Sunday 02/09/07 Day Two @ Jersey Live Festival, Jersey

No tents at a festival generally means one thing – no hangovers. On day two the only remnant of day one that’s still visible is a thick layer of debris stagnating on the surface of the backstage Jacuzzi courtesy of Little Man Tate. They might not have left an impressionable performance but they certainly left a mess.

As festivalgoers return to the site for another day of beer-fuelled, sun trenched partying, the benchmark for all the band’s playing the main stage today is set by The Pigeon Detectives. It’s not even 4pm but the Leeds band draw a crowd worthy of a higher slot. With a summer of destructive festival performances tucked under their wings, they should probably launch a campaign to rename themselves The Golden Eagle Detectives because they really have matured into one of indie’s best live bands. With the Pigeon’s you just know what you’re going to get - from frontman Matt Bowman doing that a clever trick his microphone while singing the chorus to, ‘I Found Out,’ like an overcharged rampant rabbit to the constant threat of a stage invasion from the crowd...yes, even in ‘royal’ Jersey. “Make sure you ****ing catch these – I don’t wanna get sued,” frets Bowman, before the band launch into ‘Take Her Back.’ He’s right to be concerned, come set closer, ‘I’m Not Sorry,’ girls are keeling over left, right and centre, and not just because of the band’s revealing drainpipes.

Now the Super Furry Animals have always had something of the nonchalant about them. They turn up, they play, the crowd cheers, they go. Today the ethos is no different of course, except the playing is even more spaced out than normal. If Gruff Rhys isn’t sending a text message during opener, ‘Slow Life’ then he’s eating a packet of ready salted crisps whilst singing, ‘God! Show Me Magic.’ Could he look anymore disinterested? Pointing to a giant pair of hand’s situated at the festivals entrance before launching into ‘Show Your Hand,’ he says in his best muffled Welsh: “They actually modelled those on our drummer’s hands. You can win them in a competition if you enter in the t-shirt stand over there.” The crowd smile, Rhys turns away. The set's only highlight comes when the band blow the sound system at the end of ‘Receptacle For The Respectable’ after Rhys, guitarist Huw Bunford and bassist Gutos Pryce clash guitars like the three musketeers. Following a delay to restore power, the finish with, ‘Man Don’t Give A ****’ – an all to appropriately named song to sum up their attitude today.

Thank you to the festivals booker for booking The Rakes next – they must have seen SFA’s ‘show’ coming. There might be nothing in Jersey that reflects The Rakes native east London, indeed, during our four days on the island the most Shoreditch thing we saw was a cricket shop, but that’s of no concern as they plough through a typically breathless set. With frontman Alan Donohue sporting some longer locks, The Rakes sound dynamic during, ‘We Danced Together’ and virtually unstoppable as they thrash, ’22 Grand Job,’ wildly – with Donohue flapping his arms like a one winged duck. The only groan from the crowd comes when Donohue dedicates, ‘Work Work Work (Pub, Club, Sleep)’ “to anyone who has work in the morning.” Frustrations of the impending working week are soon forgotten however, as the band wrap up their set with, ‘The World Was A Mess, But His Hair Was Perfect.’