I know I vaguely promised not to keep going on about this, but some of Smashing Pumpkins' more extreme fans keep dropping by here. Today's contribution comes from Bobby, who remains convinced I haven't heard "Zeitgeist". "Any true Pumpkins fan would know that Zwan was awful," says Bobby. Time I came clean, then, and reiterated that I'm a True Zwan Fan and a fairweather Pumpkins follower. Which is probably why I skipped the opportunity of seeing Pumpkins Mark 4 in London last night. Sounds good, though: according to Farah's report, the show featured covers of "The Star Spangled Banner" and "The End", amongst about 800 other songs. I can't imagine Turbo Fruits ever playing a three-hour set. In fact, listening to their self-titled debut album, it's hard to imagine them keeping it up for 30 minutes. Turbo Fruits are two teenagers from Nashville who also figure in the rather feisty Be Your Own Pet. On the cover , they are blindfolded and tied together back to back. This, we might assume, is the only way the photographer could get them to stay in the same place long enough. Apparently there's a bassist involved called Turbo Max, too. Anyway, they're fun. Total tearaway gonzoid punk with titles like "Fight This!", "I'm Excited" and "Devo Girl". At times they sound like an even brattier Ramones, and though they play dumb, it's clear Turbo Fruits are heavily immersed in outsider rock lore. Not so much that they approach these ramalams ironically, mind: a bash through the MC5's "Ramblin' Rose" is breathless and ingenuous, not some arch manoeuvring into rock tradition. "John beat the drums to hell!" it says in the credits. Sure did. Their Myspace is here, by the way. Sounds relatively mellow and together now I've hyped them up as some insurrectionist noise chimps, but there you go.

Syd Barrett died coming up to a year ago and I’ve just been interviewed for a Radio 2 documentary about his life and music that will be aired on the anniversary of his passing that also includes contributions from his former band mates in Pink Floyd. The chap from the BBC who’s producing the show and doing all the interviews told me he’d been astonished – even as a Pink Floyd fan himself – at the enormous media coverage of Syd’s death and quite flabbergasted to learn that at Uncut we’d entirely remade our issue with only two days until the presses started to roll, replacing a cover and cover story we’d already signed off to pay Syd an appropriate farewell. This seemed to him an amazing amount of work to put into a tribute to someone whose entire recorded legacy could politely be described as meagre – less than 40 tracks in all – and who hadn’t, to boot, made a record in the lifetimes of some of our readers. I tried to explain what Syd meant to us – that we wouldn’t be here without people like him, that for a glorious moment in the 60s only The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix were on comparable trajectories, taking music further out than it had previously ventured, that of the era’s stars, Syd was the white Hendrix, and only Brian Jones seemed more exotic. The solo albums came from somewhere spookier than Piper At The Gates Of Dawn, I rambled on, but remain his most astonishing testament – haunted, charming, disturbing, unique. As we were wrapping up, the chap from the radio told me he’d already interviewed David Gilmour, Nick Mason and Rick Wright for his programme and what they’d had to sat about Syd was eloquent and moving, with Gilmour particularly illuminating about the relationship between Roger Waters and Syd, to whom in Gilmour’s opinion Waters’ songs returned more often than is often recognised. At the time of this conversation, Waters had not been available for interview, due to various sets of circumstances that needn’t detain us here. There had been a vague hope of talking to him at the recent Syd tribute at the Barbican, but that hadn’t happened. There had been loose talk that night of a Floyd reunion, since all four were meant to appear. Gilmour had apparently turned up at the Barbican enthusiastically suggesting they get together to close the evening by playing “Astronomy Domine” – and how good might that have been – but the idea was quickly abandoned when word came from Waters’ camp that he had to leave early for another appointment and wouldn’t be around for the end of the show. And that, as they say, was that

Apart from all the music at last year's Latitude Festival -- and the comedy, the cabaret the poetry, and the gentle rummage through the Sunday papers in the Literary Arena -- I was naturally inclined towards the doings in the Film Arena. Inevitably, considering the bespoke nature of Latitude, I'd have been surprised to stumble across screenings of Pearl Harbour or Fantastic Four. Instead, I discovered the Halloween Film Club, in the throes of a fantastic multi-media event, screening short films soundtracked by DJs and powerful visuals. I'm delighted to learn, then, that the Halloween Film Club will be back at Latitude this year, fronting their Fucked-Up Love series of short films. On the other end of the scale, Latitude have managed to secure the involvement of BAFTA, who'll be putting on a screening of Hitchcock's 1926 film, The Lodger, accompanied by a live orchestra. There's also the TooLoose Cinema Soundsystem, who'll be playing their DJ set to Wong Kar Wai's magnificent Days Of Being Wild. One of the events that's raised the most eyebrows round these parts is Phil Collins' (no, not that one) Dünya Dinlemiyor -- his Turner Prize nominated video installation featured the good people of Istanbul performing karaoke versions of The Smiths back catalogue. You can't really go wrong, can you, particularly when the pear cider kicks in. St Etienne's Turntable Cafe will also be in evidence, dedicating a special programme to the Watch With Mother strand of BBC Childrens' TV programming, featuring vintage episodes of Bod and Fingerbobs. There's also Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait -- Douglas Gordon's fantastic study of French footballing hero Zidane over the course of one match, featuring a memorable score from Mogwai. And much more besides, as they say, including a Q+A with The Alcohol Years' Carol Morley, more shorts from Future Cinema and Bird's Eye View, a strand featuring films by emergent women film makers. Anyway, a lot to choose from, I think you'll agree. John and I will be blogging from Latitude, from July 12 - 15. See you then...

