Wickerman Review BY ed Devlin

Midnight, Saturday 25 July. What must, surely, be the campest giant wicker man to ever be constructed burns brightly in a field in Scotland. Not that the Scots are engaged in any sort of homophobic pagan rituals. No, this is the Wicker Man festival at East Kirkcarswell Farm near Dundrennan.

Now in its eighth year, the independent music and arts festival may not yet be able to boast of competing with T in the Park, or one of the other behemoth corporate events, held every year. But what it lacks in jaw-dropping acts, and size, it more than makes up for with a counter-cultural atmosphere. The pace of life is much more suited to the idler who would rather relax with a beer than rush for miles between stages trying desperately to catch enough bands to compensate for the extortionate ticket price of other festivals.

Set in a stunning location surrounded by rolling hills and sporadic patches of trees, lit up at night in eerie Technicolor, the 15,000 festival-goers could not complain about a lack of activities. There is mountain biking, a DJ workshop with Danny Rampling, song writing workshops, a plethora of dance tents and a stage for emerging Scottish talent. If you want to ruin a good walk then a quick game of rough-and-ready nine-hole pitch and putt can be had right below the athletic-looking wicker man - which was apparently an effigy of the poet Robert Burns to celebrate the bard's 250th anniversary.

The big names will never see the bright side of 40 again but nevertheless put on a show to sate the baying crowds. Candi Staton struts and stomps her way through a crowd-pleasing set. The Human League don't disappoint with Don't You Want Me, the predictable highlight in Friday night's headline slot.

Local lads More From Jim play an early set in the Scooter tent on Friday and prove to be perfect festival fodder. Their brand of Scottish ska replete with trombone, trumpets and saxophone has a packed out audience screaming and dancing throughout. The seven-piece aren't exactly going to revolutionise the music scene with a sound that is at times more Busted than Madness. But from the looks of it they'll continue to have a bloody good time whenever they play.

The highlight of the weekend comes in the form of a rousing hour-long set from political troubadour Billy Bragg. His huge personality seems to takeover the whole main stage such is his hold over the crowd.

This being Billy Bragg there are bound to be politics throughout. And the audience do their part when a couple of cretins start waving massive flags of the Soviet Union and Communist China. Not that I'm saying it wouldn't have been a wonderful delight to be ruled over by those freedom-loving festival junkies Uncle Joe Stalin and Chairman Mao.

Bragg sets the tone early when in response to blaring music flowing from a nearby dance tent he bellows: "I'll be fucked if I'm going to let some geezer in a tent, playing records, be louder than me." His set is a mix of fiery political rhetoric and tender love songs. The latter is in evidence in the delicate The Milkman of Human Kindness.

Bragg is verbose, articulate, interesting but always witty and humorous as he regales his disciples with anecdotes and between-song banter. He damns the BNP with All You Fascists Are Bound To Lose, calls for third-world debt to be dropped with Bob Marley cover One Love, dedicates a song to "all you Maoists in the Crowd," and even manages a new song a cappella about constitutional reform. It really shouldn't be this entertaining but somehow it's incredibly captivating.

A difficult performance to follow but Idlewild skilfully manage it with a greatest hits set. You Held the World In Your Arms, American English, Live in a Hiding Place, A Modern Way of Letting Go, all from 2002 album The Remote Part, haven't aged a bit. The band round a faultless set off with fan favourites Little Discourage and When I Argue I See Shapes. Front man Roddy Woomble barely utters a word and certainly won't be challenging Billy Bragg in the charisma department but the music speaks for itself.

Young Scottish hopefuls We Were Promised Jetpacks prove that along with label mates Frightened Rabbit and The Twilight Sad there is thriving music scene over the border. And when Dananananaykroyd and The Phantom band are thrown into the mix the over-saturation Glasvegas receive seems to be demented. Any one of these bands is far more deserving of the plaudits than the maudlin pap that dribbles from the mouth of lead singer James Allan.

For a band of such tender age We Were Promised Jetpacks can certainly hold a crowd. From the very first chord, to the last, the audience in the rammed Solus Tent engage in, possibly, the first mosh pit of the day. The songs veer from powerful, driving anthems to delicate songs of real sincerity. The drums are explosive, propelling each and every song to another stratosphere. There is no need for jetpacks for that. Of all the bands playing this weekend Jetpacks are ones to watch in the coming future.

Saturday rolls round with evil hangovers and bleary eyes and it's no comfort at all to watch the over-hyped drivel of Kid British in the Scooter tent. A band compared to political bands of the ska era sound nothing more than a toothless version of The Specials. The lyrics hold no more bite, or insight, than, "Our house is Dadless that's why it's madness," or the protagonist of Lost in London getting on the Northern Line rather than the District.

The fact that Jabba the Hutt, who now presents the flagship breakfast show on Radio 1, has declared them his new favourite band should come as no surprise whatsoever. With Chris Moyles as your biggest fan (literally) it's time to start looking for another job. Now that really is madness, surely?

The Zutons finish the main festivities off with a damn squib, though the crowd seemed to enjoy the set. It's easy to see why the talented guitarist Boyan Chowdhury left the group in 2007 due to "musical differences". What was once a left-field countrified band with melodic hooks and a boisterous live show have slowly took the long route to the middle of the road.

They finish with an extended seven-minute You Will You Won't. As if the three-minute album version wasn't excruciating enough. As has always been the case with The Zutons the lyrics fall down completely into nonsensical gibberish when examined. Go ahead, listen closely and try not to laugh.

The For No Reason dance tent continues the party until dawn. Two talented, young DJs - among others - Mr Mowgli and Seele Dub keep the hardy remaining contingent happy, until the unforgiving morning sun rises, with their impressive brand of minimalist techno.

The burning of the wicker man hours earlier feels like a lifetime ago. It symbolises everything that is special about this small but perfectly formed festival - spectacle and a sense of bonhomie. See you next year.

Tickets are no longer available for this event