17 dots at latitude: Sunday

July 15th 2.00pm Andrew Bird, The National Obelisk Arena

It takes a while to get up on Sunday. Emma makes it to Ra Ra Riot and raves about them, but, pathetically, I fall asleep again. Charlie comes round to the tent about two and wakes me up with more cider and we head off to Andrew Bird. My boyfriend calls me just as Andrew comes on:

“He’s got this amazing way of whistling! Really impressive. Ever so clear.”
“Whistling? That sounds awful.”
“No, it’s really good! And he’s sampling himself with pedals, playing about six instruments, you’d like that at least.”
[Sceptical silence and a quick change of subject. He’s just returned from Supersonic in Birmingham and tells me Om were “fucking awesome.”]

Then The National. I’ve stayed for this because I think I should give The National a chance. I feel heretical saying this in the world of eMusic, but I don’t really like them. My eMusic colleagues do, eMusic users do and Emma sitting next to me is thrilling with anticipation. Me, I think they’re alright, nice enough but boring. Ponderous. This does nothing to change my mind; I can feel the air getting heavier as Matt Berninger’s slow, torpid voice flops through the PA. They make me feel dull and leaden. This isn’t really fair to The National, everyone else seems to like them, I’m just missing the National-loving gene; it’s like being colour blind or something.

6.30pm Camera Obscura, Uncut Arena
I’ve recently fallen for Camera Obscura, having previously been a bit “yeah yeah pretty, yeah yeah Glasgow, yeah yeah managed by Stuart Murdoch” and thinking I had them pegged. Then about three months ago I got all smitten about their lovely swirling synths and misty-eyed about only ever feeling pretty in a cathedral. Live they’re a revelation (especially as I’ve just read Everett True’s massive diss of their show in Plan B magazine.) They look a little awkward, but come on, if they were out there swaggering like Motley Crue something would be very very wrong. What strikes me most is Tracyanne Campbell’s voice, so pure as to be almost thin on record, but standing on stage she’s fuller, riper, with slight traces of huskiness and a noticeable Scottish accent. A woman in her 30s and not a little girl. It’s so much better.

7.30pm Final Fantasy, Sunrise Stage
Belt over to catch Final Fantasy. Sitting on the woodland floor, surrounded by ferns – this is the perfect place to hear Owen Pallet’s lonely violin.
[Later note: Yancey, when I tell him about this, says it’s the twee-est thing he’s ever heard of and laughs at me. Nice huh?]

8.00pm Jarvis Cocker, Obelisk Arena
Run for Jarvis, only to find every parent at the festival is here and the arena resembles an indie crèche. Children everwhere. They’re very well behaved, but I can’t see or hear and they’re blocking all routes, like a toddler version of The Birds. Em and I stand and squint for a bit and knock off to see Blood Red Shoes.

8.30pm Blood Red Shoes, Lake Stage
BRS have the dubious honour of being one of the few bands I’ve accepted the friendship of on MySpace after playing their sample songs. There’s something both nasty and beguiling about them. The two of them, Steven Ansell and Laura-Mary Carter, remind me faintly of the incestuous siblings in The Cement Garden or The Dreamers. They are angular and seem possessed of dark kinks, but at the same time very young. Their music is just the same.

9.30pm Arcade Fire, Obelisk Arena
This is the high. The sun is setting and the Arcade Fire are here. They are in absolute control, taking us with them. It’s almost not enough to be watching, you want to be in the band too, or inside the music even, picking through the string sounds. They are strange and other, especially Regine’s Miss Havisham vocals, which have even more of an impact when you can actually see that sound coming through her mouth. Owen Pallet has joined them onstage, boosting the violin sound. With only two albums, neither of which have any filler, it would be hard for Arcade Fire to go wrong, but they still pace their set well, allowing breathing space between the heart-pounding likes of ‘Power Out’ or ‘Black Wave/ Bad Vibrations.’ Someone lights two miniature hot air balloons and eyes turn as the burning points ghost upwards. This is it; nights like these are why I come to festivals.

The length and breadth of Latitude:
Number of people in attendance: 20, 000
Number of people annoyed by cost of programme: 20, 000
Number of dreadlocked crusties selling drugs: 0 [Most unusual]
Number of grown men wearing tutus and fairy wings: At least 10
Number of random acquaintances run into: 21
Total time spent looking for Sunrise Stage: 2 hours
Total time spent watching Sunrise Stage: 2 hours
Total bites from assorted bugs: 19 and still itching
Number of over-long blog posts: 3