Friday’s highlights, then. ** Fever Ray in the UNCUT Arena seems, by common consent, to have been an early Latitude peak. On stage lighting by way of standard lamps, a striking laser show and a backing band dressed partly as bird people. Oh, and the songs were pretty good, too. ** Pet Shop Boys covering Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida” as high-energy disco. Chris Martin has never sounded so good. ** The Pretenders covering Dylan’s “Forever Young” on the Main Stage. ** Jeremy Warmsley covering Tom Waits. In French. In the Music And Film Arena. C’est bon, n’est ce pas..? Mais, oui. ** Jeremy Hardy’s brilliant, hilarious musings in the UNCUT Arena. ** The bloke in the woods last night dressed as a robot doing dancing to early 80s electro. ** Jesus for a day! There were people walking on the surface of the lake. We don’t know how it’s done, but we honestly saw festival-goers striding across water. ** Wheelbarrows for hire. This year’s festival innovation. The best and quickest way to transport tired and grumpy children across the site to beddie-bies. Aw. ** And our heartiest congratulations to festival-goers Julian and Dora, who got engaged during Regina Spektor’s set. We don’t know ‘em, they don’t know us, but we couldn’t help but wade in with warm handshakes when he got proposed. On one knee. Ring, everything. Heart-warming stuff. And an apology to anyone who tried to log on to the site yesterday evening, but found they couldn't. We had a few minor technical glitches – hey, it’s a festival, what do you expect? – but everything should be running smoothly now. Thanks for your patience. Anyway, off to Band Of Skulls, Simon Armitage and then cheer on UNCUT's own David Quantick, who'll be interviewing Rotters' Club author Jonathan Coe in the Literary Arena.

Following on from user-friendly sets by The Pretenders and Squeeze earlier in the evening, headliners Pet Shop Boys brought up the rear in Friday night’s poptastic triptych. In front of an ever-changing stage set resembling something between Pink Floyd’s famed wall and a giant’s Rubik cube, Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe presented a savvy adaptation of their usual indoor theatrics that perfectly caught the festival spirit. It was as much about hats as it was hits. The duo take their headgear as seriously as their songs, but with a healthy dose of self-mockery. Tennant’s first costume combined a stiff-brimmed bowler with a spangly blazer that made him look like the Elizabethan Blackadder’s foppish chauffer, the ideal threads for the arch words and melodies of “Can You Forgive Her?” or “Heart”. “Go West” is the expected crowd-pleaser, fleshed out by a balletic troup of dancers, and there’s further visual splendour when Neil Tennant changes into Sinatra bow-tie and tux for the regretful ballad “Jealous” – all that’s missing is three fingers of bourbon and a battered matchbook. A crown and cape come into play for King Neil’s deliriously funny high-octane disco version of Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida”, the duo revisiting the ironic twists they brought to U2’s “Where The Streets Have No Name” 20 years earlier. Their glorious wit hasn’t diminished in the ensuing years, and neither has their knack for fashioning attractively packaged and engaging pocket pop symphonies. TERRY STAUNTON

Check your watches, it’s Squeeze o’clock. That means it’s the goodtime singalong hour, with South London’s finest kitchen-sink troubadours offering a master class is catchy pop brilliance. Glenn Tilbrook is nominally in charge, but he’s accompanied with gusto by several thousand members of the Deptford Fun City Under Canvas Choir (Suffolk branch), who appear to be as familiar with the lyrics of “Up The Junction”, “Annie Get Your Gun” and “Take Me I’m Yours” as the songs’ author, Chris Difford. It’s an endlessly pleasing jukebox of a set, but special mention should go to the vintage soulful slow-burner “Tempted”, which sounds crunchier and more finger-clickingly vital than at any time in its past, a testament to the fact that Squeeze’s reunion of two years and counting is not just a lazy take-the-money-and-run exercise. Amid all the pristine singles, they throw us a couple of curveballs, with a punky charge through “It’s So Dirty”, their early years ironic anthem to laddish misogyny (“It’s so dirty when it’s in the right mood/Give it some brandy and some Chinese food”), and the knees-up rockabilly of “Melody Motel”, which Glenn describes as “a jovial little ditty about betrayal and murder”. Perfect festival fare, of course. TERRY STAUNTON

