Nightmare Before Christmas 2008 @ Butlins, Minehead, 5-7 Dec

To some people, the idea of an event curated by Mike Patton and The Melvins is enough to keep them up at night, excitedly memorising Mr Bungle lyrics and trying to air-drum their way through Oven and other metronomically-challenged Melvins classics. To other people it is akin to being asked to watch nothing but David Lynch films whilst doing algebra homework: needlessly difficult and at times distinctly unpleasant.

If the curators of this year's Nightmare Before Christmas were looking to get one over on that latter cross-section of society, they might have suggested The Melvins (**) get things off to a better start. Their set of 1983 material, complete with original line-up, certainly has novelty value but gets very old very soon as the audience realises, en masse, that this band have become better with the passage of time. Their successors and latter-day members Big Business (***) look to set the record straight. Unfortunately technical failures prior to them kicking off lead to a weaker sound than might have been expected. In a band with primarily only two members, the utter enormity of the bass sound is pretty vital and it takes them a good 15 minutes to get going. Yet once they do, they are on form, especially when joined by Dale Crover on guitar.

The Dirtbombs (*) are distinctly uninteresting. Despite having two drummers and two guitarists they could easily perform the same set as a regular three piece and thus they trudge through 30 minutes of garage rock by numbers. Downstairs, Madlove (**) take the smaller and arguably more atmospheric REDS stage. As the brainchild of Mr Bungle/Fantomas bassist Trevor Dunn, expectations are high. Unfortunately they prove to be a fairly bog-standard, late-90s hard rock band, not a million miles away from Smashing Pumpkins, save for the superior bassist. Madlove are followed by the quite excellent Torche (****) whose reputation (partly due to Rock Action Records) has clearly drawn a considerable number of interested parties, despite the prospect of The Locust on the main stage. Their sound is thick, utterly brutal and the reception is fittingly rapturous.

Meanwhile The Locust (****) appear, kitted out in typical insectile style. Devoid of count-ins and any apparent visual cues, they perform some of the most incredible pinpoint time changes and riffs these eyes have witnessed, as I scan them for ear-pieces or some clue as to how they are so bloody exact. They're followed by the comparatively straightforward Isis (***), who again command a huge audience. Though their post-rock riffs are epic and the lighting seductive, Isis just seems a little too one-dimensional on the back of The Locust. Thankfully a trip next door to Italian prog-jazz trio Zu (*****) absolutely buries all that has went before. Their performance is masterful, the sound pulverising. If you've never seen this band before, don't even hesitate the next time you are able to. Bass, sax and drums combine into an absorbing and frankly breathtaking set. Comedy highlight of the day also comes during Zu's set in the form of a drunken stage-invader: the bemused security staff look on, apparently struggling to decide whether he is part of the act or not until he pulls down a drum mic. Little remains to be seen this fine day other than a disappointing set of unremarkable musings from Porn (**) before retiring for the evening.

Saturday starts with Bohren and Der Club of Gore (***) whose painfully slow and sombre sounds ease many hangovers back into the proceedings via their hilariously pessimistic German stage-patter and the subdued lighting of REDS. They are followed upstairs by the surprisingly brilliant Junior Brown (****). Armed with a sawn-off telecaster and slide guitar melded into one, as well as an infectiously cheery drummer and bassist, this brilliant Arizonan owns the sizeable crowd via his offbeat country swagger. The rapidly multiplying audience soon makes sense though when Mastodon (*****) take the stage. Shorn of one member, their remaining guitarist Brent Hinds adopts a 12-string to marvellous effect. Even 25% impaired as they are, Mastodon lay waste to a fervent main stage. They certainly make it bloody difficult for The Melvins (****) to follow them. Fortunately, back to playing their contemporary set and equipped with the instrumental augmentation of the Big Business duo, follow them they do. Quite brilliantly. Nonsense is kept to a minimum and the set just ebbs and flows with effortless precision and pace.

It’s a real pity that Gibby Haines and co didn't take this on board. Butthole Surfers (**) are intensely disappointing. Though they receive a warm response, it's surely based on past glories as they do little to merit the generous attendance afforded to them, talking rubbish in between numbers and playing a poor set with little enthusiasm. Next door, ageing Romanian gypsy crew Taraf De Haidouks (****) are greeted by arguably the warmest reception of the weekend as they enthusiastically spatter the REDS audience with eastern European folk of the highest order. With the main stage still sullied by The Butthole's poor showing, thankfully Fantomas (****) rescue proceedings with a lively rendition of The Director's Cut (though sadly devoid of Dave Lombardo, temporarily replaced by odd job man Dale Crover). The sound is pristine and the performance predictably note perfect.

Rahzel's set (****) is an astonishing spectacle. His excellent stage chat aside, the incredible skills of this one-man beatbox-jukebox have to be seen to be believed. Especially when you realise he is performing the beat, the synths, the samples and the vocals from just two lungs. Astonishing stuff. Unfortunately the day ends on a downer when Thurston Moore decides to drop by, performing a set of tedious riot grrrl nostalgia with Lydia Lunch as part of late-70s heroes Teenage Jesus and the Jerks (*). As influential as the band might have been back then, it’s not a sound that translates well now, sounding overly basic and seemingly relying on pretentions for its acceptance rather than musical appeal. And so it's off to bed. Or rather, a late screening of John Carpenter's classic The Thing (*****) at the ATP cinema, also curated by Patton et al. Kurt Russell has never looked so good.

Sunday on the main stage serves up many of the same dishes as the days before, primarily for those unlucky enough to miss them first time round. Fantomas (****) turn in another stellar performance, possibly even better than their previous one. Their crowd figures are helped a slightly by Monotonix (***) having their set abruptly cut short next door following a bout of crowd-surfing on the bass drum and an over-zealous fan rugby tackling the venue manager when he attempted to intervene. Mastodon (****) also make it two in a row but The Melvins (***) unfortunately let things slip, opting to pursue their zanier (and less enjoyable) side, with an extended bout of crowd interaction quickly growing tiresome. Then again, who cares when the tremendous Black Heart Procession (****) are performing their only set of melancholy, Nick Cave-esque brilliance but 200 yards away? The Damned (**) later turn in a tired and slightly embarrassing appearance on the main stage, including hissy fits and tantrums when technical problems are encountered, before North Carolinan hardcore quartet Double Negative (****) show them how punk is really done these days, including an ironic (some might say controversial), beer-soaked performance of Minor Threat's philosophy-spawning anthem Straight Edge.

Though eclecticism was clearly high on the ATP agenda this time around, Patton and The Melvins certainly succeeded in keeping the quality generally high whilst broadening some minds, though perhaps a little too much nepotism crept in a points. Far from nightmarish, it's a satisfying – if not entirely awe-inspiring – few days.