Day three sort of started happening before we'd really finished day two, a bit of a head fuck for all concerned. Simon Jay Catling, Dom Gourlay and Daniel O'Dell drag their protesting bodies over the finish line.

The Joy Formidable

Main Stage, 12 noon
If Saturday night was the heaviest of nights so far - DiS can't remember much about getting to bed apart from the fact it was daylight - then the intense atmospherics of The Joy Formidable provide a perfect wake up call. While the midday stage time and cross-field winds threaten to disrupt the Welsh trio's momentum at times, their incendiary post-punk with a slight dash of shoegaze defeats the elements and hangovers for thirty minutes at least. Sure, many of these songs are instantly recognisable now having been toured relentlessly for the past two years or more, but 'Austere' still packs a solid punch and 'The Greatest Light Is The Greatest Shade' resembles a mini-apocalypse that kind of makes you forget they're only a three-piece. I'm not sure what the blow-up sheep situated in front of Matt Thomas' drumkit made of it all mind... By Dom Gourlay

Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

NME/Radio 1 Stage, 2:30pm
I decide to ditch the comedy tent after reading a couple of interesting tweets regarding Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zero's front man Alex Ebert which alluded to him talking to strangers on fans' phones whilst stood in the audience; it could be an interesting performance. I arrive in the NME/Radio 1 tent to find that 10 members of the eccentric Californian band have taken over the stage, and are mid way through a drawn out foot stomper in front of an undeservedly small crowd. It's not too long before a perfect version of that whistle intro begins, and 'Home' is rapturously greeted by the crowd. Just like on the record, there is a great chemistry between the two vocalists, and together they lead the crowd into a singalong, astutely changing the chorus to "We are home," ensuring maximum participation. Surprisingly they choose not to end on this euphoric high, stating "all our other songs are over ten minutes long" before running through a brief cover who's name I failed to pick up. By Daniel O'Dell

The Kills

NME/Radio 1 Stage, 3:35pm
Taking to the stage infront of avery large crowd with a leopard print backdrop behind them, The Kills duo look effortlessly cool with Alison Mosshart (pictured, above) prowling the stage dressed head to toe in black and Jamie Hince in his customary leather jacket. The majority of the set consists of tracks from this year's Blood Pressures, and there's a fantastic rawness to Hince's entrancing guitar playing throughout, but frustratingly the pair are heavily reliant on their usual backing track. Midway through the set they are joined by two singers who provide backing vocals for 'DNA' and it makes me wish they would be more open to the idea of adding some extra musicians to the live setup so that they aren't so limited. 'DNA' is followed by a sluggish version of 'Satellite' and the seat peaks only with an aggressive rendition of 'Tape Song,' the song from 'Midnight Boom' to feature. They end on 'The Last Goodbye' which sees the guitars dropped and Hince take up duties on keys for the reverb laden ballad, it's a drab ending to a disappointing set. By Daniel O'Dell

Grouplove

Festival Republic Stage, 3pm
The Los Angeles group, effectively giving a preview of their forthcoming debut LP Never Trust A Happy Song here, can’t be faulted for their energy – at some points it feels like they’re even pogoing in between songs – but there's rather the sense that they’ve condensed all their ideas into one particular song, and are content to repeat it ad infinitum. So, it goes quietish chorus verse with Christian Zucconi’s coarse yelp dominating, loud high-pitched shouty chorus and then louder high-pitched shoutier group chorus. A lot of passion, and a lot of energy, but a lot of these tracks tend to finish up sounding like a pale imitation of their most famous to date, ‘Colours’ – which, today, is an admittedly grand set closer. By Simon Jay Catling

Mariachi El Bronx

Festival Republic Stage, 3:45pm
A lot of the enjoyment to be had from Mariachi El Bronx admittedly still comes from the “WTF”-ness of seeing a normally frenetic punk five-piece standing stoic upright, brass and acoustic guitars in hand, playing the traditional music of Mexico. Make no mistake though, the Los Angeles group are excellent in their delivery of it; oddly for a punk band it is this – rather than their high octane day job – that feels like a vent for letting off steam, Matt Caughthran revelling in the roll as amiable host over the spitting tyrant we’re more used to. While tracks off the newer album from this year impress, it’s the likes of ‘Slave Labor’ and ‘Clown Powder’ that still manage to create the most hearty of atmospheres. By Simon Jay Catling

