The Homegame diaries - Day 3, Sunday 14 March

Going by the rows of ghoulish faces that greet our arrival in Anstruther, day three at Homegame starts on a traditionally fragile note.

But, after a good night's kip, us early-to-bedders have more sprite in our step than a Berocca-snorting Sonic the Hedgehog and we vroom our way to the Hew Scott Hall to watch a new, delicate folk band called Findo Gask. Hang on, so this seated quartet who soothe pulsing craniums with piano, violin and trumpet are the same band who turned Legends into a forest of flailing limbs two nights ago? Apparently so, and in this pared-down, semi-acoustic set-up they really earn their musical stripes.

Next stop is the Erskine Hall to catch Adrian Crowley, who flutters out a ream of cushioning notes that are lapped up by the hurting hoards. Such charm-stained brilliance is a world away from the turgid ineptitude we face back at the Hew Scott. Hardsparrow may have gone heavy on the bevvy last night, but to forget the names, the lyrics and the chords of your own songs smacks of tragic amateurism. It’s probably slipped his mind that most folk paid £75 to get here.

Quickly ducking out of this cringing abomination, we break for a tantalising cheese and ham toastie down by the shore where we find some locals regaling tales of the Bluebells in their heyday. Back to the Erskine Hall, we catch the tail end of crackly toned Lisa O’Neill and sip on coffee awaiting Adem’s arrival with baited breath. Thankfully, he doesn’t disappoint.

Sultry of voice and genius of song, the Domino-signed tunesmith whisks away the minutes with an incandescent set. His stirring selection of laments, tinted with experimental asides, captivates even the most hyperactive kids and his final notes are met with a thunderous blast of stomping feet and slapping palms.

With James Yorkston still tied to his sickbed, we make hay for the Hew Scott to find The Pictish Trail orchestrating the crowd with a skitter of 30 second cuts. Sure, it's ramshackle fare, but Johnny Lynch’s engaging patter and ear for a song, no matter the length, sees it off as a roaring success that’s exactly what the wilting Anstruther masses ordered.

Splintering into two groups, one half of UtR makes its way back to Edinburgh in preparation for the working week. But before lighting the ignition we stumble across the brilliant Men Diamler pulling out all the stops during an impromptu street performance. Hollering to the sky like a sleep deprived Dickensian villain, the hyperactive troubadour mesmerises the ever-expanding mob before leading them inside the Town Hall with pied-piper aplomb.

It's a fantastic finale to our Homegame 2010. But for the last UtR hack standing there’s still more music to be heard ...

... While the less hardy journos speed back along the A92, the remaining UtR representative sticks it out. After nabbing Fence svengali Kenny Anderson for a chat about this year's Homegame in a rapidly darkening graveyard (more on his new King Creosote project later), there's just enough time to inhale another fish supper before heading to the Town Hall for arguably the weekend's most alluring clutch of acts.

After grinning through various sound problems (it seems Kev's bank of gadgets is just a bit too hi-fi for Homegame), Fence staples Found endear themselves with live favourite You're No Vincent Gallo (altered to Gummi Bako on this occasion) and set-closer Let Fidelity Break, which instigates the usual rash of shape-pulling down the front (at least, so it appears from the balcony at the back).

Having almost recovered from the haddock and potato binge, the arrival of Django Django warrants a closer, more involved position. The London band who formed at art school in Edinburgh fulfill their esoteric rep by turning up in safari-style khaki uniforms with skull-hugging, David Byrne hair. And the music is anything but staid, a heady mix of The Beta Band, Dick Dale and electro house. Shouldn't work but it does.

Underlining Fence's crossover mindset these days, Four Tet is the Sunday headliner, and arguably the biggest name on this year's billing. The in-demand Kieran Hebden wastes no time in rewarding his hosts' faith by crafting a set of nuanced electronica and thunderous house that sets heads nodding and, slowly but surely, bodies shaking. By the time he hits the summit of his laptronic masterclass the front section of the crowd is overtaken by the kind of hands-in-the-air evangelical rapture surely never before seen in the Town Hall of this hard-bitten fishing village.

And at that, UtR is all partied out. The more energetic Homegamers certainly aren't, spilling off towards the Smugglers Inn for more impromptu pub sessions or Legends for more beats'n'bleeps. Driving home along the dark back roads of the East Neuk, we're left to reflect on the fact that Fence have created something very special in a sleepy, overlooked part of Scotland, and it's all done for the love of music. In this age of profit margins and brand relationships, that's something to be celebrated.

Words: Billy Hamilton & Nick Mitchell Picture: Su Anderson