THE green man festival

Luckily, PETE AND THE PIRATES make it clear from the start that mandolins will only be tolerated in moderation. They maul the hippies without remorse, and clap their hands over their heads like Adam Ant doing the Prince Charming. Our drinks are spiked with Acid Rock for the first – and not the last – time with DEAD MEADOW. Their music sounds like the inner thoughts of the girl from The Exorcist, and counter culture veterans of the festival nod their heads like appreciative cheese mongers. Next day and CLINIC give us The Fear with their creepy Doors style keyboards. NORTH SEA RADIO ORCHESTRA fair better: they recall the soundtrack to ‘Elvis Goes To Hawaii’ and induce a sudden outbreak of hula hula dancing. BROKEN FAMILY BAND are fighting fit with their boozed up Johnny Cash songs– but why didn’t they play our Single Of the Week ‘Love Your Man Love Your Woman’? Tch tch - we’ll be having words later! After catching legendary graphic designer Pete Fowler DJ his entire record collection of 1960s psychedelia, it was time to see the brilliant and captivating BATTLES. Their rhythms are as urgent as modern life should be, and their songs are as futuristic as William Gibson down the discotheque. Saturday night finished with the reformation of LED ZEPPELIN. Or was I just drunk? Nope, that definitely was Robert Plant on stage, hurling out ‘Whole Lotta Love’, ‘Going To California’ and ‘Babe I’m Gonna Leave You’. Jesus it was spectacular too – like a gift from God – but I think we hallucinated Jimmy Page and the rest of ‘em. At 00.20 we met a friendly bearded man wearing a Fez hat. He smiled and invited us into his magical tee-pee, which transpired to be a drug den. It was time to flee. Sunday’s up and GRUFF RHYS has turned the main stage into a 20ft cardboard TV. Between playing his excellent pop songs he takes to flying a plane, sampling about three million instruments, and doing battle with a snake. Same time next week then, Gruff? I’ve always respected STEVE MALKMUS AND THE JICKS rather than loved them, but with the night sky lit up by flying lanterns, even the smart arse jagged rhythms and trippy lead guitars come off nicely. Not as nicely, however, as THE ALIENS. Overlords of not taking anything too seriously, the band are attacked by inflatable bananas and rubber chickens – but still deliver a seriously swaggering rock show. I conclude that all I need to be happy in this world is to see Gordon Anderson do a kung fu kick whilst wearing space goggles. Green Men dismissed.