Among the fields of Barley wannabes, Epigram separates the wheat from the chaff at the pick of Europe's finest festivals.

Hudson Mohawke, Pukkelpop: While numerous post-Dilla, hip hop maestros merely court wonkiness with their skittery, unquantised beats, HudMo pushes 4/4 to the absolute limits of danceability with his. And bizarrely, almost mystically, his tracks make you want to move in ways other beatmakers can only dream of. A flawless set of rerubbed old classics (plus new cuts from forthcoming Warp LP ‘Butter’) is anchored with ear rupturing levels of bass and tracks like ‘Polkadot Blues’, ‘ZooOoooOom’ and ‘Oops’ are nigh on anthemic despite the distance from HudMo’s native Glasgow.

Simon Docherty

Zun Zun Egui, Green Man: After two days so bloated with sexless, wafty and dull acoustic acts that even your casual listener could have written a Dummies’ Guide to Folk Clichés, Bristolian Zun Zun Egui’s polyrhythmic yelpings and tribal thrust practically constitute a carnal pleasure. “We’ve noticed that to play Green Man, you’ve got to have an animal in your band name,” says frontman Kushal. “So for this weekend, we’ve renamed ourselves Sexy Worm.” Early Sunday should be far too tender for such raucous Magic Band by way of the Amazon squirming, but their howling and convulsing in fanciful tongues would make for a welcome bedfellow any morning.

Agnes Ball

Fever Ray, Lowlands: Karin Dreijer Andersson took to the largest of the dance stages at Lowlands late on Saturday night to promote the music of her latest musical project, Fever Ray. Opening with ‘When I Grow Up’, her distinctive singing voice cut through the hypnotic music perfectly, and the masks worn by the band, along with the green lasers and highly decorated stage full of lampshades, made for an otherworldly atmosphere and a transcendent festival experience.

Tom Holcroft

The Thing, Field Day: With such an inconspicuous moniker, attendance is surely bolstered by the sudden onset of inclement weather outside. Three Nord-Swedish crew-cut bandits take to the stage and from the very first war cry it is clear that they will not be gracing a Sunday supplement easy-listening compilation any time soon. With an unrivalled level of musicianship, they proceed to deliver a relentless free-form assault of barking drums, skronking and wailing, baritone sax and belligerent upright bass. All this with an energy physically unfeasible for their stark formation, and a feel looser than a euphemism beyond inappropriate for utterance at a family gathering.

Matt Grimble

Mumford & Sons, Blissfields: The intimate, garden party feel of Blissfields is the perfect amplification of Mumford & Sons’ intrinsic warmth and ramshackle communal bent. Refreshingly creative, Mumford and Sons captivate with the country-tinged by way of the Thames charm that weaves through their set. Four part harmonies complement an unlikely array of instruments that switch from being beautifully haunting to an uplifting congregational heft at a moment’s notice, lead by frontman Marcus Johnstone’s distinctive, rough voice. It’s hard to imagine anyone walking away unmoved.

Paul Berentzen

Delphic, Reading:

Being compared to New Order seems to be the crowning glory that many bands live for these days. The recent upsurge in electronic music has brought many comparisons to the late, great bands of the 1980s, but Delphic might just have earned it. Their impeccable mixture of impassioned vocals, swirling synths and bass lines Peter Hook would be proud of, see them create songs which pull you in right from the start and build to a frenzied climax.

Alex Groves

And the worst...

Marina and the Diamonds, Camp Bestival: Petronella and the Unicorns. Cordelia and the Antlers. Olivia and the Crystals. Middle Class English Girl and the Lack of Imagination. Actually, that last one sounds more like a Harry Potter book, and aptly so seeing as Ms Diamands sounds like something foul cooked up in a record label potions class. If Disney remade The Breakfast Club to the tune of Stacey Q’s nightmares and stage school glazed Kenny Ortega dance moves, you might be halfway to conceiving the excruciating triteness of Marina’s offerings.

Susana Pearl

Fresh Legs, Bestival: Meet Fresh Legs – a South Coast group caught so far the wrong side of the line between trend-setting and trend-following that you feel embarrassed for them. Their upbeat punk- pop irritates in spades and pleases no one but the tone- deaf, as Mockney vocals and hopelessly uninspired hooks distill everything wrong with new British music. ‘Chess’ is a particular lowlight, with frontwoman Ella Sullivan’s incessant staccato squeals hitting the senses like blows to the skull.

Tim Wong