It’s perhaps a strange moment of symmetry, but earlier I was fortunate enough to catch some of Fever Ray’s set, also in the UNCUT Arena. Clearly, there’s some parity between Karin Dreijer Andersson and Natasha Khan. Both own a significant debut to Kate Bush, and both are convincing exponents of their own, fantastic interior world. It strikes me that it’s Andersson who seems most connected to Bush’s more recent works. Perhaps I’m reading too much into the fact that Andersson referencing “dishwasher tablets” in “Seven” corresponds with Bush’s line about washing machines in “Mrs Bartolozzi”, but there. Anyway, we’re not here to talk about housework. More pertinent, perhaps, you can see further parity between the artifice concocted by both Andersson and Khan. While Andersson wears her face masks; thus it is that Khan wears her requisite head gear. The world Khan evokes, though, seems more beguiling in some ways than Andersson’s. While I dearly love the Fever Ray album, Andersson erects a number of barriers around her songs that Khan doesn’t. She has a certain beguiling, innocent charm. It’s not an insult, I think, to suggest there’s something quite sweet, almost sixth form, about her outfits and her stage persona, and the rather giddy way she brings you into her music. In a similar way, perhaps, to Florence Welch – you either go with it, or you don’t. In much the same way, you’re prepared to engage with the interior world evoked by Robin Pecknold with the Fleet Foxes. Anyway, let’s get the Bush comparisons out of the way. And how can you not have to address it, when Bat For Lashes open with “Trophy”, a percussive heavy number that can’t help but bring to mind “Hounds Of Love”? But – and this is the thing I like most about Bat For Lashes – there’s more going on than, hey, just Natasha Khan’s own dreaming. This is evidenced by the guitar playing of Charlotte Hatherley – a brilliant confection of Celtic swirls that call to mind everyone from Gary Marx in the Sisters Of Mercy to some of the more pensive work of Robert Smith in early Cure, or tense, wired post-punk. The UNCUT Arena, incidentally, is satisfyingly packed. There are, unfortunately, one too many prams being herded around in pitch darkness, which isn’t entirely sensible; although you might think it an entirely appropriate and bewitching end of night for many a small child. That’s it for us tonight. We’ll be back tomorrow with a pile of fun, including our own David Quantick interviewing Rotter’s Club author Jonathan Coe, a friend to UNCUT Shane Meadows, White Lies, Grace Jones and a personal favourite – Spiritualized. We’re off to roam the woods now to see what shenanigans we can stumble across. There might even be a beer. MICHAEL BONNER

“You’re a good-looking audience,” says Chrissie Hynde, before launching into “Back On The Chain Gang”. “Just what I’d expect. This is for your dad.” It is perhaps interesting to note that a lot of Hynde’s between song banter this evening is predicated around mostly wry, self-deprecating references to her past. She dedicates “Kid”, for instance, to late band members Pete Farndon and Jimmy Honeyman-Scott, finishing with “Put the kettle on, we’re not far behind you.” It is, you might think, particularly apt then that The Pretenders choose to cover Dylan’s “Forever Young”. I should apologise if this sounds like a faintly bizarre digression, but at one point, I’m reminded of a comment made by Pam St Clement, who plays Pat Butcher in EastEnders. When asked about Pat’s character’s fondness for oversized hooped earrings and blousy, low-cut dresses, she explained that she located the look for Pat in a time when her character believed herself to be at her peak. There is, certainly, some truth in the notion that people will try and lock themselves, in one way or another, in a specific era; whether it be musically or stylistically. Indeed, Chrissie seems to be wearing pretty much the same clothes she’s worn for the last 20 years. A black and white striped waistcoat, blue jeans and cowboy boots, looking for all the world like Keith Richards younger sister. You might wonder, even, when she delivers lines like “The happiest days of my life” in “Chain Gang”, or “If I come and go like fashion” from “Don’t Get Me Wrong”, quite what’s going through her head. She is certainly conspicuously aware of her band’s legacy, and how that derives from a wealth of immaculate pop songs that, for the most part, are over 20 years old now. “We were going to play a bunch of new songs,” she says, prior to “Stop Your Sobbing”. “But we just thought – fuck it.” It’s rare, arguably, to find a performer like Hynde. By which I mean, an artist who has grown old with her grace and poise, but, crucially, also understands the very intense connection the audience have with specific elements of her impressive back catalogue. And, equally as important, is happy to indulge in it. “You want something a bit cheesy, a bit cheap? Well you must me…” Then it’s into “Brass In Pocket”. Without wishing to sound ghoulish, but I wonder how deeply Hynde is still affected by the deaths that have befallen The Pretenders – certainly, the doff of the cap to Farndon and Honeyman-Scott would suggest that they still figure, to a greater or lesser degree, in her thoughts. You might be tempted to assume that, having lost two friends so early in her career, that there’s something about those songs that have an even greater immediacy for her. Anyway, let’s leave such pontificating for the theorists. Frankly, they were amazing. Even “Stand By Me” is reclaimed from being an 80s power ballad into a thrilling, communal event. Right, off to try and see some of Jeremy Hardy's set, then it's Bat For Lashes. See you back here later. Pic credit: Richard Johnson

