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Michael  Hampton walks on stage, wearing the kind of luminous green sweatshirt normally reserved for stewards at a football stadium. A grey dreadlock falls across his face as he takes off his sunglasses and straps his Fender over his shoulder. He plugs the jack into the guitar, waggles his fingers as if to have a brief warm up, and begins to play. 20 odd minutes later, he looks at his arm as if to say “How long do I have to do this shit for, man?” and brings a very heavy but incredibly psychedelic Maggot Brain style extended opening jam to a close.

Damian: We have to marvel at the sophisticated level of camping that the average German festivalgoer achieves. Listeners to the Incendiary shedcast will have heard us tell tales of fussball tables, sofas, DJ systems, party tents and even, at one point, a fridge. When these guys go away for a weekend they certainly don’t pack light. Perhaps that explains why the camping area mostly resembled a car park this year. Hundreds of cars all lined up neatly next to one another, extremely well organized and arranged.

Damian: Day two began in the bar. Quite literally, as Gary took to the stage in the Haldern Pop bar, situated in the centre of the village at around One o’clock. Now, playing rock and roll at that time of the day is a problem for most bands, but Gary? Well, what can we say about Gary?

First I must confess…

..only Neil Tennant could, in this day and age, get away with stalking around the stage in a regal cloak and crown whilst the perennially cool Chris Lowe wears what looks like a Yucca plant on his head

Well, you know, they're Pixies, they do what they do, they're nothing much to look at, they just bang out hit after hit.

Primavera is Costa Del ATP. All your favourite edgy guitar-manglers and electro-warriors without the inherent grey drizzle of a British holiday camp.

This is big music, people; big in its reach and ambition verging on monstrous in its execution.

typewriters as percussion, ping pong balls, firecrackers fired from his fez, I kid you not here

Now, I don’t often wonder what Editors fans think. Why should I, outside of a vague bafflement as to why they think Editors are actually any good…

De Boer stands and delivers his lyrics in a slightly hunched, pained pose; looking for all the world as if someone’s thrown cold water over him

And there you had it, a great band, seemingly at the beginning of something new.

a rousing finale to what has been a spectacular musical and social success this last three years

its funny watching people come and go during the gig, like swimmers who need to go and rest on the beach for a while

For a bunch of old fellas, The Sonics look pretty good.

In one way it’s like watching a Rogers and Hammerstein musical based on art students

Of course this behemoth of sound didn’t end till every conceivable squeal could be wrung from the smoking, battered instruments