David Ford's Milk and Cookies at The Royal Hippodrome Theatre, Eastbourne

BobbySix.com braved the snow with camera in hand to attend David Ford's Milk and Cookies gig in Eastbourne last weekend. Check the video below:

Eastbourne resident David Ford has, for a decade, been finding time within his busy recording and touring schedule to orchestrate and perform a series of charity gigs, entitled Milk and Cookies. Having raised thousands upon thousands of pounds, Milk and Cookies turned ten-years-old on Saturday night. To celebrate, Ford played a show at the Royal Hippodrome Theatre in his home town.

While the event was sold-out, the fact that England's roads/trains seem to come to a complete standstill with the slightest peppering of snow means that a couple of hundred punters failed to make it. While this was a shame, the event was also live-streamed around the world, so those who were unable to attend could at least enjoy it from the warmth of their living room.

What they would have seen was the usual mix of Ford's solo songs and unexpected covers and rarer treats. Within three hours of terrific entertainment, highlights included a duet with former Easyworld band-mate Jo Taylor-Jones, a turn from Frances Law and a magnificent barber shop quartet featuring Max Arnold from The Late Greats, Neil Martin from Billy and the Fingers and Gary Page. As the gig drew to a close, certain representatives of BobbySix.com made up part of the choir that provided vocals on Bowie's Young Americans, Springsteen's Hungry Heart and John Farnham's You're The Voice.

Ford's music has yet to receive the recognition it deserves and so his life as a troubadour is hardly the most profitable. Therefore, for him to dedicate weeks and weeks of every year to work on this charity project illustrates what a fine chap he is. And the sheer entertainment that was on offer on this cold December evening in a dilapidated old theatre in Eastbourne cannot be argued with. A winning night all round.

This year's very good cause was the Tuesday O'Hara Fund.

Latitude Festival 2009

I'd prefer not to live up to the stereotype of us Brits always talking about the weather but, okay, let's start by talking about the weather. I've never known anything like what was thrown Latitude's way and, with more than a few English 'summers' under my belt, that's saying something. Having arrived in blissful sunshine on Thursday evening, the entire camp-site awaited the predicted storm with trepidation. When it arrived in the early hours of Friday, it didn't disappoint. Thank God, then, for a sturdy gazebo, which I only ventured away from mid-storm to assist three poor girls who were trying to erect their tents in the ensuing monsoon (by 'assist', I actually mean that I stood under a brolly, issuing advice before slying back to my tent before my feet got too wet).

For the remainder of the weekend, the weather went from torrential rain to boiling sun and back again at ten minute intervals, making it impossible to select a suitable outfit to venture to the arena in. The t-shirt/shorts/wellies/raincoat-either-tightly-done-up-or-tied-around-the-waist-depending-on-the-weather look proved popular throughout. Never mind though, the site remained remarkably mud free all weekend, so the affluent middle-class lefties and their irritating kids that made up the majority of the crowd didn't need to summon the kind of Dunkirk spirit that somewhere like Glastonbury thrives on in times of inclement weather.Onwards and upwards then, and Friday began with a great set by Eastbourners, The Late Greats, (above) with two frontmen sharing vocals over intelligent, interestingly crafted, lo-fi post-punk indie noise. Australia's The Temper Trap's sound seems to get more and more imposing and impressive with every show. On this occasion they filled the Uncut stage with movement and the large tent with soaring anthems. Over on the main stage, Ladyhawke offered the first anthem of the weekend in Paris Is Burning.

Under black skies, The Pretenders put in the performance of the festival so far. On a stage that had, earlier in the day, been frequented by some completely unworthy bands (hello, Amazing Baby), Chrissie Hynde owned the entire field. It was refreshing to see a real band playing a back catalogue of greatest hits (I'll Stand By You and Bob Dylan's Forever Young were particularly memorable) and putting on a proper show. Outstanding.

Next, Russian-born New York beauty Regina Spektor cut a teeny, tiny figure at her piano, so much so that half the crowd had to watch the big screens to catch a glimpse of her (above). Her set started slowly but got more and more awesome with each song. New songs Laughing With and Machine were highlights, as was a ramshackle, bashed-out-on-a-guitar rendition of That Time which she didn't know how to finish. "Sorry. I can't play the guitar," she shrugged with a giggle before sitting back down at the piano and playing one of the greatest songs ever written (seriously), Samson. Behind me, a man proposed to his girlfriend mid-song. She said yes. Tears and cheers all round. Even the rain couldn't spoil such a perfect moment.