A bit of a round-up today, since I've spent the past week or so reporting on gigs and messing about with the minutiae of putting a mag out. There is, amazingly, a new Karen Dalton album I'm very excited about, though I've only heard two tracks as yet. The love for those two Dalton albums must have sent tapehounds scurrying to find anything else she recorded in her lifetime. "Cotton Eyed Joe (The Loop Tapes) - Live In Boulder 1962" does not look immediately that promising, being a live set recorded some seven years before her debut album. I can't speak for the quality of the rest of this 2CD set (the cynic in me is a bit suspicious that the record label are only sending out two-track samplers). But these are fantastic: even so young, Dalton's voice is beautifully dilapidated on Ray Charles' "It's Alright" and Fred Neil's "Red Are The Flowers". It's an important document, I think, because it proves that when Dalton turned up in Greenwich Village, she must have been one of the innovators rather than the camp followers. When I hear the whole thing, I'll write more. Second up is a record by a New Yorker called Mike Wexler that I think I've alluded to once or twice in the past few months. "Sun Wheel" is a lovely and elaborate chamber psych-folk thing, that occasionally spirals off into trips reminiscent of the Canterbury psych scene, but which foregrounds Wexler's eerie, needly falsetto. If Devendra Banhart seems a bit too cutesy for you these days, the slightly damaged otherworldliness of Wexler is well worth checking out. I found his Myspace here. Let me know what you think. Finally, a welcome return from the great David Yow, whose self-destructive Iggyisms and foul jokes made The Jesus Lizard one of my favourite live bands in the '90s. Yow now appears to have joined a band called Qui, lending his enduringly unpleasant voice to some workouts that occasionally resemble Van Halen if they'd signed to the Amphetamine Reptile label. Again, the jury's out 'til I've heard more, though "Freeze" on Qui's Myspace sounds fairly promising. It's good to have him back, anyway.

OK, it’s more of an open air gig than an actual festival. And yes, we’re all cynical about any event where you can only buy one kind of beer but always see at least ten of its logos in every field of vision. But with great sets by the likes of Queens of the Stone Age plus The White Stripes’ only UK appearance this year, the Wireless festival in Hyde Park can’t be dismissed that easily. So I headed to its final day, with the Kaiser Chiefs topping the bill. Inside the arena there were few British festival staples to be found (man dressed as a giant turd, Howard Marks wandering around looking lost, troupe of girls in fairy wings), but there were a few nods to the festy spirit. How wacky. One way to get a good view Jokers On the main stage it was Wakefield trio The Cribs’ mid afternoon slot that provided the first lapel-grabbing moment of the day. Their punches of ramshackle scuzz-pop were a treat, and though the crowd warmed to their fiercely indie set-up, singer Ryan’s mid-set assertion that “global warming isn’t as important an issue as the commercialisation of indie music” might be taking things a bit far. Although he would have enjoyed the moment an hour or so later, when the mosh-pit tore apart one of the Sony-sponsored bean bags dotting the site in a burst of polystyrene confetti. The Cribs After, such was the popularity of new baggie heroes The Twang, whose album I like a lot more than the new Happy Mondays one, I couldn’t get into the XFM tent to see them. But it turned out to be a blessing, as I caught Editors’ main stage set instead. [youtube]3WE0mUeTzTY[/youtube] Editors A sweep of cool had draped across the site as singer/guitarist Tom Smith struck the first notes. It was fitting, as their set was chillingly impressive, the band seeming to grow a foot with each song. I was a bit surprised – their new album hasn’t particularly grabbed me, and I’ve always seen them as a bit sub-Interpol. But today Editors to be made of stern stuff, the likes of ‘The End Has A Start’ and ‘All Sparks’ sounding more suited to massive settings like this than even the £6 hot dogs. It was the best performance of the day. No wonder Smith went to such lengths to scrub up for it – as the close-up camera often showed, this is a man handy with an eyebrow plucker. Editors: Plucking good And the Kaisers? Textbook. Every song laced with a three-pronged hook you could catch a great white with, Ricky Wilson asking the crowd to sing along between each number, and a guest “Nanananana” from a member of Polysics, who played earlier, to add a touch of variety. [youtube]v03tNd6YpU[/youtube] Kaiser Chiefs They’ll do the same at Glastonbury next weekend, playing at the sharp end of the main stage bill. Maybe Editors will next year. And maybe they’ll get some carrier bags like this beauty. SO, DID YOU GO TO WIRELESS? WHAT DID YOU THINK? AND DOES TOM SMITH HAVE THE BEST EYEBROWS IN ROCK? LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS BELOW This review is by Jamie Fullerton, so disregard what it says below.