O2 Wireless Festival: Thursday

A tag The Rakes will probably share by this time next year. An essential injection into what's become an overpopulated post punk party, they bristle with a knowing energy, all inter-winking and chirpy guitar chimes as angular as their patterned striped shirts. New single 'Work Work Work' an ironic soundtrack for those who've skived off early to catch this lot - there'll still be no regrets in the morning. JJ72 follow with the first of two sets today (one headlining the DIS Stage). It sums the Irish trio up really; friendly on the ear but always a band you think 'I'll listen to them later'. And of course you never do.

Instead we bolt over to the XFM Stage to catch Editors, whose dark brooding Joy Division obsession makes for a far more interesting time. Sullen and sophisticated, tunes loom with an ever present menace that jangle nervously near, 'Blood' and 'Camera' are their finest moments, simple and epic simultaneously. Liverpudlian electro noodling follows in the shape of Ladytron. Original and quirkily brilliant in places, its easy to forget that these guys have been around for almost a decade, and it's only now they're getting the recognition they deserve. Although having been around so long you might expect a bit more variation in sound.

It seems ridiculous then that we leave them to go and check out The Others, whose sound is so limited in range kindergarten kids could probably play it. But Dominic Masters does have a knack of somehow making it all come together on the live stage, and his charm is ever improving too. 'William' has become a quasi classic and is definitely the highlight here.

Soulwax are appreciated, if only as a veering away from the monotony of hearing Pete Doherty straight after Masters, their intricate, but attention waning, guitar mash-up providing a totally unbritish sound that has its place - just not here and now.

Because everyone's waiting for the disaster movie, Doherty And His Band. Pete certainly lives up to expectations, properly brained, eyes rolling, hardly able to stand up. Watching his band blether through what's shaping up to be one of the most anti-climatic debut albums of all time, is almost embarrassing. People talk of car crash but at least that's over in an instant. This is a sad, drawn out disintegration of a man that showed so much promise as a Libertine, but who's limitations as both a songwriter and performer without Carl Barat by his side are only now becoming so apparent. For 'Fuck Forever' read 'Fucked Forever'.

Since the Libs' downfall, UK music's great hopes have rested largely with Kasabian, who prove their place with a confidence crammed performance. Serge and Tom have become this generation's answer to Mick and Keith, both equally essential to the Kasabian cause and equally as slick (especially Tom with his new gelled back hairdo!). Critical beats, multiple stabbings down an electro back avenue, and pill boshing guitar riffs, the only consistency in a band that like to flex the muscle marked 'all over the place'. 'Reason Is Treason' finishes with heart stopping bass intensity, before 'LSE' gets the masses riding a crest of Armageddon hedonism. The perfect band to finish the festival, and one of the best seen in Hyde Park this week, we can only wait with massive anticipation for the second album. Although with tunes like these that refuse to tire, it could be worse.