Stag and Dagger 2010 @ Various Venues, Glasgow, 22 May

While not as dependent on the weather as its field-based brethren, wandering between city-festival venues is infinitely more pleasurable on a balmy, pre-summer’s evening like tonight. It helps that Stag and Dagger strategically occupies venues within five minutes of each other (with a slightly further afield Captains Rest outlier), while the scheduling - vastly improved on last year - diminishes the fear of fruitless queuing for oversubscribed headliners.

Of course, none of this matters if the acts on offer aren’t much cop. Luckily, the lineup, if not quite exemplary, is pretty exhaustive. Squeezing in so many bands leaves some a little short-changed in terms of set-length, but the general brevity means motivated punters can pack a lot in to a single evening.  Like the following, for example…

Islet adopt some fairly provocative tactics to deflect from a longish delay to their set: “We played a gig in Edinburgh last night”, a pronouncement met with the inevitable chorus of pantomime boos, is one in a series of spontaneous gestures (brothers Matt and JT also take to wading through a tightly packed crowd at various points) that typifies the Cardiff quartet’s rather casual, laissez faire songwriting style. As loosely structured (and somewhat unhinged) as they are, Islet's 30 minute spell at The Captain’s Rest is a thrillingly feral exercise in unreconstructed racket. [RP]

Many a thankless task has been undertaken in the name of tracing a band's stylistic references, but Rhys Edwards' jet black bowl cut is the big giveaway here: as the Tripwires frontman informs the crowd that the Reading quartet are missing exams for the sake of their afternoon slot at the Stag & Dagger, one can't help but feel they've been studying their 90s shoegaze predecessors a little too hard. A series of reverb-caked ditties, though diverting enough, feel too familiar to provoke anything beyond a shrug. [RP]

Formerly known as Ross Clark And The Scarfs Go Missing, Three Blind Wolves are in fact four guys from Glasgow, led here tonight by the aforementioned - and wonderfully mustachioed - Ross Clark. Drawing on a host of influences from Springsteen to Modest Mouse, the wolves do their best to power through the heat delivering an energetic take on Americana and country-tinged rock. [RD]

Next up in the stereo basement are London-based, Yuck, who, to put it very basically, sound like A LOT of big "alt rock" bands from the 80s/90s - Dinosaur Jr., Pavement, Pixies, etc. They possess a suitably weird stage presence - all look outstandingly geeky, effortlessly. However, it appears they've got a few chops too, lumbering out a selection of catchy, noisy pop songs that often go from nothing to cascading Mascis-style guitar battery - shame it's all been done before. [RD]

A conspicuously modest number are present to greet Gold Panda, a producer whose sunny loops and inscrutable crate-digging have turned the requisite quota of heads amongst the chattering classes of the blogosphere. Although many of his songs withstand the passive scrutiny of the Art School crowd – new single You and his signature tune, Quitter’s Raga, are his standout efforts – the Londoner falls frustratingly short as a DJ. His build-ups linger for way too long and fizzle out thereafter into formless, miasmic feedback that undermines an otherwise impressive set of tunes. [RP]

Being the first to play ABC’s main stage tonight, you’d assume there was ample opportunity to calibrate sound levels for The Antlers’ arrival.  Apparently not – while Peter Silberman’s vocals eventually manage to battle through the sludge, a persistent bass rumble judders throughout. Its ugly reverberations loom from the stage like (appropriately enough) angry Lost credits, and though their set is too damaged by the aural slurry to salvage full satisfaction, the undiminished appeal of their shoegaze melodies scrapes them a pass. [CB]

After recently visiting a friend with young children, the antics of Jaguar Love’s Johnny Whitney feel familiar. Initially, he’s charged to a “I wanna watch Spider-Man NOW!” excitement level, and his unbridled energy seems incongruous in a hot, lazy ABC2. Later, he drops a notch to a less volatile “fish fingers for tea! HOORAY” kind of level, while the crowd start to shuffle their own excitement levels forward to meet him halfway. Their sound is dumb and often annoying (the majority plucked from their shark-jumping second album), but they skate through on enthusiasm and energy. Now someone sit him in front of In the Night Garden quick before he faints. [CB]

Despite the advancing hours and the continuous trickle of beer taps, Wild Beasts luck out by drawing a fairly attentive crowd at the ABC. Gleaning much of their setlist from sophomore album Two Dancers, tracks like Fun Powder Plot and This Is Our Lot are redolent with a faintly dream-like quality that owes much to Hayden Thorpe’s sweeping vocals and a slightly gentler tempo than the band employ on record. The Kendal quartet wrap up an excellent 45 minutes with Hooting & Howling, a bloody and beautiful ode to errant youth that feels like an entirely appropriate dedication to the city they find themselves in. [RP]

