It isn't much of a face-off, more like a good natured jostle, with the bands chosen by ATP and the fans forming a damn coherent bill. The idea is that one half of the bill is chosen by the organisers, and the second half voted for by the bands. The action is divided between three stages, in the enormous service station-cum-holiday complex that is Butlins - and for music spods, home for three weekends since last December. So will ATP go back to its roots? What will the fans offer up, apart from some spectacular beards, and Maxine Carr style frumpy dressing? 

Friday evening's highlights include ATP's choice Mogwai, and fans' choice Akron Family with their brand of spazzy primal rock. Mogwai perform on the specially constructed Pavilion stage, which is in a huge central space full of 'food outlets' so glaringly lit that I lose all sense of day and night after a few hours. It's like being landed in a sporting arena fully of skinny unathletic types, smoking, engaged in some unlikely head-swaying sport that's being sponsored by Burger King and some dodgy Yates' type theme pubs.

Most of Saturday's highlights have been chosen by the fans, apart from Cornelius. Daniel Johnston's sweet-voiced odes to Julie cut through the Saturday morning fug in the frighteningly shiny Reds bar. I catch the end of Battles, on the Centre stage, after having queued for twenty minutes. The room is heaving full of indieawkwards losing themselves in the math rock band's endless loops. Les Savy Fav make their way on afterwards - singer Tim Harrington tells us to not think of the past or the future. He wants us to share the next hour of mindlessness, but he manages to brand my mind with the image of his black-painted face, and tight black leotard. A woman comes on his stage and starts cutting his hair. Diana Ross-style, he changes outfits for almost every song. The crowd goes mad to 'Hold on the Genre' and 'The Sweat Descends'. He winds his microphone through the crowd, and rams his head up some grinning man's sweaty t-shirt for literal effect. He emerges alive at least fifteen seconds later and sweeps through the crowd again. Cornelius follow, with the screen split into three colours before the band are literally unveiled, and launch into their jazzy, Parisian-style romantic electronica. It's like being sedated and treated to a magic show after being manhandled by some crazy uncles. 

The fans should come into their own on Saturday night and Sunday morning. However, chalet parties are short on the ground. Tragically, my friend manages to get thrown out of a party consisting of people from music internet forums. A party that briefly resembles a Bacardi Breezer advert  - strobe lighting, dancing on sofas, hands in the air - gets stopped short by some nearby chalet residents that 'want to sleep'. The rest of the morning consists of running into people looking for a party, sometimes being trailed by cameramen looking for a party. 

On Sunday, the first band we catch is the fans' choice Architecture in Helsinki. They are a lot less fragile than on record. Their fragility might have chimed better with the hungover crowd than the insane Catrina and Waves style ADHD clapping and dancing. ATP chooses a perfect double for the centre stage with Band of Horses and Built to Spill rounding up the weekend. Band of Horses are overwrought, melodic, and loud, and placating in the best way possible - like Buffalo Tom, without the cheese side orders. Built to Spill are in the same vein, but slightly more sophisticated, with Doug Martsch's sweetly sung but barbarous lyrics overlaying the band's perfect melodies. 

It's definitely a draw between the fans and organisers. Following the folky ATP earlier in the month, it's good to see the festival going back to its proper roots, the non-beardy roots.  But I took the time to find some excellent beards, as a tribute to festival star Tim Harrington…

Photographs by Nima Tehranchi.