Live reviews

ISLE OF SKYE FESTIVAL ****

BACK in the pre-mobile phone age, before the text message and contact with the outside world rendered such things redundant, every festival worth its salt had a rumour of its own. At the 2007 Skye Festival, now in its third year, the rumour was that Kate Moss and Pete Doherty were coming to town.

With Primal Scream - Moss guested on their last album and is a friend of the band - and Dirty Pretty Things, the new band from former Libertine and Doherty soulmate Carl Barat, on the bill, it wasn't entirely fanciful, but it was not to be.

Moss and Doherty missed a fine festival. Since the organisers decided to modernise it back in 2005, it has excelled in odd line-ups, and this year proved to be no exception.

The weather on Friday threatened a repeat of the torrential rain which marred last year's event, but in the end, the sun won out.

The eclectic line-up included local-boy-made-good Mylo, whose set on the main stage had the rain-sodden hordes dancing into the wee hours. But it was Kasabian most of the Friday crowd came to see. A band who, this summer, will be headlining festivals ten times the size of this one, Kasabian - like it or not - have been anointed heirs to Oasis in the lad-rock lineage.

It's not hard to see why: singer Tom Meighan prowls the stage like a man born to it, during the loping hit single Empire, his cocksure swagger contrasting with the quiet control exerted by guitarist Serge Pizzorno.

Act of the evening, however, were Ash, who proved that Tim Wheeler's bubblegum pop sensibilities remain undimmed by the fact that he's now in his thirties.

Saturday evening's glorious sunset - the kind you don't get at any other festival - was to the soundtrack of The Aliens, the ex-Beta Band members who, on the main stage, seemed determined to out-prog Pink Floyd.

Other highlights were a brooding, bluesy John Martyn, slurring his words but singing like a grievous angel, and folk singer Seth Lakeman, whose set mixed swooning, keening melodies and bright, sparky energy.

At the same time as Lakeman was spoon-feeding the crowd, Dirty Pretty Things were boring them on the main stage. It only remained for Primal Scream to re-energise them for the festival's last hurrah. With a bona-fide Greatest Hits set the Scream, and their grizzled nexus Bobby Gillespie, rattled through Rocks, Movin' On Up, Kowalski and Loadedas if they were playing for hedonistic kicks. Kate Moss definitely missed out.

THEATRE

WOLF UNDER THE BED S(W)INGING BANANAS ****

TRAVERSE THEATRE and FESTIVAL SQUARE, EDINBURGH

SO FAR, in this year's Children's International Theatre Festival, it's been a case of rich pickings for older children, and slightly thinner fare for tiny tots; but there's a feast for both age-groups in this final flurry of shows. Wolf Under The Bed, by the Swiss group Theater Sgaramusch, is a completely delightful exploration, for children over seven, of the idea of human fear of the big bad beast, as expressed in our relationship with wolves.

The show is set in Finland, where three stolid-looking Finns begin to scare one another with wolf stories. The twist is that the stories - a dozen of them - have been written by schoolchildren, and are full of the kind of crazy surrealism that only children can bring to the idea of what's really scary.

Like all the best performers for children, co-directors Nora Vonder Mhll and Stefan Colombo, and wonderful musician Olifr Maurmann, somehow manage to unleash all the huge playful energy of the tales, while remaining reassuringly adult themselves.

As for S(w)inging Bananas by Theater Artemis of the Netherlands, this is a 15-minute gem for under-fives, played in a little circus tent. The idea is simple: parent wants child to eat dinner nicely, but the food on the table won't behave - it's not just swinging bananas, but also wandering sausages, and soup with a mind of its own.

This is, in other words, a near-perfect piece of physical theatre for little ones, a battle between mealtime order and chaos which every toddler will recognise. It's beautifully executed by Joost Koning and Vincent Verbeeck, in a wonderful kids' version of posh culinary French.

DANCE

NADA ... NADA! ****

TRAVERSE THEATRE, EDINBURGH

IF THERE'S one thing the Children's International Theatre Festival has proved, it's that there's more than one way to do the same thing. Two companies have attempted to introduce dance to children this year, both with very different styles.

Whereas Introdans Ensemble refused to dumb down, preferring to give children a shortened version of essentially adult dance, Spain's Aracaladanza took the other route, filling its show with puppets, silliness and witty costumes. Yet both were equally successful.

Aracaladanza dived into the ocean for Nada ... Nada!, taking us into an underwater world of sea creatures. Glittery fish, seahorses, lobsters and mermaids floated gently across the stage, the clever lighting engulfing the rod puppet holders, giving the illusion of independent movement.

Despite lasting almost an hour without a hint of dialogue, the show kept even very little ones in the audience engaged. Each new puppet was greeted with oohs and aahs, while the bold colours and continuous costume changes held young attention spans.

Short moments of pure dance showed us what the six dancers of Aracaladanza were capable of. Imagination, however, is the company's key skill. Turning large netted skirts into sea anemones, putting flippers on their hands and feet, using helium balloons as underwater reeds - little touches which provoked laughter and wonderment from all, regardless of age.

MUSIC

MODEST MOUSE **

ABC, GLASGOW

MODEST Mouse are a weird one. A No 1 album on the Billboard chart (We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank), American college students gushing over them like they did the Pixies in 1991, and with a hit song covered on American Idol - such feats surely ought to make the Seattle-based band an accessible live act.

Just like Eels when they played the ABC almost a year ago, the Oregon indie rockers decided to avoid the modest melodies of their recorded work in favour of chundering out a volcanic dirge that, although intriguing at times, was almost utterly devoid of their songs' original charm.

Case in point: the addition of Johnny Marr as full-time band member. As nice as it was to see the former Smith clearly enjoying and revelling in being with his new band, Marr's masterly rhythmic playing seemed an awkward foil for that of pumped-up singer Isaac Brock's venomous guitar-shredding sounds.

Accordion, banjo and double bass also suffered as the band's two duelling drummers battered down anything that required a bit of subtlety.

However, the band did eventually play two genuine big-hitters, Fire It Up and Float On - songs that would probably give David Byrne goosebumps. It's just a shame the same couldn't be said for the rest of the set.