While Golden Silvers, Little Boots and Bat For Lashes were headlining various stages that night, this reviewer was onstage in the Bafta-sponsored film tent as part of a choir for an acoustic version of Gangsta's Paradise (really), before dashing off to dance like a twat for the magnificent last twenty minutes of the Pet Shop Boys set.

Saturday at midday saw a secret show by David Ford (above) and his band down by the river. He played old and newies to a large crowd (some of whom were made aware of the event via twitter, others who just happened to be wandering past and stopped for a listen), before handing out champagne and ending with his singalong set-closer Cheer Up (You Miserable Fuck).

The rest of the day's line-up was patchy to say the least, and highlights had to really be sought out. While Patrick Wolf was dressing as an owl on the main stage, Dave Gorman chatted about magic poos in the comedy tent. Later Jessica Delfino started badly but was increasingly funny with each ditty at the comedy tent, ending with the brilliant Don't Rape Me. An acoustic show from New York's Jeffrey Lewis (below) was next, during which he tried out a bunch of new songs "for the first and maybe the last time". They showed typical lyrical genius in the very understated way we have come to expect from the artist.

Over in the Uncut tent, Newton Faulkner's arms were flying everywhere in a blur of motion in a crowd-pleasing set as the festival geared up for the arrival its wild card.

Grace Jones. Oh dear, oh dear, Grace Jones. Despite being a weird choice to headline a major festival, hopes were high that she would wow us with an amazing show. Sure enough, there was a costume change after pretty much every song, and the lighting was great, but where was the substance to back it up? "We finally have some new songs for you," she told us, (as if any of us know any of her old songs except for those two), before singing something instantly flat and forgettable. Indeed, once the costume changes lost their ooh factor, the show was only worth watching for the between-song banter, which was intriguing as it was incomprehensible. "Me Grandfather was a killer," she informed us. It was a car-crash of a headline set and not at all comfortable viewing. But then what would you expect from watching a 61-year-old woman with eyes totally vacant draping herself over onstage railings?

The sound of beautiful acoustic guitars woke campers from their slumber the following morning. It turned out to be Thom Yorke sound-checking for his midday solo set, which included the odd Radiohead song. After the biggest crowd of the weekend had stood in reverence at the great man, last night's hero, Jeffrey Lewis, reappeared, this time in the film tent, with his band to play a full set of folk-punk in place of the absent Lightspeed Champion. It was a more than welcome substitution, and those who attended would have struggled to get the chorus of Creeping Brain out of their heads for the rest of the day.

Following The Late Greats and David Ford earlier in the weekend, further Eastbourne representation came from newcomers Capital, who, either side of a power cut, played big pop anthems that seemed to pay a debt of gratitude to The Killers. Rain clouds hovered ominously as Lisa Hannigan began her set, and how disappointing it was that the heavens opened midway through, causing two thirds of the crowd to run for shelter. Still, those who stayed for the whole thing would surely have been dazzled by the breathtaking vocal of Damien Rice's former sidekick.

While, somewhere where I annoyingly wasn't, Javis Cocker was making an impromptu guest appearance, Tricky created a quite an intense atmosphere in the Uncut tent, but while it was nice to hear classics like Black Steel from his magnificent debut album, his set did seem a bit stale. Conversely, Phoenix were all about upbeat indie/disco/guitar pop. Their songs were bouncy and bright enough to banish the rain - even if they did neglect to play crowd favourite, Too Young.

Over on the stage hidden away in the woods, !!! were nicely funky but with paper-thin vocals, and on the Lake Stage, Slow Club's boy/girl tweeness found the middle ground between The Magic Numbers and The Moldy Peaches. Okay, so they weren't anywhere near as good as either of them, but still fun, even if they were a little drowned out by a polished yet uninspiring set from Editors on the main stage.

(I was collared by BBC7 on Saturday afternoon)

And so, to the main attraction of the festival. Sunday night was headlined by Nick Cave (who had already wowed the crowds here last year with his grubby side-project, Grinderman) and his Bad Seeds. It's safe to say he blew every other performance at Latitude 2009 out of the water. The sound that emanated from the stage from the first moment to the last was an absolute aural attack. Songs from the universally acclaimed latest album, Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! came at the audience like they wanted to beat the hell out of their eardrums and leave them sobbing in a gutter. Cave, an unbelievably intense frontman, pointed out individual members of the audience and stared them straight in the eyes as he delivered lyrics with venom. Of the older tracks, There She Goes My Beautiful World and the deliciously nasty Stagger Lee sounded as fresh as anything all weekend. Devastatingly brilliant.