Madness

Main Stage, 3:45pm
Too many fucking congas this weekend; and it all started here. Why, as another 200-strong line of Lambrini’d up 16 year olds jives past, the temptation to stick a foot out is alluring indeed, it’s almost enough to make you wish for a return to the days when 50 Cent was getting a bottle of urine in the face. For Madness, however, it's justified though, we suppose, and initially they’re a lot of fun. Not as fun as the ska-veterans themselves, mind, whose mid afternoon booking is an act of rare genius from the Leeds organisers, ensuring a crowd far more substantial than almost anything else over the weekend, and in far greater spirits too. There’s not a static limb in the field as they roll through a procession of hits including ‘Baggy Trousers,’ ‘Our House’ and ‘It Must Be Love,’ finishing with, of course, ‘Nightboat To Cairo.’ That’s how you warm up a main stage crowd. Simon Jay Catling

Cults

Festival Republic, 4:30pm
Somewhat out of place and definitely out of time in this Sunday teatime slot, New York's Cults prove something of an anomaly to the hearty few that have bothered to turn out for them. Which is a crying shame because despite their other worldliness suggesting they'd be more at home in Reds Bar at ATP or the Sunrise Arena at Latitude, they're a welcome antidote to the (largely) Radio One fare that surrounds us this afternoon. Madeline Follin possesses a voice that could melt a thousand hearts - blowtorch not required - while the sheer enthusiasm of partner in crime Brian Oblivion makes for an obtuse diversion from the sixties inspired chamber pop that takes a turn for the ethereal on the gorgeous, reverb-laden 'Rave On.' Some wag shouts for Oblivion to get his hair cut at the end when really said "comedian" maybe needs to get his ears syringed instead... Blissfully sublime in every possible way. By Dom Gourlay

Jimmy Eat World

Main Stage, 5:05pm
Jimmy Eat World are a familiar presence on the Leeds/Reading lineups, but this year they've brought the East Coast weather with them, and the set is plagued by blustery conditions that play havoc with the sound across the Main Stage field. Opening with 'My Best Theory' and then 'Praise Chorus,' it's almost a greatest hits set but, like their compatriots Weezer, with each ongoing release they've struggled to recreate their early brilliance. Recent tracks like 'Coffee & Cigarettes' and 'Action Needs An Audience' sound mild alongside a grand finale consisting of 'Bleed American,' 'The Middle' and 'Sweetness.' An acoustic rendition of another Bleed American track, 'Hear You Me,' in the middle of the 16 song set is also warmly received by the large crowd. Maybe they should consider Muse's approach to ten year anniversaries, and just play the whole album next time. By Daniel O'Dell

The National

Main Stage, 6:15pm
If there was one set this scribe had been looking forward to since the line-up was first announced it would have to be The National (pictured, above). Ever since 2010's High Violet culminated in a Brits nomination and genuine acceptability from the mainstream, the overly deserved arrival of Matt Berninger and co. on the bigger platform holds a similar passage to that of Arcade Fire's Funeral gatecrashing daytime radio playlists. While not yet an established force to be reckoned with in rock's Premier League unlike Montreal's finest, their elevated status to third on the Main Stage bill suggests this is only the beginning, and for the first few songs it would be fair to say the band perhaps seem a little daunted by it all, particularly when 30,000 people sing every word of 'Bloodbuzz Ohio' back at the stage in perfect harmony. When Berninger does hit his stride, he becomes the perfect showman, mimicking U2 ("We're the same as them except we pay our taxes") and bemoaning the fact his band only have a canvas backdrop compared to Pulp's fluorescent strobes. When all's said and done, it's all about the songs and a glorious rendition of 'England' and resounding 'Mr November' should ensure The National will be around to enjoy more nights like this for a good few years yet. By Dom Gourlay

