Fall

Remarkably enjoyable return from the godfathers of nu-rave

The last few hours of Latitude 2007 and it’s starting to feel like the fall of Saigon, but only in a genteel and latte-sipping way. As night engulfs the woods and almost the entire remaining crowd is sucked towards Arcade Fire’s headline set, there are precious few refuges left for cultural dissidents who may be immune to epic Canadian folk-rock.

Saturday night at Latitude. Another festival, another field, and another show-stopping performance from those bouncy Brazilians CSS. Which means another winning mix of weapons-grade disco sarcasm, sloppy-sexy funk and stoopid-kool attitood.

At some point in the last few years, Rickie Lee Jones appears to have subtly evolved from the Duchess Of Coolsville into a spiritual, raging poet-figure who comes across like a West Coast counterpart of Patti Smith.

Damn, what a band! I've seen Wilco so many times over the years, but they never cease to knock me sideways. And one of the great things - one of the many great things, actually - about tonight's show at Latitude is that the audience is not one of those over-reverential and often weird crowds that have frequently freaked out Jeff Tweedy when he's visited the UK.

Jeff Tweedy's men rock out

Within seven minutes of BBC1 picking up live coverage, Chris Rock gets in the first "C’mon motherfuckers". This shortly after David Gray and Damien Rice have murdered "Que Sera Sera", Snow Patrol have yelled, "Looking forward to Spinal Tap? We are!" and Geri Halliwell has walked onstage to say, "Isn‘t it great my band are back together?" While the eight concerts around the world constitute an immense, well-intended event, the Wembley show is a thoroughly surreal mish-mash of deafening hard rock, weightless aerobic pop and celebs spouting platitudes.

Andy Rourke and Mike Joyce will now talk at the Curzon

High-gloss post-punk primed for the world's stadiums; plus Q&A with Kessler and Banks

The extravagant 6 hour concert at Wembley is watched by 130 million globally