Sunday 05/08/07 Day Two @ Electric Gardens, Mount Ephraim Gardens, Kent

Being small, cute and accessible does have its plus points. The key one being if you have a mate of similar stature you can sit on each other’s shoulders, wear a big raincoat and only pay for one ticket at the cinema. Bonus.

However, in the case of small festivals, it means you only have two understaffed breakfast vans open Sunday morning when everyone is hanging out of their arse and chewing their face off rather than a bacon roll. Obviously far from ideal. After queuing up to buy some gristle and ketchup for an hour and attempting to act professionally and do some writing based on the previous day’s malarkey (ten minutes tops) we bosh over to the arena to catch The Sonic Hearts and have a little sit under the tree. Lovely. Between them front pair Sean Francis Butler and Kirsty Donaldson produce a pleasant noise just the right side of intrusive for the fragile crowd. The Sonic Hearts summery, typically Scouse jangle is likeable enough but a lack of both originality and unique attitude may be a sticking point. This may be a bit harsh though as they certainly fulfil their brief this lunchtime; easing punters into the day like a amiable North Western massage, the Hearts put everyone in a good mood even if they don’t exactly blow anyone away with their intense social comment and insight. Nice enough.

Hot Club de Paris are the epitome of dehydration. The second Merseyside act of the day really need to slap on that sun cream or they are going to be in trouble. Decidedly less eager to please than the Sonics, Hot Club are an alcohol soaked shade of white and this ropey-ness initially seeps into their performance. It takes a few tunes and bottles of l’eau minerale for the trio’s jerky, Futureheadsy shanties to hit their usual heights but by the time they bust out ‘sometimes-its-better-not-to-stick-bits-of-each-other-into-each-other-for-each-other’ (surely best song title ever?) their feet are tapping and there’s a bit of colour in those insipid Scouse cheeks.

If possible, the arrival of The Noisettes on stage makes skin burn even harder and faster than it did in the midday sun. Cocked, locked and ready to fire a blunderbuss of sex and anger all over Kent, lead singer Shingai Shoniwa charges onto the sizzling main stage and doesn’t take a breather until the set is spent. By far the most visual spectacle of the day so far, The Noisettes thrash their way through their awesome punky but soulful material getting more intense as they progress. After kicking her sandals off early on to rampage all over the stage in her usual maniacal fashion, Shoniwa quickly regrets being barefoot when it becomes apparent just how hot the platform has become. The temperature forces her to hop desperately from foot to foot for a few tunes while never dropping her game for a split second. Equal parts razor sharp vixen and soft soulstress, Shoniwa’s infectious howl has the ingredients to propel this band to the next level.

Glad to be out of the glare, Late Of The Pier are doing their damnedest to baffle and spin out the growing number of walking wrecks taking refuge in the shady marquee calling itself the ‘Second Stage’. Seemingly throwing everything into a big fluorescent melting pot of irony, effects and glam, opinion on whether Samuel Dust et al are legitimate genii or just gimmicky, extravagant freaks swings back and forth throughout their presentation. The key member of the gang is undeniably effects hub Red Dog Consuela who is twiddled and poked euphorically by the band at every possible opportunity and is central to everything they do. Even if in some areas the jury is still out, these teenage technocrats have certainly brought something new to the dance music circus. Head-spinning and disco camp, and no mention of ‘nu/new (whatever) rave’…