Well, here we all are. The first rain of the day is just beginning to fall, just a gentle drizzle, so nothing to really complain about and certainly nothing like last night's epic cloudburst which made me fear that when I got here this afternoon I'd find Henham Park deep enough in water to float an ark. Just made the long trek back to the press tent where we're sending these blogs from after seeing The Pretenders on the Obelisk Stage, which is that big covered thing about three miles the other side of those trees over there. Michael's actually busy writing a review of what I thought was a pretty sensational show, even better than their recent turn in Hyde Park, where they were supporting Neil Young. It was great to hear a few things they didn't play the other week - including a version of "Kid", dedicated, and not for the first time, to the late Jimmy Honeyman-Scott and Pete Farndon, "Stop Your Sobbing" and a fantastic version of "Day After Day" from Pretenders II. As Michael will no doubt also mention, one of the highlights of what I'm sure will be talked about as one of this year's best festival sets was a sensational take on Dylan's "Forever Young". Anyway, just off to see Regina Spektor, unless some magent-like device draws me mysteriously towards the nearest bar. Then it's my old friends Squeeze, and another chance to be reminded of the mis-spent youth I still seem to be living. Allan Jones

OK, I know it's early days but I might have just seen one of the performances of the festival. Fever Ray is the solo project of Karin Dreijer Andersson, one half of Swedish brother-sister duo The Knife. Her self-titled debut album, released earlier this year, won its fair share of acclaim, taking The Knife's sound - loosely, eerie, gothic techno-pop - and slowing it down, adding in strange ethnic and Far Eastern influences, cold synths and beats mixing with chimes, bead shakers and tribal drums. Seeing Fever Ray live in the mid-afternoon Uncut Arena, though, makes you feel like the album is merely half the picture. Lasers cut through the half-light, illuminating the huge clouds of smoke that billow off the stage, and Karin - wearing an outfit that makes her look halfway between The Emperor from Star Wars and a totem pole - walks on leading a strange bunch of backing musicians: a clown in a cassock, a sort of Inuit tribeswomen, and two odd, faceless bird people that look like they wait in the restaurant of your nightmares. Rather than distracting from the music, though, this bizarre tableau only focuses your attention on the eerie beauty of the music. Karin could probably captivate the crowd with her clear, flawless vocal alone, but many songs feature her voice distorted, or pitched down to a crunchy electronic baritone. Yet there's no mistaking that the likes of "Triangle Walks" and "When I Grow Up" are essentially pop songs - and as teenagers dance up front and girls clamber on to their boyfriends' shoulders, it's immensely heartening to see such wilfully challenging music really make a connection with something as disparate and flightly as a festival audience. Anyway. Enough chatter. Next port of call is Regina Spektor, so I shall bid you adieu. LOUIS PATTISON

