It's the politest crowd of all time. People move out of the way without me asking them to. One skinny guy, wearing glasses and a cardigan, apologises for no discernable reason. This isn't surprising. Nice people generally come to the Luminaire. Normally to watch nice men play quiet acoustic guitars, nicely. A bit like Gravenhurst's first record Flashlight Seasons.

The first shock for anyone whose only involvement with Gravenhurst being Flashlight Seasons – an accessible, downbeat folk album – is that this is not just that one guy. It’s a four-piece ensemble onstage. Singer Nick Talbot wears earplugs, unnecessarily. He makes some Slint-y harmonics on his electric (!) guitar. Alex Wilkins on other guitar echoes it with warm swathes of gentle noise. The rhythm section is pounding, concise and unrelenting.

This is unsettling. Gravenhurst's four excellent albums sound markedly singular, the product of one brain. But the band’s performance is crucial to their live sound; the instrumental moods build up, develop and fade. Talbot’s voice, when it finally arrives after a drawn-out jam, is fey and resigned. His voice is often the band’s main draw on record, but live it's not quite translating. On The Velvet Cell, Talbot's a pissed off computer techie, singing about murder "lying dormant in the heart of every man" with a touch too much passive relish. It's great, but the harmonic guitar stuff at the beginning of the set led the songs better than his paper-thin voice, which was weedier and shyer than it should be.

The second shock is the music. It's hard to think of a neater, more comfortable niche than "that band on Warp who do the quiet folk thing," but to their credit Gravenhurst have moved closer and closer to total psych noise mania with every release. Hollow Men from new album The Western Lands is total Dinosaur Jr territory, without the solos. Talbot strums his guitar manically, making his right arm look like a crazed, live side of ham.

They get called "post rock" a lot. I guess that's fair. The quiet parts are inventive and fluid. The loud bits are rocking, not revolutionary, but totally worth the wait when they arrive. That's about the biggest plaudit I'm ever likely to give "post rock". But it sounds more like bastard Kraut to me, anyway.

Occasionally the strumming, feedback, fragile voice and layered drums catch alight and it feels like everything is beautifully interlocking. Except, you know, in a non-stoned way. Talbot's voice warms up and becomes the beautiful counter to the instruments' tired, reliable funeral song. It’s weirdly welcoming, but it wasn’t what I expected.

Chromeo, for those who aren’t familliar are Montreal’s most polished funk music Arab/Jew duo who last Thursday treated unsuspecting London scenesters to a secret gig at the Queens of Noize’s night Smash ‘N’ Grab. An evening notorious for the spinning of 70s and 80s classics to young Londoner whos love to be seen loving at the moment. Pee Thug and Dave 1’s sensual 80s sex music shimmied in perfectly.

Coming to the stage in a Zeus-like manner, Pee took to the talkbox as Dave mounted his guitar and smoothed through with the their hit NEEDY GIRL which instantly separated old skool fans from those there waiting to recognise BONAFIED LOVIN after last weeks Radio1 rotation.

Crowd pleasers included TENDERONI, a heavily laden synth-y, drum tune, pushing even the coolest cocktail socialites to nod their heads. My personal favourite was MOMMA’S BOY, a song told by the Jew-boy about his relationship with his momma – with witty lyrics and more sensual synths that had me front and centre shaking my thang.

As expected, BONAFIDE LOVIN hit the spot with the guys from Coconut Twins, Tape Deck, Miss Kelly Osbourne, Noel Fielding and Queens of Noize dancing it up on the couches, like fairy godmothers of cool waving wands of approval over an act who rocked out completely at this intimate showcase of what dance music should be sounding like.

A moderate crowd awaits patiently inside the opulent Point venue in Cardiff’s bay area for one of Britain’s most under appreciated song writing talents – Ed Harcourt. His longevity now extends to five full length releases, yet from a commercial perspective (and to some extent critically), the attention normally associated with such a consistently high quality output has bizarrely escaped him. Tonight’s set is a treat for those who have made the effort though, being selected exclusively from his new best of (a ‘greatest hits’ just wouldn’t be appropriate) collection ‘Until Tomorrow Then’, released earlier this month.