The Strokes

Main Stage, 7:45pm
It would be fair to say - and unanimously confirmed by anyone I've ever come into contact with since 2001's great white hype Is This It allegedly "soundtracked a generation" - that The Strokes (pictured, above) have never been one of my favourite bands. Having first seen them many years ago get blown off stage by both The Moldy Peaches and Mull Historical Society (really) I've often wondered whether or not they'd have enjoyed the mass critical acclaim and widespread attention were it not for their pretty-boy good looks and plethora of industry connections. I'm also one of the few people who honestly believes they've gradually improved with each subsequent album - the much-maligned First Impressions Of Earth may not be perfect but at least they took a risk when sticking to a formula would have been the easiest, most low-risk option. With word spreading from Reading that their set was phoned-in and less than impressive, anticipation levels aren't exactly at fever pitch here. However, it takes approximately thirty seconds for that to change. Opening with 'Is This It' and following with a fever-pitched 'New York City Cops' ensures the biggest moshpit of the entire weekend erupts with joy. What's more, despite rumours that relationships aren't the best in Camp Strokes, all five members seem to be genuinely enjoying it, knowing smiles exchanged at regular intervals between Hammond, Valensi and Casablancas, even if the latter does forget his lines more than once this evening. '12:51,' 'Hard To Explain' and 'Juicebox' all come and go with impeccable assurance while the lyrically trite 'Take It Or Leave It' shouldn't really take anthemic status anywhere other than the first year of Primary School; yet here its chorus fills the Sunday night air long after the band's departure. Until the tumultuous climax that is Pulp, of course... By Dom Gourlay

And So I Watch You From Afar

Festival Republic, 8pm
It says much for the quality of And So I Watch You From Afar’s second album Gangs that they’re placed so high up on the Festival Republic Stage bill. The trouble is though that not only are they in direct competition with The Strokes, but those fond of a heavier ilk than the anaemic New Yorkers will have found themselves compromised by The Bronx, who're getting back to their normal selves over on the Lock Up Stage. So the crowd may be small, but it’s enthusiastic, and over time it grows – not that surprising really considering you can probably hear the Belfast four-piece’s towering guitars from their native home town. The first three tracks are throttling in their intensity, ‘BEAUTIFULUNIVERSEMASTERCHAMPION,’ ‘Gang (Starting Never Stopping)’ and ‘Search:Party:Animal’ following their second album track listing and racing through. Each crunching change in gear shift feels almost like an impending obstacle the band have set themselves to overcome, working their tank of a drummer Chris Wee to breaking point. Other highlights include the silly named but stratospheric live consumption ‘Set Guitars To Kill,’ while a brace of tracks from their Letters EP, ‘D Is For Django’ and ‘S Is For Salamander,’ fry the senses. Suitably stretched of mind and body, we’re allowed to come down on final track ‘The Voiceless,’ a comparatively subtle ending to a relentless 45 minutes. By Simon Jay Catling

Pulp

Main Stage, 9:30pm
Do we remember the first time? No one in the front row does by the looks of it, and Jarvis Cocker is pretty aware of that when, having asked who remembers their set at Leeds’ now defunct Heineken Festival in 1995, he questions the loud response, “are you sure about that Leeds!?”

Pulp’s second coming has been a resolute success, a band riding high on the nostalgia trip certainly, but they’re doing it so well, and this evening they sound massive. Much is always made of Cocker – and we’ll get to him in a bit – but tonight his band are on tremendous form, coming into their own when drifting away from the unadulterated pop moments of ‘Disco 2000’ and ‘Babies,’ into the more cinematic sounds of ‘F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E’ and ‘I Spy’ - as well as a welcome airing of We Love Life finale ‘Sunrise.’

Pulp’s much celebrated main man is in the form of his life, his descent into middle age showing no signs of diminishing his twisted libido. In fact, those 14 year olds down the front probably get a frightening as he crawls and wriggles away around the stage to the aforementioned ‘I Spy,’ hissing his words with lecherous intent. On ‘This Is Hardcore,’ meanwhile, he takes to simulating sex on top of his monitors, the droning soundtrack behind foreshadowing his every move; at a turn uncomfortable, charming, filthy, the vocalist possesses more energy of the most of the front men and women we’ve witnessed over the weekend. The return of Pulp this year has been quite timely, together they and Suede coming back just as that quintessentially English sense of sexual humour is starting to surface again, with Wild Beasts – for example – proving to be their dirtily minded offspring. Set bookends ‘Do You Remember The First Time?’ and ‘Common People’ are effectively overblown karaoke, but that doesn’t matter, because for the hour and half in between them Pulp have proved that, should they disappear again, their absence would be a sad thing indeed. By Simon Jay Catling