All Tomorrow's Parties - Weekend 2

Friday 22 April

"It's music for paedophiles", argues the guy on the bed. "Yeah, I can just imagine dirty old men listening to this as they watch kids in playgrounds."

Right now, my friends are engaged in a heated discussion of the merits of Yuka Honda, the first act of 2005's second All Tomorrow's Parties festival. Harsh, because Ms. Honda, formerly of the excellent Cibo Matto, is making nice, easy music, nowhere near 'Sugar Water' or indeed any of her previous band's tracks, but it's inoffensive stuff. Despite ripping off Bjork, it's definitely not an assortment of paedophile anthems. Plus, we get an interesting cover of 'Psycho Killer' by Talking Heads and a backing band which features Sean Lennon and the festivals curator, the actor/director/musician Vincent Gallo. Although the show does occasionally veer towards dullness, it's a good performance. But, what's more rewarding is the fact that Yuka Honda is just one of dozens of female performers who perform over the course of the weekend, which is a nice change from the overbearingly male rosters of most festivals. 

She plays for around an hour, but we duck out early to check out Thread Pulls on the downstairs stage. They walk out onto the stage, plug in guitars and bludgeon the audience with feedback. And it's pretty cool... to begin with. Sadly it just keeps going and going, like a Fugazi-fuelled version of the Energiser bunny, and after about 5 minutes it's plain boring. They mercifully end their first track, and as they begin to play an identical-sounding second, we decide it's time to go back to the chalet.

Ah the chalet. When you say "chalet" you imagine a room with hardwood floors, bearskin rugs, and a roaring fire. You imagine chalet life as a picture of yourself sitting in a big leather armchair with a stunningly attractive Swedish girl called  Fjjkovia. Unsurprisingly, this is not the case. The rooms are desolately bare (although arguably a welcome change from the leaking tents of most festivals) and arranged in army-style barracks across the site. The problem is, once you sit down, and have a few beers, it's hard to get back up again, and I don't escape the chalet until I Am Kloot come on in the early evening.

I expect big things and, to be honest, am slightly disappointed. They are ok, but don't seem to be anything special. And while the program refers to "misanthropic and surreal wit", they're about as lighthearted as Oasis ... That's not to say they don't have their moments. At their best they're how the next brothers Gallagher album should be, with great song writing, an affable frontman and tight musicianship. Only the problem is that for a good portion of the show they sound more like a tribute playing "one of our own songs". Luckily, their dedicated fan base bolsters the atmosphere, welcoming them heartily into the cavernous space of the crammed venue. Otherwise, this would be a slightly uncomfortable experience, and while others may find plenty to love with I Am Kloot, it's all too unmoving

So thank God for Jon Spencer Blues Explosion or simply The Blues Explosion as they're now known. The unquestionable highlight of a mediocre day, they provide a welcome change from the relatively pretentious bands, by offering a hearty slice of blues-rock fun. 'Damage', a rare uninspired moment on the record, is reinvented here and the strength of the live performance proves that this band is much more at home in sweaty clubs then the safety of the studio. Spencer spits out lyrics over the funk-blues-punk-rock noise of the band, who are unashamedly loud, while Spencer staggers around like Elvis after a week in the gutter. After a day that wafted of mild disappointment, The Blues Explosion's breathless performance is a welcome respite from the determinedly avant-garde performers and is the perfect prelude to a frankly dangerous night out.