Vicky Anderson presents a blow-by-blow account of the highs and lows of the Damon Albarn-assembled African extravaganza.
7.45pm: Arrive more or less on time to make sure I don’t miss anything, but it hasn’t started yet.
8.30pm: NothingâÂÂs happening. Oddly, an ancient documentary about Cream drummer Ginger Baker opening a recording studio in Lagos is playing on a big screen.
9pm: Finally a bit of action as the show opens with a little en masse drumming jam. The African acts look stunning in their traditional dress, getting into their tribal rhythms – the nobheads from Hard-Fi are tapping on their bottles of Stella with drumsticks. ThatâÂÂs class, lads.
9.05pm: Things get underway courtesy of singer and guitarist duo Amadou and Mariam, who begin things with a simple blues number. Then theyâÂÂre joined by Romeo and Michele from The Magic Numbers. Together they do Love’s A Game, not finding a drummer until halfway through and then eventually being accompanied by a horn section. ItâÂÂs lovely hearing it all unfold, and leaves me excited for what is to come. The first appearance from a frighteningly convincing human beatbox is impressive too.
9.45pm: Nothing redeems Hard-Fi. Nothing. No guest rapper, no tabla groove on Suburban Nights, nothing. They hog the stage and the singer throws a Cockney strop, moaning: âÂÂIâÂÂm âÂÂearinâ fackin naffink!!âÂ? at the tech. Considering the DIY nature of the entire night, I say that made them possible winners of the âÂÂwe missed the pointâ award? Maybe itâÂÂs just me – the crowd loved them.
10.15pm: Senegalese musician Wasis Diop comes next, his understated acoustic guitar and folky jazz a blessed relief. HeâÂÂs joined by Martina Topley-Bird, who, disappointingly, muffles along to one song and buggers off, never to be seen again. Alex Kapranos walks past, heâÂÂs found some crisps. Which reminds me, IâÂÂm starving.
10.25pm: I eat a hot dog. At the Olympia. A decision that may come back to haunt me, I am fully aware even at the time.
10.30pm: A clichéd rapper gets things going before a female vocalist begins an enthusiastic version of Gorillazâ Dare. Damon Albarn joins in for the first time, plink-plonking away on a knackered old Joanna like a spaced-out Jools Holland. To his credit, he tends to let everyone else steal his celebrity thunder â heâÂÂs just another bloke taking part.
10.50pm: Reverend & the Makers: Stupid name, stupid fecking band. Like Hard-Fi, theyâÂÂre all front and ego on a night when that should have been left at the door. It wouldnâÂÂt matter much, if they were actually any good. At this point I feel close to tears and just want the Magic Numbers back.
11.10pm: DamonâÂÂs back, infusing traditional African rhythms with that most revered of ancient instruments, the melodica. By now, singer Baaba Maal has been jumping in and out of numbers for a while and is a constant high point. WeâÂÂre told weâÂÂre going to hear something from a musician who plays a saw like a violin, but thereâÂÂs âÂÂtechnical difficultiesâÂ?, so our man just slinks off discreetly. Take notes, Hard-Fi.
11.45pm: I like the Turin Breaks as so far theyâÂÂre the most down-to-earth Brit act of the night. They mightnâÂÂt be the most exciting band on the bill but at least the vocalist is in tune (take notes, Reverend & the Makers). TheyâÂÂre joined by a female singer from Mali and it all ticks along nicely enough.
11.55pm: Terri Walker takes to the stage and kicks us all up the arse with a version of Gnarles BarkleyâÂÂs Crazy, which begins with just the singer and a human beatbox and ends up with the stage awash with characters to become a celebratory jam of rap, grime, rock and Albarn, who again tootles on to sing a few lines. Walker is an absolute star. This is easily one of the best performances of the night.
12.10am: I spy some of the Hollyoaks boys dancing like loons. A funky band takes to the stage. âÂÂItâÂÂs all about the music,âÂ? the singer enthuses. âÂÂIâÂÂm not even going to tell you my name because itâÂÂs all about the music!âÂ? Well that doesnâÂÂt help me, does it? Next!
12.35am: Franz Ferdinand start lugging their own amps onto the stage. Nobody notices.
12.40am: Franz Ferdinand seem to have to line up at the front of the stage and introduce themselves before anybody notices theyâÂÂre there. But once they get going, itâÂÂs awesome. Take Me Out remains as immortally infectious as ever, and when Baaba Maal and others come on to join them, theyâÂÂve got the good sense to get out of the way and let someone else bring something to the party. Seeing ngoni player Bassekou Kouyate take the mick out of Nick McCarthyâÂÂs involuntary grooveless stomp was one to add to the âÂÂthings you donâÂÂt see every dayâÂ? pile. Again, the point of the night was really brought to life by all on stage.
1.15am: I call it a day after that, which I know makes me a wuss but I had to get up early the next day to have a new toilet installed. The old one âÂÂwasnâÂÂt connected to the drains properlyâÂ?, which is always something you want to get sorted out straight away, IâÂÂm sure youâÂÂll grant me. At this point, Damon Albarn had yet to fall off the stage or otherwise come a drunken cropper as is his wont, and IâÂÂm sure I missed some great stuff as the night was supposed to go on til 4am – so where you there? What happened next?