In the middle of the Bowl - the natural amphitheatre setting for Homelands - there is an indescribable sound. It is something like every club night, gig and fairground you've been to being put through a blender. Just add 50,000 people and bake in the sun until steaming.
Something like 130 acts - mainly DJs - played for this festival, which only lasts 17 hours. There's no time to settle in and get your teepee feng shui'd, or quiz that bloke in the toilet queue about when he started sucking a baby's dummy and wearing yeti boots.
With the prospect of a sunset, James Lavelle - in the huge main arena - lost out to the outdoor party at the Bud Ice bus from Groove Armada and the Stanton Warriors. There's something about wandering into a large tent at that point in the evening, with no stage "act" as such, and not much lighting, that feels like a morning after in a wedding marquee.
Despite the fact that a lot of people seemed unsure as to how Pulp were going to go down, they won a full house, resetting tunes such as Common People with new beats - a thumping guitar band sound that also reeled in the clubbers. Jarvis Cocker did some exotic rubbery dancing, and was in great voice.
Hidden treasures from a more Latin perspective were available in the Bacardi B-Bar (especially Ross Allen and Gilles Peterson), again turned into a party by a live element, percussionists Basil Isaac and Satin Singh.
Orbital always shine at these festivals because they can actually play a set rather than just reproduce it. It's like watching a strange office at work - the lights of their trademark torch-spectacles bobbing madly over a thousand buttons. The occasional cock-ups are an exciting reminder that they combine the continuity of DJ-ing (such as a great segue from Dr Who into a revamped version of Chime) with the spontaneity and risk of creating music live. The way they control sound, constantly revitalising repeated sections while creating huge dancefloor crescendos, is an ideal festival formula. It's thoughtful with the music, while providing a groove that makes you feel as though someone's carrying out roadworks inside you.
