At other festivals it is the prospect of nudity and the likelihood of mud that entices the intrigued, but the Isle of Wight festival has abandoned debauchery and embraced nostalgia. The original three-day event saw Hendrix, Dylan and the Doors making this field their temporary home. But while reputations were made and maimed back in 1968, this year's festival has opted for 12 hours of established crowd-pullers. The most dangerous thing about them is their hair.
Despite this being their first festival outing, the Coral are supremely confident. Singer James Skelly, with his Beatle mop-top and teeth-baring grin, is irrepressible, shaking his maracas fiercely. He has the charisma and intensity of a young Eric Burdon, his gruff vocals turning tender for the ethereal harmonies that pause the onslaught of screeching guitars. Influenced as much by Bob Marley as the Doors, the Coral's magpie approach leaves them sparkling.
Starsailor don't deviate from their tried and tested formula of lovely songs sung with sincerity and grace - but they don't need to. James Walsh may now look like a mortgage adviser, thanks to his new short back and sides, but his wide-eyed charm remains. Bending over his guitar, he strums the life out of it, indulging in a bit of Que Sera Sera before evoking some Jubilee spirit. "Much as I love the Strokes and the Hives and all that," he confides, "British is best."
Proving the point, Ash commemorate their first decade with a blistering flick through their back catalogue. "All our songs are about summer and girls - all the best things," says Tim Wheeler, as the pop fizz, teen angst and fuzzy anthems are unleashed. Ash are on superior form, the joy on Wheeler's face translating into stinging guitars and rhythms that refuse to let the celebratory mood sour for a second.
The scope turns epic for Hundred Reasons' shouty hymns and Robert Plant's majestic howl. Plant was here the first time around, but his shamanic moments still impress, despite the faltering sound.
But if there is one band who can look nostalgia in the face and smile, it's the Charlatans. Still the gang you most wish you could join, they boisterously tear through their past glories and present falsetto-adorned gems, playing with passion. From the sublime You're So Pretty, We're So Pretty to the evergreen Weirdo, Tim Burgess - despite the questionable shaved and highlighted urchin cut - snarls and bites each lyric. The past is just a selling point, after all.
