and oxfordhacker almost out of shot there.
We saw (at Truck) Coin-up doing shiny warm-up, grabbing you right from the start, what a lovely voice, Reuben going shout! shout! shout! Chamfer coming over all dreamy and smooth and melodic and doing some great numbers with guest bongoman Robin (sp?), and Eeeblee doing something so complicated it surely should be illegal [oil paint smudges floating in clear lamp oil; golden light above, blooming gray shadows below], tried to see Kaito but they got stuck in traffic and we never did find out when or if they played, The Young Knives who wore ties and were bouncy, Daughters Courageous who were sweet, the vessels who made big swirly noises while we lay in the sun, Dustball who screeched their lungs out in the evening sunshine [glittering mica, agate, sullen semiprecious gleam, run through with folds and stripes and flaws], took a chance on Menlo Park and got pelted with hats, sung a garbled cover of Heart of Glass, and exposed to a violin blowjob (a first for me) porno-country stylee, listened to Meanwhile Back in Communist Russia reach the summit of rock from the burger queue, caught most of a set of Black Nielson playing something very big and clever, got cut off from the moshing by ten rows of indie shop mannequins for The Rock of Travolta, probably just as well because the Barn That Cannot be Named had a solid concrete floor, but still ENORMOUS sound filling it, golden light of the setting sun filling it, people filling it, following that desperate need to chill met by cumulonimbus w/visuals by memetix, lay back in soft waves of sound and watched the projections on the tent roof while dance boy, spinning guy and two teeny-tiny toddlers provided performance, too close to the action so got used for aeroplanes, the parents seemed OK about that though, refreshed and ready for Goldrush, attacked by evil fate, cut off in the prime of their button moon takeoff by a (very promptly sorted out) power cut, scared into abandoning one song, spent the rest of the being extra good to make up for it, as if they needed to try any harder to be wonderful, and then we'd peaked so we left the top of the bill (Jetplane landing) and went home, took a wrong turn and ended up in Nuneham Courtnay ... it's dark out there ...
Sunday, came in on Trademark, performing sine wave love in studded labcoats with engineering diagrams to explain why they felt the need to sing heartfelt lyrics over electronica; they gave apples for people who got science questions right [pebbles on water, edge of calm sea in glittering sunshine], then the broken family band giving more porno-country with a scary labrador picture from the GIANT car boot sale down the road, and Caliber, against stiff competition, easily the best rock/lb deal, then a bit of Toulouse having a larf with their mates before Easy tiger who were just lovely! and then more sleazy, laid-back, sat down, grumbly country from the folk orchestra, and then Finlay making purty purty music with feathers and hats with ears and an astounding tank top and unwarranted uncertainty, and after that we wanted sunshine and air so we sat outside the chill out tent for a bit listening to someone from Black Nielson (I think) playing a semi-acoustic set, then up the hill to the Plume, laying down sound in sedimentary layers [crunchy sand in bright pigment colours, throbbing colour progression above], and after that we kept it slow, going in to see KTB in the chill out tent, where there was a woman with fingernails painted to match her turquoise jewellery, lots of armchairs, a wandering set of bongos and herself, singing lovely little-sister songs, including a power-ballad rendition of Hit me baby one more time, besieged by drifting ska but still triumphant, then out under the sky to watch bonkers rockers Marconi's Voodoo who shook their skulls at us and brought on Tunesome Lad from Shouting Myke to belt out Creep, lounge by verse, ROCK by chorus, while their fans staged a mosh-fight with an inflatable godzilla, then down the hill and into the barn again for Winnebago Deal another tiny rock band with HUGE sound [glittering foil crunching, purple and gold]singin into the dusty sunshine, then out into the air for some sweet songs by Julie Murphy, and after that we couldn't be bothered to move so hap(pi)ly caught the handsome family's death-country set, singing to their dead pets and vomiting lovers, apocalypse, blood, death and remorse (though not a lot of the last), they're scary funny people, and after that needed NOISE so went to the barn where Lightyear were shouting and hitting things, and swinging their instruments around (somehow looked extra lethal when it was the saxaphone) and trying to start a fight between the young people (there were lots of moshing kids at the front) and the old people (probably their parents) "We play lots of punk gigs," said the singer, kinda bemused, "It's nice to play something different" ... then off to listen to Antonia sing about all her friends being hotties in the tent, which wasn't my thing when she was being heartfelt but when she started to shout she came over all Hazel O'Conner and I just melted, and then the sun came out, and we found some grass to sit on for South Sea Company Prospectus, who were mostly why I was here. They made their big, solid, loud, complicated noise, and it wasn't like when they play a confined space, when it fills up every bit of air, but more a solid streaming wind pouring through you, blasting you flat under the evening sky, and the experimental dance/moshspace peaked and tumbled below them, it takes skill to crowdsurf on seven people, but you only need one to stagedive onto (if they're the right one), and the noise got bigger and hey, that was fun. Let's do it again!
29 bands, at a cost of £20; less than £1/band. Fun, and value for money!
But shredding my mind on music all weekend left me vulnerable to earworms, damn Kylie's eyes. For that strip, I fast-forwarded through an entire night of MTV Night Videos looking for reference but not a single Kylie video was played all night (surely a record) and I fetched up having to draw her arse from memory. About as easy as you might think.
[square brackets are Synaesthesia Lass's comments]