Whatever's going on in music, the Leeds festival always feels like a parallel universe. Unfashionable tattooed American pop-punk reliably clogs the main stage and fans look to make an exhibition of themselves for a weekend before returning to normality. With the sunshine denying punters the traditional sport of puddle-diving, graveyard-faced rocker Mark Lanegan found himself singing to someone dressed as the Pink Panther, while the Black Keys' set benefited most from this year's trend of baring breasts at bands.
Surreal environment aside, the festival is a good place to see future musical phenomena. The very first band on the NME stage on Friday, Iceland's Of Monsters And Men, recently turned a raved-about appearance at SXSW into a top 10 placing in the US charts, and they will surely repeat such success in Britain. Their joyous, instant anthems about wolves and forests went down a storm here – people even cheered the trumpet solo.
His career kickstarted by a beer advert, Jake Bugg drew a packed crowd, suggesting the future of rock'n'roll is skiffle. As people jostled to get a view, one fan excitedly shouted: "Look, I can see his wrist!"
Santigold's eclectic electro pop and the Swedish synth balladeers Miike Snow were among the better-received alternatives to guitar rock. Elsewhere, proceedings felt uncomfortably familiar and captured a sense that the current scene is waiting for something to happen. Friday's headliners, Foo Fighters, topped the bill in 2002 and 2005, when their trademark displays of brutal hard rocking didn't require two hours and 30 minutes or as many solos, jams, monologues and a near-10 minute wait for an encore.
By contrast, Saturday's headliners, The Cure, who last appeared at Leeds's Reading counterpart in 1979, crammed 32 songs into just five minutes longer and offered something for everybody, although the teens giddily singing along to In Between Days and Love Cats edged away as older fans glowered knowingly to A Forest and One Hundred Years. With his mad barnet now resembling the sort of exotic creature David Bellamy might unearth in an Amazonian forest, Robert Smith showered songs about sex, death and caterpillars with an intensity unmatched by anyone else all weekend, explaining that talking between songs would "break the spell in my head".
The Vaccines transferred to the main stage and repeated their wowing of the NME tent last year. "Wanna best gigs we evuh played," drawled singer Justin Young, demonstrating that success has brought confidence, Jim Morrison hair and a faux American accent.
But a promotion to Sunday second headline spot felt beyond Florence and The Machine. Avoiding their hit cover You've Got The Love, their dippy, indulgent set felt like a cross between Kate Bush and a suburban self-healing group, with Florence Welch's urges to "Hug each other! Express yourself!" causing guffaws among the northern drinkers.
As tiredness and drunkenness set in, Kasabian found just the right blend of electro lad rock and skeleton-costume silliness to unite the flagging field. When the moon appeared overhead, it joined the show. "Everybody point at Neil Armstrong!" yelled the grinning singer Tom Meighan. It spoke volumes that the weekend's most memorable moment was provided by a deceased astronaut.