The eclectic mix of Latitude's tents and stages provided a perfect setting for the theatricality of Brighton's The Mummers, whose early Friday afternoon set lit up the Uncut Arena, but would have been equally at home almost anywhere on the site. Their dreamy mix of chamber pop, carnival waltzes and noir fairy tales was beautifully realised by string quartet and 70s vintage synth sounds, topped off by singer and chief writer Raissa Khan-Panni's left-field lyrics and skewered vocal style. Comparisons with Bjork have been overplayed, as Raissa is more accurately reading from the same page as, say, Mary Margeret O'Hara, Judee Sill or Alison Goldfrapp. It's a sound rich in detail, conjuring up an intoxicating atmosphere all of its own. Fingers crossed, some day they'll be famous enough to be offered a Bond theme. TERRY STAUNTON

Hello campers - since touching down a couple of hours ago, I've made it my mission to dash around the Latitude site catching as many bands as possible, giving my boots their first coat of brown since Green Man '07 in the process. Hopefully they won't see quite as much muddy action this time around. First up, to the Uncut Arena for Chairlift, three young New Yorkers currently perhaps best known for giving a song, "Bruises", to an iPod advert. It's exposure they deserve, though, as this set of gently psychedelic synth-pop is both beautifully made and packed with tunes that quietly weevil their way into your consciousness. Co-frontpeople Aaron Pfenning, deadpan behind terribly cool shades, and Caroline Polachek trade vocals, while drummer Patrick Wimberly darts between kit and billowing electronics. A neat reminder that if you look beyond the current media scrum around Little Boots, La Roux et al, there's outfits doing electronic pop with more subtlety and more success - well, artistic success, anyroad. Then, over to the Sunset Arena to catch the end of Scottish indie-rock royalty the 1990s. Who are very good, at least what I see, but it's worth mentioning the Sunset Arena as an example of Latitude's main selling points. A little tent buried deep in the woods, it's the sort of beautiful little space you don't so much walk up to as ramble into, surrounded by ferns and set under towering oaks. Leaving, I run into sometime Uncut snapper Neil Thompson, who is heading in to catch the hotly tipped Goldheart Assembly. But I'm back down the hill to catch Brooklyn's Amazing Baby on the Obelisk Stage (that's the main stage, to you and me). Heard varying reports on this lot, but in the beating sun their longhaired lite-psychedelia - think MGMT, or a Mercury Rev on designer drugs - is not without its charms. More in a bit, but right now I can hear Of Montreal playing in the distance, and if they have an actual live horse on stage - it wouldn't be the first time - well, I'm not about to miss it. LOUIS PATTISON

An early and astonishing highlight of Latitude took place in the humble confines of the literary tent on Thursday night. Grace Maxwell read movingly from her book, Falling & Laughing: The Restoration Of Edwyn Collins, about her partner of 25 years and his road to recovery after suffering two strokes four years ago. As Grace stood behind a lectern on the stage, nervously leafing through the book for passages to read, Edwyn sat serenely to her left on a leather couch. Hilarious tales of the early days of Orange Juice in the 1980s and the mayhem that followed the global success of Edwyn's solo single "A Girl Like You" gave way to confessional fears and the uncertainty that his strokes visited upon the couple. With great candour and warmth, Grace recounted Edwyn's steely determination to return to as normal a life as possible. The man himself interjected occasionally with self-effacing one-liners and guttural laughter. The show-stopping moment came when Grace spoke about Edwyn leaving hospital for the first time, and how the lyrics of "Home Again" - which he'd written before his illness - resonated with the couple's struggle. To drive the point home, Edwyn broke into unaccompanied song, his voice filling every inch of the packed tent: "I'm home again Hardly certain of my role, and then I started searching for my soul again..." A lively Q&A session followed, with one audience member recalling her own mother's lengthy rehabilitation after a stroke, and Grace sparing a thought for any families who didn't have the cash boost of global hit single to help them pay for expensive expert medical care. When asked who he might want to play him, should a movie ever be made of Grace's book, Edwyn immediately nominated Gregory Peck. "We might have to raise him up, darlin'," Grace responded. "He's been dead for ages." TERRY STAUNTON Pic credit: Neil Thomson