Soooooo according to John Peel Bury St Edmunds is the “New Seattle”. That possibly doesn’t quite fit seeing as Bury is a little town with a disproportionate number of bloody good bands covering most genres whilst Seattle is flippin’ huge and the birthplace of grunge.

For the opening band Lamina, however, grunge is certainly not dead. Cousin It from the Addams Family is alive and well and playing bass with them. Their set could possibly scare five year olds as their lead singer howls like a man who’s discovered his foot has been lobbed off by a crazed witch and plays guitar like a person suffering from an epileptic fit. On speed – obviously. They finish by throwing their guitars around in the good old-fashioned way and storm off to sit looking a wee bit dazed for the rest of the day.

Next up are a reformed-for-the-day Billion Dollar Brain and they are the first band to actually storm Pestellos, and not off the stage, with songs that are about 2 years old but damn fine nonetheless. The kids – This is the youngest audience I have seen for aaaaages. When I say “the kids” I don’t mean the over 20s like in Lahndahn – strut their stuff to Billion Dollar Brain’s punk pop. And no they don’t sound a bit like Blink 182. More like the bastard child of Kenickie and iDLEWILD with added shouty bits and a shambolic approach to playing live that is more endearing than a pain in the proverbial.

However after about 10 minutes of Strumpet I’m ready to escape to the accoustic stage. As one heckler points out: “LIMP BIZKIT”. Indeed. Their lead singer does bear more than a passing resemblance to Mr Durst, and their songs bear a more than a passing resemblance to Green Day. Now I have got nothing in particular against Green Day but I do have the attention span of a goldfish and Strumpet didn’t really grab me by the scruff of my neck and make me sit up.

The accoustic stage offers us such delights in the afternoon as Seymour Glass from Miss Black America on his own, Seymour dueting with Ellie Langley from Blue Gandhi and Seymour going back onstage with Greg Mcdonald from the Dawn Parade for yet another duet (and to claim the Carol Vordeman prize for prolificity). All this after rocking onstage with Billion Dollar Brain. The highlights are a beautiful rendition of Scarface and the duet with Ellie Langley, mainly as it showcases Ellie’s brilliant voice that sounds like a high pitched PJ Harvey.

Back on the main stage Ex-Billion Dollar Brain bassist Laura has re-joined her current band The Bardo to fill the venue with the sort of intense noise that induces feelings of mild claustrophobia, takes over your brain and makes you want to go and find a table to hide under. The view from under a table is that The Bardo are Ones-To-Watch (oh balls, I’m starting to sound like Smitta Smitten Showbiz Kitten now.) er…umm…they’re pretty damn good and have the potential to give an NME journalist who’s been listening to Alfie for the past year a damn good headache. Which they deserve dammit!

Blue Gandhi would be IDied if they tried to get served at the bar, it’s their lead singer Ellie’s 16th birthday on the 23rd (the day after the gig) so she gets cake and a rendition of Happy Birthday. Blue Gandhi sound truly innovative, truly different in a world populated by rock-by-numbers, nu-metal and genre mixing a-go-go it is a relief to find something with edgy vocals and skittish guitars that defies classification. All performed by a band that look like they’ve raided the dressing up box.

Becky Jago are another band to bring something different to the party. It’s very fashionable at the moment to pair up rock and hip hop, metal and hip hop. But so far only Becky Jago have thought of going back 60 years to create…er…jazz-metal? Nu-jazz? Aaah sod it, whatever it is it sounds rather incongruous. Try picturing in your mind a band that goes from freeform to a screaming guitar-frenzied madness and back again. Like a John Peel show in under 4 minutes.

Now I’m sure you all know the tragic story behind Richey Edwards’ disappearance. Whilst most people think he’s either turned into fishfood or has done a Reggie Perin I can now exclusively reveal that he was kidnapped by a mad scientist who cloned him a few times and created The Dawn Parade. Or something. They are so highly camp, so highly glam and so highly flamboyant that their singer Greg Macdonald makes Freddie Mercury look decidedly macho as he shimmies and twirls about onstage flanked by a band in the scariest looking shirts this side of the early ‘70s. In “surreal moment of the night” they are joined by a bloke wearing some tights and a worksite helmet with tubes glued on it, a glittery grass skirt, oversized t-shirt and a pair of sun glasses. I dunno why….I guess he just felt like it.

The second reformed-band-for-the-day are Chevette, who apparently are the dinosaurs of the Bury Scene being around before there even was any scene to speak of. Like Billion Dollar Brain they are still good 3 years on.

So back to the newbies: Miss: Spelt Yoof, purveyors of nu-metal that puts most American bands to shame. For a start there are no sodding whiny vocals, and no (as far as I could hear) self pitying lyrics that just make me want to whack whole bands around the face with a wet trout (I’m sorry…they’re pet hates of mine.I’m getting a bit carried away aren’t I?) Like The Bardo the sound is dark, intense, fucking scary and unlike The Bardo if you suffer from a nervous disposition I suggest you go and give them a wide berth as their singer’s screaming could wake the dead and get them moshing.

As M:SY leave the stage the room for the main stage fills up for Miss Black America. Now let me point out a little thing about Pestellos: it has no proper air-conditioning. Which it needs like a drunk needs meths. This is not a good thing as by 6pm it was like an oven that was ready to roast a chicken and bands were chucking water on the audience and themselves. By the time Miss Black America took to the stage even with the loading out doors wide open it had more in common with Dante’s Inferno than the newest addition to the toilet circuit.

Without a doubt however tightly any of the preceding bands played and whatever entertainment value they gave most of the people there came for Miss Black America. They opened with an electrifying “Human Punk” that had the first 8 rows jumping around like people stung by jellyfish. They continued with “Scream For Me”, “I Am Not A Virgin”, “Miss Black America”, “Personal Politics” and possibly some more songs that I can’t for the life of me remember. As we get our bones crushed Seymour leaps around like a jumping bean on Red Bull, getting the crowd to sing along with him for “Miss Black America” (the song) and then what was shaping up to be the best band of the evening just plummets back down to earth with a bump so hard I swear the floor must’ve shook. Neil the Drummer is feeling faint due to the heat. And has a break as the rest of MBA arse around to keep things interesting whilst themselves trying to find some water. Even with two people fanning him Neil still can’t stand the heat and ends up going offstage again. By the time he’s been dragged back for last song, “The White Noise Inc.”the plug gets pulled on them cos it’s 10.30. The sense of disappointment is tangible and it’s a fucking shame it happened. “C’est la vie” to quote B*witched.

Overall the Baby Barbecue was a success (ahem, this is a bit like stating that the Pope is a Catholic), although there was no John Peel, and there was enough talent in those two rooms to merit a couple of music journos to get off their fat bums and venture up the M11.