Radio One Stage: Top Five

With our previous saviours of everything from dodgy drum stools to the war on terror, The Libertines, being shipped off to Australia to take on Neighbours in a soap-opera ratings war, only Bloc Party can stop Great Britain now sinking under a sea of Keane/Franz Ferdinand teenage discharge. Fortunately, the East London four-piece are quite simply the best thing since smack-sliced Carl and Pete, harbouring as mush oral-intense attitude, while shedding the arrogance - well, at least until they lead the crowd into chants of 'Bloc Party are great' anyway. Sod it. They can, they are. Swirling torrents of progressive punk wash over basslines as danceable as Radio 4, while the emphatic and erratic Kele Okereke slurs bendy lyrics, chillier than a cold night in the jungle with John Lydon but as melodiously catchy as Morrissey. Closing a sensational set, Kele tells us to 'keep it real' to massive applause. If Bloc Party manage to shove The Sun's Bizarre column bunch into the sidelines in time for next summer's festival season, we might just be lucky enough to do that.

Supergrass may have been welly-scrubbingly boring at Glastonbury but here, headlining a dark moody tent, they show why their tenth birthday year is far more significant than Oasis' will ever be. While the brothers Manc-plank fade faster than a festival sun tan, the monkey mafia are growing more influential with every set omission of fans favourite 'Alright' they pull off. The fact they can get away with it proves it, as does the feat of play an acoustic versions of 'Here Comes The Fuzz' that sounds better than the original. They may be your sixth favourite band and they may be one that rarely enters even the perimeter of your wavelength, but listening to Supergrass rekindles something no other band can. While the biggest tunes by the biggest bands may remind you of agonisingly splitting up with your other half or the day you woke up from your three year coma, 'Richard III' is waving to that friendly neighbour you'd forgotten about and 'Moving' is doing the washing up in the buff. It's the normality, the accessibility, the sheer functionality that suddenly makes them make sense. Supergrass are here to be used by you - they love it. Play with them, chuck them around, dunk them in your tea. It'll make your life richer.     

After Blur (minus a certain guitarist) headlined the Main Stage last year, Graham Coxon returns to headline the second stage on his own this time round - and he really is alone. His backing band are competent enough but this show is all about him and, although obviously uncomfortable being the focus of attention, he holds the audience rapt until The Darkness' fireworks drown his sound and the spell is broken. Turning your back on an audience is never good, and he doesn't exactly exude charisma himself, but the ease and beauty of his playing makes watching Coxon irresistible. Unlike other former bandies now doing their own thing (and there's lots of them here) he rightly rejects slitting his wrists with cut-price Blur CDs and instead looks to the future with raw frenzied slices off his latest album, 'Happiness In Magazines', as well as an impressive cover of Mission of Burma's 'Revolver'. As he ends with 'Freakin' Out', there's no doubt about who's more exciting right now between him and Blur.

Har Mar Superstar has grown up a bit since last year. The partying has slowed, he's wearing more clothes and, whisper it, trying to be a bit more credible. All of which may have taken a bit of fun out of his performance - 'show us yer Y-fronts ya bastard' - but it has actually helped enhance his sound (listen to infectious new album 'The Handler'). Being the fat, weird-looking love child of Justin Hawkins and Mr Blobby was never going to be easy. So when Har 'You're 'avin a laaaarf' Mar started out his novelty game, pounding the stages of Ibiza with more freak show credentials than the elephant man, you kind of understood what it was all about. He's the little twat in school who acts weird and deranged because that is exactly what he is, so why not accept it and make it a joke. Only now he's been superseded by all the other scuzzy sleaze rockers and disco punks out there, he's actually decided to make alright music - and cider permitting it works here.

Greeted with an unsurprisingly warm reception former Hole/Smashing Pumpkins bassist Auf Der Maur literally has almost every guy swooning over her sparkling melodies and charismatic stage presence. As spooky gothic voices of the devil's children play on backing tape, one of the coolest women in rock appears out of the smoke, Melissa Auf Der Maur clearly enjoying breaking free from the complex legacies of her previous bands. As far as female role models in rock go, Melissa is swinging from the moon by a rusty bass string. Assured and stylish, she plays on her sexuality without ever depending on it or making it feel exploitative. Musically, she amplifies her past without ever dwelling on former glories, creating atmospheric layers of rock disguising deeply sensual undertones. Despite some unnecessary and annoying sycophancy ("you guys are the best" etc) at the end of the show she still delivers the proverbial goods and can certainly 'shuffle our deck clean'.