Aside from the main stages, there were plenty of other things to entertain; movies were shown, celebs like Vivian Westwood spoke in the literary tent, there was a cabaret tent, a kids area, and lots going on down by the lake, like a classical orchestra, a man playing flute inside a bubble floating on the river (below), a robot dancing between the trees, coloured sheep to ahh at and a charity shop selling second hand clothes.However, while these things continued the tradition of Latitude being a laid back, eclectic, family-orientated festival, nothing could paper over the cracks of the line-up. Sure, there were some good acts and a couple of truly great performances, but generally there just wasn't enough depth of quality, especially for a festival that thinks that it can charge £150 a ticket and get away with it. Okay, so there were some big names and some of the little bands did themselves no harm, but where were all the decent middle-range bands; your Mystery Jets, Jamie Ts, Laura Marlings and Late Of The Piers? Any single day's line-up at this year's Glastonbury was a million miles better than the entirety of Latitude.

So, in a nutshell - Latitude 2009: great vibe, shame about the line-up.

Gary Page - Folk Devils and Moral Panic

Having been doing the live circuit for a while now, as well as performing as part of David Ford's live band, Eastbourne's Gary Page releases his debut album of classically structured, largely acoustic pop songs.

With guest appearances from Ford, The Late Greats' Max Arnold and Stacey Pottinger from Hiding With Girls/District, the self-recorded and produced Folk Devils... is lyrically intelligent in a colloquial way, mixing introspective musings (Easily Unimpressed) with conspiracy theories (Fake Lunar Landing) and pot-shots at New Wave-loving scenesters (In Love With York). What is most impressive though is the way in which Page unlocks the songs with such utterly accessible tunes. You won't find the unexpected here - no ten-minute jazz noodling or mad acid house outros (which is perhaps surprising considering his adoration of Super Furry Animals) but you will get grown-up, acoustic indie-pop influenced by a love of the likes of Crowded House and Teenage Fanclub.

The quality of the record is such that standout live-favourite, the singalong anthem Breathing In, is not the obvious jewel in the album's crown. However, tucked away without fuss or fanfare at track three, it is still a pleasing end to an opening trilogy of pop songs. Next up, Portland Sky is the real gem on Folk Devils..., a nicely understated tribute to Elliot Smith with a sweet, gentle melody tiptoeing through delicate keys. This is indicative of Page - his songs - even the ones with the big Beach Boys choruses - have a pleasingly ruminative, slightly downbeat tone to them.

If you like your music with zero pretence but with plenty of honesty, then you should give Folk Devils and Moral Panic a listen. The good news for you is that you can download the whole thing for free by clicking on this link. And no, that's not me encouraging you to illegally download (especially after that chick got fined about $2m for uploading a handful of Beyonce tracks), but a free download link straight from the artist himself.

The Late Greats at Funktion Rooms

The Late Greats (below) played at Eastbourne’s Funktion Rooms earlier this week:For what seems like eons before it opened last year, Funktion Rooms was being billed as the club to put Eastbourne on the touring map. Those of us who remember the venue as the despicable townie haunt that was The House of Commons (or The House of Horrors as indie snobs would call it) were dubious. But no, we were reliably informed that Funktion Rooms was going to be awesome. I ventured there this week for the first time to see my buddies The Late Greats perform at a freshers night.

In spite of the fact that zillions of pounds have been spent on revamping the building, I was disappointed to discover that it looked pretty much the same as it did in the bad old days, but what was most alarming was the disgracefully poor quality of the sound in the main room. Imagine the most offensive sound in the world (you’re thinking of Johnny Borrell duetting with Bono on a cover of Red Hot Chili Peppers' Hump De Bump aren’t you?) and you’re still only about half way towards getting an idea of just how nasty it was. The term ‘muddy’ does not justify its sheer awfulness. I felt as though someone was power-drilling directly into my brain.Credit then is due to The Late Greats for putting on a decent show in the face of such adversity. They did as well as could be expected in their half-hour set considering I could have probably built a better PA by blue-tacking a few ipod speakers together. Add this to the fact that they were playing to a bunch of inattentive, hammered freshers who were all dressed as Where’s Wally? and you get an idea of what the four-piece were up against. But they rattled out their tracks with zest and aggression, not least He’s Not It and standout track Bang Bang, which is a chunk of exhilarating pop so bursting with energy that it could make a corpse dance.

Shit sound or not, the kids seemed to have a great time (below). I suppose if you’ve drunk your body-weight in tequila, Funktion Rooms probably seems like the best place in the world. It isn’t.I have since been advised that the sound in the venue is “immeasurably better” than when it first opened. I’m only glad I wasn’t there then to hear it.