Downbeat, curious opener ‘From Every Sphere’ proves to be something of a false start from Ed, who exudes a rather rugged lord of the manor presence onstage this evening - courtesy of his pronounced haircut and tan blazer. But it’s not long before the set springs into life. ‘Born In The 70’s’ sprightly, acoustic tones, belies it’s rather cynical lyrics concerned with insecurity and damning nostalgia. The lovely melody is impossible to ignore, and just for good measure it ends in a somewhat exuberant manner. Next up we get a pair of standouts from ‘Here Be Monsters.’ A lazy, dream like ‘Something In My Eye’ floats by effortlessly before a no nonsense, faithful rendition - (exactly what it needs) - of ‘She Fell Into My Arms.’

The remainder of the show passes like a masterclass in how to deliver a great live performance. Engaging, varied, honest, beautifully paced and of perfect length. There is no let up. A stripped back ‘Hanging With The Wrong Crowd’ wows, only to be outdone by an utterly compelling version of ‘Become Misguided’, before Harcourt engineers some audience participation for the wonderful ‘Loneliness’. It’s a nice little touch and the gesture is not lost on the receptive audience. We roll onto an intense ‘Apple Of My Eye’ but the final highlight comes with ‘Something To Live For’. Delivered in almost complete darkness, with a fragile, muted vocal and accompanied only by pedal organ. It is bleak, haunting and brilliant. A tour de force.

You enter the Grey Area Gallery space bellow ground level, to be confronted with the many painted faces of Mary Bell. Artist Cathy Lomax is fascinated with painting portraits of girls she could become in her dreams or her nightmares. In this exhibition, “girls world”, she focuses upon the face of Mary Bell, a ten year old girl convicted of two murders in 1968.

By repetitively painting Mary again and again with the same fixed daze, it is as if Cathy is trying to understand the inner thoughts of Mary Bell, trying to comprehend what it takes for a ten year old girl to commit murder. Obsessively she finishes one painting and unsatisfied with her findings she continues to start another. Every portrait is the same but it is obvious that each was painted separately, with new thought and a slight difference of shade in places, making Mary’s features differ.

To one side of the gallery there is a small cluster of cute domestic frames also filled with Mary’s portrait, but even these delicate teddy and heart shaped surroundings do not give Mary’s glare much comfort.

I am uncertain that Cathy found what she was looking for in Mary’s face, as the show leaves you with an eerie unsettled feeling, and I am sure Cathy will continue to paint Mary, possibly forever.

I’ve always wanted to go to a gig at The Roundhouse ever since it re-opened, but had never found anything fitting until tonight. For god’s sake! It’s where the trains used to turn around, it was always gonna be a cool place! Just wish some of the tracks were still in place. Instead I just imagined maybe a circus there, underneath the big circular dome. Well, at least until there was a bit of communal hush and the stage lit up blue.

The onslaught began, this years Frieze Art Fair was on the whole a bit of a mixture. The sheer volume of work is bound to evoke a huge array of feelings for any one brave enough to embark on one of the Europe s largest art fair. There was obviously some amazing work with the likes of Carsten Holler, Mike Kelley and Klaus Weber exhibiting.

Friday my life was truly enriched. After having Ra Ra Riot on loop for the past few weeks and a growing obsession with their sound, seeing them play such an intimate gig at Luton’s Club NME, before the start of a stadium tour with theEditors left me in a state of musical euphoria - making up for the last few months of repetitive uninspiring festivals and gigs I’ve victimised my ears to.

After witnessing the intense onstage chemistry from Ra Ra Riot (formed while studying at Syracuse University in the US) leaves me questioning why so many manufactured bands currently polluting the airwaves even bother.

