Reading Festival 2008: Radio 1/NME Stage

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But located just a bottle's throw from the main stage lies the Radio 1/NME tent, not just an area of corporate endorsement overkill, but a haven for all things supposedly indie, trendy and so-right-now that both your auntie has heard of and your cool older brother hasn't disowned yet. This spacious canopy becomes home for three days of inspired shows, wired cameos, sound frustration, sleep deprivation and every now and then, pure elation.

The fashionable tag is belittled slightly by Be Your Own Pet almost instantly. A buzz band a few years back, their ravenous, scuzzy punk sound and frontwoman Jemina Pearl's crazed onstage antics still draw a crowd, but they're aware it's over. Barely out of their teens, the moment has passed, 'Adventure' seems flat and 'Damn Damn Leash' dated. "I'm drunk. I'm so drunk", slurs the bassist. "I'm bored", moans a girl nearby. A cruel mistress, this tent.

Far better to come out on the attack, wearing a gold sequin dress and singing songs that appear to have been dragged by the hair through the already-appearing mud and held onstage just long enough for the band to thrash them into existence. This is The Duke Spirit approach, all guts and drive, not a lot of variety but full of unquenchable enthusiasm. 'Cuts Across The Land' is particularly biting and Liela Moss consistently beguiling.

As MGMT spiritedly launch into the meaningful pop ecstasy of 'Electric Feel', it is apparent this is another buzz band anomaly - having accidentally tapped into the mindset of a musical fellowship they don't really belong in, they're stuck in a halfway house between more catchy jingles and a natural leaning towards experimentation. 'Time To Pretend' and 'Kids' are lapped up eagerly as the crowds revel in the thrilling escapism of it all. But in the lulls between singles, the band comes alive while the audience waits patiently for another pop tart. The phrases "musical differences" and "pursuing other interests" spring to mind for the future.

Vampire Weekend are far more comfortable pop fodder. In fact, they exclusively write this fare, but dress it up in the calypso rhythms of opener 'Mansard Roof' and the jerky irony of 'Oxford Comma', so it's hard to recognise. In a perfect afternoon slot, they excel, before vacating for less reliable fun in the shape of Babyshambles.

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