16.20, Other Stage

THE EIGHTIES MATCHBOX B-LINE DISASTER: just what the doctor ordered. Although, I hasten to add, if your doctor really did prescribe The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster, you’d have to be concerned for his professional capabilities and mental wellbeing. Ugly and blunt, the Brighton oiks put in a performance that chews up The Thrills and spits them out into the beaming faces of anyone else whose set automatically benefits from the good weather and the cheery vibe – hello there The Polyphonic Spree, who are on the Main Stage at the same time shooting fish in a barrel by singing more songs about the sun. Taking to the stage with a giant flag that reads “I want to fuck your mother” (smaller flags have been distributed to members of the audience), Guy McKnight proceeds to rip out his lungs in the name of entertainment. And then the second song begins and he does it again. The set is a thrashy take-no-prisoners pillaging of their psychotically unhinged debut LP Horse Of The Dog. The first genuinely electrifying band of the day, The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster are a wild and truly idiosyncratic proposition – please, please, please, let them be spared from being tamed at the hands of a major label.