Nice suits! Belgian art rock crew Soulwax are playing the sharp card. A sartorial yin to the festival hippy yang, the outfit are freakin' the stage in cream seventies sharp cuts.

Too easily mixed up in the annoying post-They Might Be Giants wackoid pop shite, Soulwax actually cut loose with a rock 'n' roll that is almost as sharp as their suits. Their songs are crammed with ideas, explosive nimble riffs and a surprisingly punchy amount of power.

The jagged riffs and neat ideas coming machine-gun fast are similar to the way fellow Belgian's Deus play around with rock song form, messing with the old rules. Only Soulwax have cranked up the adrenaline. Playing loose and mean they almost stray into the Blues Explosion territory of foul cranked rock 'n' roll, only without the demon rush that makes Spencer's Noo Yawk City hustlers the permanent kings of this sharp dude slicker scene.

Soulwax, with only a minor hit card to play, grabbed a surprising amount of attention from the crowd, their obvious pleasure at stalking the festival stage helping to give the songs an extra energy rush.

The songs are good, too - there are some pretty mean tunes stretching their limbs over the zig zag riffing. Another thing Soulwax know about is tension: they know how to stretch the tunes and explode into the choruses. It's an old trick - damn, The Pixies were doing it years ago - but it's still so effective even if it is becoming the equivalent of the 12-bar rock for the new millennium.

They even managed to end the set with the guitarist hitting the mic for a bit of human beatbox, spitting out a hip hop beat from the Bronx to Brussels, before the drummer stomped back in and the band exploded into one of those post-Radiohead crescendos on guitar that seems to dominate the outros of all their tunes.

John Robb