Performances of tracks such as ‘Dying Is Fine’ takes on added pathos considering it was co-written by former drummer John Pike who, after going missing from a party recently, was found dead. The loss obviously overshadows the band’s direction where an orchestral whirlwind of energy masks darker and pained lyrics.

‘A Manner To Act’ and ‘Ghost Under Rocks” left this unsuspecting crowd completely awe-struck as the sounds of the cello, violin, keyboard and guitar echoed through the venue. Vocalist/keyboard player Wesley fronted the performance with such dignity and grace. In the case of Ra Ra Riot, it is obvious that a complete understanding of each other musically is what creates this seemingly spontaneous genius!

A band and show that ticked every box and deserve greatness.

Another album,‘that difficult second one’ and so, another tour for Brighton’s very own party poppers The Go! Team. This time as headliners on NME’s none too shabby Freshers tour featuring, amongst others, young upstarts Operator Please. A perfect platform it would seem, to showcase the merits of ‘Proof Of Youth’ – the ramshackle new album that was met with decidedly mixed reviews on it’s arrival last month. Free from the constraints of the studio however, is (usually) where the fun loving sextet thrive, so an opportunity to wow a bunch of beered-up, impressionable freshers should be just the ticket. Well, it should be.

The band charge head first into the lead single from ‘Proof Of Youth’, the raucous ‘Grip Like A Vice’ to open up. It’s opening 2 minutes lacks any sort of cohesion, not helped by the muddy sound, but in a second half dominated by snarling guitars and stomp a long brass it redeems itself somewhat. So we’re up, if not yet quite running. More of the same features on ‘The Wrath Of Marcie’, before which effervescent front-woman Ninja gleefully informs us is the bands new single. Again it splutters into life during the second half, but it’s not the most auspicious of openings. Indeed, aside from the wonderfully energetic and endearing Ninja, the remaining band members appear disinterested - their lack of energy all too apparent.

A blink and you’ll miss it two minute thumper finally engages the crowd, and the band hit their stride on the cartoony but likeable ‘Fake I.D’ Ninja switching to drums for this one and at last it feels like the Go Team are here to party. But, inexplicably what we get next is a dreadful, slow acoustic number, stalling all momentum. So much for the party.

They manage to save face somewhat with a string of hits from ‘Thunder, Lightning, Strike’ that fill the remainder of tonight’s set. The best of which are, rather predictably ‘Ladyflash’ and the achingly beautiful ‘ Everyone’s A V.I.P to Someone’, showing that when they get it right, there really is little to compare to them. If only they could get it right a bit more often.

The show began with a brilliant performance by the eccentric and wonderful Patti Plinko and her Boy. Patti won the audience pretty quickly with her rich voice, ukulele and with a je ne se quoi dark charm evocative of more seductive times and smoky cabarets.

The Scala was full and the line outside, long. It was a weird crowd, not what I expected in the slightest; made up mainly of middle aged, balding, paunchy men wearing polo shirts, mixed up with some younger’uns and other regular Jills and Joes who’d finished work at the office not a few hours earlier. I can’t quite remember what I was expecting to see from Simian Mobile Disco duo James Ford and Jas Shaw, but on sighting the set up on stage – some mad scientist’s mini lab – I wondered how SMD were going to present themselves and their music in this ‘live gig’ format.

I’ve been going through a bit of a musical dry spell the past few weeks. My battered old Ipod seems to reject my attempts to introduce something new and I find myself falling back on the safe, comfortable classics; My Kate Bush playlist, my 80s MEGAMIX!! and some rather embarrassing 90s R&B of which the less said the better. But there’s a limit to how much Cloudbusting and Bette Davis Eyes a girl can take. Thankfully, White Heat at the cavernous Madame Jojo’s could just have saved the day. Headlining act, These New Puritans have been buzzing around for a while and if Thursday was anything to go by they may’ve found a new home in my earphones.