Over in ABC2, former Aerogramme men Craig B and Iain Cook take to the stage with their impressive new group, The Unwinding Hours. It's a shame some people feel the urge to scream over the whole set, but most of the couple hundred folk here seem genuinely appreciative. The band, however, invest a lot of personal energy and honesty into the performance, getting as lost in the sound as the more attentive among us tonight. [RD]

“Hiya, we’re called Divorce. Nice to meet you.” That’s about the sum total of pleasantries offered to onlookers at Nice ‘N’ Sleazy’s tonight, where Ps and Qs are otherwise shown the door. A middling turnout is perhaps explained by Jetpacks’ headline slot down the road at the ABC, but it scarcely affects the sheer energy that the quintet generate via wave after wave of what Donald Rumsfeld may have been moved to christen ‘shock and awe’ had he not been otherwise engaged in a bit of warmongering. [RP]

While hardly veterans, We Were Promised Jetpacks are looking increasingly comfortable on large stages. Comfortable enough, in fact, to toss out album highlights early without risking losing a crowd habitually consulting time tables to find their next destination. With such maturation, a cracking second album could see them cement themselves as something exceptional (as opposed to merely Bloody Good). The only time they look mildly uncomfortable is when the inter-song chat turns to the evening’s football – to borrow a metaphor from the beautiful game, they won’t require a home advantage to thrill venues this size for long. [CB]

Titus Andronicus are pretty much a full on party band, but with lyrics, or rather "chants" to the effect of "You Will Always Be A Loser" and "Your Life Is Over" it's more like a celebration of how shit everything is. Regardless of these sentiments, every member of the band jumps around the Art School stage, screaming themselves hoarse and evoking everyone from The Dropkick Murphys to The Hold Steady in the process. [RD]

Dressed all in red, mismatching uniforms and creepy, see-through masks, watching Kong take equal chunks out of Beefheart and Albini's collective handbook on musical weirdness is both unsettling and invigorating. This trio from Manchester possess the technical skills to transcend any gimmickry and, with a barrage of complex structures, scuzzy riffs and almost death metal drum work, well and truly give Sleazys a pounding. [RD]

Despite appearing odd on paper – former Poison the Well guitarist plays metal-inflected blast-beat dance-rock while a tattooed Cleopatra coos pretty melodies – the sound of Sleigh Bells in the midst of a heat-wave proves less peculiar than expected. It’s unrelentingly noisy but with a strong pop sensibility embedded throughout, and the forceful beats are lapped up by the art school’s patrons. While perhaps guilty of spreading their (admittedly good) ideas thin, they’re lean, fierce and hard to resist. [CB]

Laptop electronics rarely equate to spectacle. Dam Mantle apparently used toys and broken radios to craft his samples, but once digested through a Macbook’s digital intestines, it boils down to CPUs and LEDs. Add the fact that his intricate, understated take on the genre isn’t conducive to aural pyrotechnics and the slot seems set to underwhelm. Except for the rather significant fact that Dam Mantle is ace. Ostensibly electro easy-listening (they apologise when a loud glitch accidentally escapes the speakers) yet excitingly complex, he doesn’t shout as loud as others on the bill, but he has a lot more to say. [CB]

As we come to the end of tonight's live contingent, Brighton's Esben And The Witch take to The Art School's Vic Bar with an impressive array of gadgets. It's too bad then, that for whatever reason - though it's painfully clear from the start the band are struggling with the sound on stage - it all sounds dreadful. Though their attempt at brooding, creepy electro goes completely awry - and over the heads of this packed-out, DJ-hungry crowd - there are occasional flickers of hope here and there, so we'll give them the benefit of the doubt. [RD]

Joker’s fraternal onstage presence alongside Taz Buckfaster serves as a convenient signpost to the oncoming barrage of Nintendo house, evocative of so many wasted (by ‘wasted’, I mean totally awesome) hours pagaring pixels on Streets of Rage and such. Fashionable dubstep substrates - midi wobbles, sugary synth melodies, 8-bit bleeps and so on - are all in abundance, and though there’s a wee suspicion that such immediately satisfying stuff might lose its lustre on repeated listen, there’s no faulting the inclusion of a visceral Smack My Bitch Up remix or Buckfaster's own creation, Fine Day. [RP]

Mercurial Bristol producer Joker takes the baton for the final leg of this year’s Stag & Dagger, but only a hardcore menagerie of booze hounds and dubstep freaks (you know who you are, radge mephedrone b-boy guy) manage to cross the finish line alongside him. A flurry of exhilarating juxtapositions help the surviving revellers give the floorboards a severe pounding, though his bass-heavy Hyperdub oeuvre really does deserve a better stage - this is basically like watching Barcelona play keepy-uppie at Dingwall. Joker still seems happy enough to show off his broad repertoire of tricks, though: "Not that many people here, but we're having our own party, you get me?" [RP]