end of the road

You know those people whose taste you instinctively distrust? Who only ever seem to love music that you can't stand? For me, that's Noel Gallagher. Every time he steps up to proselytise on behalf of a band, my heart sinks. Here, after all, is a man whose every aesthetic decision seems predicated on a terrifying fear of the unknown, whose idea of the avant-garde is Beck. If it doesn't fit Gallagher's conservative idea of The Song, he'll never speak out in favour of it.

Last night's Benicassim ended for us at about 7am this morning, after chilling out from a hard night's work by the backstage swimming pool with the Arctic Monkeys, some Horrors, Fifi Geldof and various others... so Animal Collective and Calexico were a perfect way to kick off the festival's final day.

At nine o'clock, the omens are not great. Sly And The Family Stone are meant to be starting their headlining set right now, and the strict curfew on this inner-city festival is 10.30. On the main stage, though, Chris Stein has decided to add a five-minute guitar solo to "Rapture", while Debbie Harry looks on with a sort of professional vapidity. Blondie, in all their lumpen, functional weariness, aren't going to be finished any time soon.

At nine o'clock, the omens are not great. Sly And The Family Stone are meant to be starting their headlining set right now, and the strict curfew on this inner-city festival is 10.30. On the main stage, though, Chris Stein has decided to add a five-minute guitar solo to "Rapture", while Debbie Harry looks on with a sort of professional vapidity. Blondie, in all their lumpen, functional weariness, aren't going to be finished any time soon.

Rufus Wainwright has just played up to all Benicassim festival expectations of a good ol’ show tune packed set. Within the space of four songs he went from Joseph in his technicolour dreamcoat to something out of The Producers – in between teasing the packed Esceniaro Fiberfib tent wearing his now de rigeur festival white bath robe.

I've blogged previously about Grindhouse's abysmal showing at the American box office, and last night I finally got to see the version of Tarantino's extended Death Proof segment that's getting a UK release in September.

The curious comic apprenticeship of Belushi, Aykroyd… and Chevy Chase

Or, what I did this morning at Latitude. Despite feeling relatively delicate today (ah, bless the pear cider), a gentle stroll round the Latitude site does wonders for the constitution.

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.

Looking back over the past few months of writing Wild Mercury Sound, it does seem like I go on again and again about Sonic Youth and Thurston Moore's Ecstatic Peace label. I guess I can be a bit fanboyish over the whole business, but then there are few bands who've shaped my musical aesthetics as profoundly as the Youth, and the wild and varied music that Moore has been putting out on his imprint of late (from Wooden Wand to Turbo Fruits, from MV + EE And The Bummer Road to Sunburned Hand Of Man, to Awesome Color) means they've kept me excited and engaged more, perhaps, than any other label in 2007.