The Great Escape Part Two

After a false start, due to unforeseen circumstances (um, that would be somehow managing to sit in dog shite!), it's back down the road to cram in as much band viewing as humanly possible. A decision is made to check out some off-the-beaten-track venues and so we channel The Hope. Evelinn Trouble has emotive shades to her voice that call to mind Beth Gibbons from Portishead, but then she goes Jagged Little Pill, Alanis Morrisette cray-cray during their own Flowing . The drummer uses differing tones in his toms, alternating a light or heavy touch to spectacular effect.

A punter's phone interferes with the sound and Trouble teases, "Whose phone is that? Maybe your wife's having a baby and it's time, and you should go now". The song with the repeated lyrics, "I never come around," best summarises her mojo and is a hit with the crowd. This trio hails from Zurich and they're just coming up on two years as a band. Evelina jokes that she'll give her two band mates haircuts to mark their second anniversary. Being a merch desk stalker, the £5 download goes in the bag. Seriously!? What's this no more CDs BS? (See a few people shy from the sale when they learn there will be no physical component.)

Evelinn Trouble

After chats with Evelinn Trouble's lovely booking agent – who recommends Eurosonic in Groningen, Holland next January – it's back down to that bullet-shaped Festival Hub stage. Charlie Straight have the longest soundcheck ever. And you should never trust a band who look like they've ripped their assorted fluoro sneakers straight out of the pack. Same brand, it looks like a three-for deal.

Very Glee. Like One Direction for 50 Shades Of Grey readers. A slick, hand-held confetti cannon is detonated by lead singer, Albert černý, mid-split jump off the front of the stage. Still reckon when every band member with a spare hand is drumming that equals an insult to the drummer. You can usually see the shame on the poor drummer's face. They perform on the bullet stage as if it were the O2 and also employ the hardest-working sound-desk man of the entire festival. When ol' mate comes back onstage with the information that the band have just been advised – that very minute – that they have two minutes remaining, it's like a reverse encore. Last song is a newie, Crush On A Hooligan, with as cute a backstory as you'd expect. Booji Boy comes out from behind keys to play bass. And then of course there's another split jump from the stage, but this time unassisted by a foil-glitter cannon. Yes, the sparkly shit! SO should have saved their equivalent of pyros until the end. Eurovision visits The Great Escape.

Booji Boy on bass

Confetti everywhere...

Whose bright idea was it to have a substantial curry dinner stop-off? It's ace, though, like real life EastEnders in the local Brighton curry house. Our very own Velociraptor at the Haunt attracts kids who wouldn't know their ass from their elbow. and good luck seeing a hair on their collective heads. The Festival Programme cover stars close with one of their Australian singles and a posh-sounding wench behind me announces, "Oh, these guys are hysterical!" The 'NME' seems more soiled as a brand than this reviewer previously thought.

After Velociraptor comes 'Lame Impala' and their setlists require the most massive font ever – they can almost be read from the balcony. Time to go, Jacco Gardner from the Netherlands. In the Haunt toilets, a girl complains about not having brought any perfume with her. Her mate offers some of her own, but 'Madame' needs to double-check it's the 'Chloe' before accepting her kind offer. On the way out, a promo flier of Matt Corby is spied on the Haunt inside wall – go ON, son!

What follows, is the first time queuing for anything at this festival so far and it's not pleasant. Especially when you realise you were queuing for the wrong goddamn venue! After enduring endless cut-and-chat offenders around the Dome Concert Hall, once inside, the following realisation hits: that's not Billy Bragg! D'oh! I'm in another part of the Dome Concert Hall called Corn Exchange! Bipolar Sunshine (yes, really) have got what it takes, even if they do have a seriously bipolar image. Their lyrics are also very much a mash-up of guaranteed blockbuster hits from the past spewed from a blender (we hear a bite from Sinead O'Connor's Nothing Compares To You plus snatches from more than one song by The Smiths).

Over in creative pop-up venue the Warren, Cut Copy can be heard playing on the venue sound system while this reviewer is wearing the band's merch – LOVE that shit and share the fact with temporary party posse. A neighbour in the crowd refers to Nina Nesbitt thus: "like a British Shania Twain." She is hella talented though and will be as famous as Taylor Swift.

Oh, Iggy Azalea. A lot of people in the house have tried to see you before, but you've cancelled at the last minute. They're back for more though and there's a sense of 'is she in the building this time?' A suave turntablist plus two 'smug as you like' dancers precede Azalea. When the Twerkshop opens, all get down to bizniz. You can't hope for a millisecond without a dude's elbow in your back as anything with a dick clambers to document her porn moves. The Mullumbimby export is well worth the wait and utterly world class: "I've been up all night ... Work-workin' on my shit" – I hear ya, sista! Now bounce! I've gotta get me some precious zeds in preparation for festival finale day tomorrow. Out.

What time do I have to get here to get these seats?

The smaller scale of venues