The Lollies

Women in pop. It's my pet alligator. You know, your issue that you harp on and on about until all your friends roll their eyes and stuff donuts in your mouth to get you to shut up. But seriously! Where are the girls these days? On one hand, you've got the screaming harpies of vengeance that comprise the Riot Grrl movement, who let their politics totally eclipse their pop. And then on the other, you look at the covers of the mainstream press and the only girls you see are the cute, polished, listener-friendly daughters of Britney and grand-daughters of the Spice Girls, your Atomic Kittens and your Sugababes, and you have to wonder, did our mothers burn their bras for this?

So I'm at the Brighton Frocks Pop All-Dayer to find out if there's another way.

Starting the afternoon, as we're stumbling up the road from the beach with Helter Skelter burns on our arms, and blinking in the darkness of the Freebutt, is Jen from Blusher. Now, usually, Blusher make huge, lavishly arranged and richly orchestrated symphonies of sound somewhere between the Delgados and latter-day Radiohead. But here's songwriter Jen, tiny and fragile, hiding behind an enormous acoustic guitar, her voice soaring and spine-tingling, enticing the audience into her world like a candle/moth scenario. It's one of the best tests of whether jewels are real or not - a *real* diamond on its own will sparkle just as brightly as a diamond in a beautiful setting. Blusher's songs, performed acoustically, are like brilliantly cut diamonds sparkling on a piece of black velvet. Truly lovely.

Next up is Pico. Have you heard the Kirstin Hersch album, 'Hips and Makers', which is all exquisitely picked guitar and spooky cello? Pico start with that sort of idea, but there appears to be a bloke hiding behind one of the speaker stacks with some sort of electronic keyboard gizmo, and there's a chick on drums adding lazy, shuffling trip-hop beats. Lianne's voice is warm and rich and dreamy, so the whole effect is chilled out and mellow and I wish that the Freebutt opened out onto the Brighton seafront so we could lie in the sun and drowse, cause Pico would be the perfect accompaniment.

There's an intermission of sorts, and I'm glad of it, cause I run to get some coffee, and lord knows I'm glad of it when Harvey take the stage. (As in Harvey Half Devoured, in case you're getting them mixed up with any twats from So Solid Crew.) Harvey are something of a Hull super-group, as their frontperson, Bod, is better known as Fonda 500's bass-felching bombshell, and their guitarist (why is it the only people on stage tonight actually *wearing* frocks are men?) moonlights from the Edible 5ft Smiths. But cast aside any preconceptions about Hull, because Harvey are going to batter them. Within thirty seconds, I'm up front, thrashing my head about like Beavis & Butthead going "Yes! Yes! Yes! This totally ROCKS! My FAVOURITE BAND EVER!!!"

They build from the ground up, with a totally kick-ass rhythm section, Katie and Josie just hammering you with heavy metal thunder. And then there's Bod up front, like a North Country Polly Jean in her black leather, alternately growling or purring like a lioness as she scratches at her guitar. Then Matt Edible dribbles this freeform Dinosaur Jr. style guitar over the top like icing sugar. And just when you think it can't get any better, they burst into heart-breaking vocal harmonies, four female and male voices all twined together. "Rock Candy!" Jane Lollie yells at them between songs, and rock candy is right, hard but sweet.

Between sets, Brighton's Fairy Traders decorate the stage with flowers, to set the mood for their summertime girlie garage pop. If the Fairy Traders didn't exist, I would have to invent them. Four fresh-faced girls, barely out of their teens, who apparently started performing for their parents in a garden shed. They play gorgeous, 60s-tinged, melodic indie-pop, all swirly, jangly guitars and tinkling piano, topped off with absolutely jaw-dropping four-part naïve harmonies, somewhere between Tiger Trap and Slumber Party. Try to imagine the Shangri-Las covering Tigermilking for a secret K Records compilation, and you're still not even halfway there.

The Lollies also played, but apparently, it would be a "conflict of interest' for me to tell you how hard they rocked, so you'll just have to find out for yourself.

They've all made their point, and not with the petty politics of organisations like Ladyfest. Bloody good bands, playing bloody good music, who just happen to be female. Let's have more of this, please.