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Of course, none of this matters if the acts on offer aren't much cop. Luckily, the line-up, if not quite exemplary, is pretty exhaustive. Squeezing in so many bands leaves some a little short-changed in terms of set-length, but the general brevity means motivated punters can pack a lot in to a single evening. Like the following, for example...
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Being the first to play ABC's main stage tonight, you'd assume there was ample opportunity to calibrate sound levels for The Antlers' arrival. Apparently not - while Peter Silberman's vocals eventually manage to battle through the sludge, a persistent bass rumble judders throughout. Its ugle reverberations loom from the stage like (appropriately enough) angry Lost credits, and though their set is too damaged by the aural slurry to salvage full satisfaction, the undiminished appeal of their shoegaze melodies scrapes them a pass.
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After recently visiting a friend with young children, the antics of Jaguar Love's Johnny Whitney feel familiar. Initially, he's charged to a "I wanna watch Spider-Man NOW!" excitement level, and his unbridled energy seems incongruous in a hot, lazy ABC2. Later, he drops a notch to a less volatile "fish fingers for tea! HOORAY!" kind of level, while the crowd start to shuffle their own excitement levels forward to meet him halfway. Their sound is dumb and often annoying (the majority plucked from their shark-jumping second album), but they skate through on enthusiasm. Now someone sit him in front of In the Night Garden quick before he faints...
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While hardly veterans, We Were Promised Jetpacks are looking increasingly comfortable on large stages. Comfortable enough, in fact, to toss out album highlights early without risking losing a crowd habitually consulting time tables to find their next destination. With such maturation, a cracking second album could see them cement themsevles as something exceptional (as opposed to 'merely' Bloody Good). The only yime they look mildy uncomfortable is when the inter-song chat turns to the evening's football - to borrow a metaphor from the beautiful game, they won't require a hom gam advantage to thrill venues this size for long.
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Despite appearing odd on paper - former Poison the Well guitarist plays metal-inflected blast-beat dance-rock while a tattooed Cleopatra coos pretty melodies - the sound of Sleigh Bells in the midst of a heat-wave proves less peculiar than expected. It's unrelentingly noisy but with a strong pop sensibility embedded throughout, and the forceful beats are lapped up by the art school's patrons. While perhaps guilty of spreading their (admittedly good) ideas thin, they're lean, fierce, and hard to resist.
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Laptop electronics rarely equate to spectacle. Dam Mantle apparently used toys and broken radios to craft his samples, buy once digested through a Macbook's digital intestines, it boils down to CPUs and LEDs. Add the fact that his intricate, understated take on the genre isn't conducive to aural pyrotechnics and the slot seems destined to underwhelm. Except for the rather significant fact that Dam Mantle is ace. Ostensibly electro easy-listening (they apologise when a loud glitch accidentally escapes the speakers) yet excitingly complex, he doesn't shout as loud as others on the bill, but he has a lot more to say.
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(you can read the full review of the festival - featuring Ryan and Ray's thoughts on Wild Beasts, The Unwinding Hours, Three Blind Wolves, Divorce and Titus Andronicus amongst others - at theskinny.co.uk)
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