Ooh, spot the odd one out in that title. We’re still a little tingly here after spending the other day holed up in a hotel room with the singularly talented Conor Oberst, a guitar, some red wine and a couple of cameras. Now that’s a guest list! So, er, yeah, you’ll be able to see and hear the exclusive results of that in the next episode of Flyposter, but suffice to say he’s on fire both vocally and conversationally. We manage to drift over to the subject of his touring with Bruce Springsteen and Barack Obama. Yes, the (fingers crossed) future president of the USA. That Barack Obama. It was possibly one of the most refreshing chats I’ve had in the past year, and not just with a musician, but anyone. Principally because here was a young man who was not afraid to air his views in an articulate, informed and impassioned way. Then play some songs about it. The tracks he played by the way, from his forthcoming album Conor Oberst (recorded in Mexico with the Mystic Valley Band) and were Lenders In The Temple, Milk Thistle, Cape Canavarel and a secret track

Well, we made it down and back in one piece, which judging by the nick of Ian Brown as we left the VIP area, is a feat unattainable by other sons and daughters of Manchester. What did we see whilst there? Well, for a kick off the one thing we hardly saw any of was any bleedin’ taxis. I know it’s not the most Keef thing in the world to moan about, but in the name of Drew if you’re gonna put a festival on, put some bloody transport on too. Minor, slightly uncool whines aside, IoW wasn’t half bad. Apart from the fact that there is an increasing number of folk who, like me, are slightly grossed out by Iggy, who still don’t get the fuss about The Zutons and who could go the rest of their born days without hearing another spew of spittle soaked mockney bile from Lydon and his deeply un Sexy Pistols. Yeah, apart from THAT, the festival wasn’t half bad. Now it may have been the liberal jugs of Pimms available on site, but we found ourselves actually enjoying a NERD set, with Pharrell managing to inject some humour and charisma into his tiny unsmiling frame, and at least four recognisable from the original songs making their way over the heads of the arena. Oddly, The Wombats also managed to reach the increasingly rowdy fans (I blame the free drink pavilions that looked over the arena crowd) whilst as usual The Kooks succeeded in taking an open and happy crowd and sending them all off to the burger stands during their set. One thing - if you’re the headline act who’s taken the lucre for an appearance, and justified it in some convoluted inversion of your original manifesto, surely you would at least repay your loyal fans by spending some of the fee on a few lights and a bit of a show? Given your vocal performance and staged bile no longer cut the mustard, a few strobes and bit of dry ice wouldn’t break the bank would it? So why did Lydon and co ask us to crown an otherwise great days’ music with lukewarm delivery and 8 60 watt bulbs framing the stage?…something to dwell on as you wait on your bus home….

You have to love this band. That’s not an earnest entreaty, it’s a downright, titsout, nail chewing, hand wringing, penny dropping, eyes scrunching demand. Coming on all Conor Oberst with Jack White’s swagger (a match made in indie rock and roll heaven?), this San Franciscan duo will change the way you look at the dynamic of two guys and guitar. Catch them live, and you’re going to get an even better spectacle as they veer from bucolic, idyllic guitar pluckery through crazed afrobeats before landing hexagonally (these fellas will never do anything squarely) in the land of guitar licks and frenzied, guttural breathing. I know, i got caught up in it. You will too……Buy the album Visiters. Go on….