In this its seventh year, Supersonic Festival is firmly established as an eclectic curation which endeavours to create a playlist to suit adventurous tastes; a mixtape of the underground, bizarre, cult and niche acts that have a special place in the hearts of... special people. 2 indoor stages and one marquee are hidden, spider-like, in the dingy industrial area of Digbeth. Passers by are treated to thudding beats and murderous frequencies as the surrounding buildings quake and Supersonic gets underway.

  Under the canvas of the outside stage it all gets started with DRUM EYES, a band in which the rhythm section takes centre stage as the two drummers square off in a complimentary duel of lively experimental beats with an upbeat yet heavy backing. Culminates in one of the grandest and most drawn out finales of the weekend, but an invigorating start to it.  Following this were three men, two pink macbooks and one electric guitar making up atmospheric drum n bass act PCM on their home turf. They unleash some heavy dance beats and dark subdued bass lines, the guitar providing the occasional whale-song slide or bend. Enjoyable stuff which nevertheless becomes a tad boring due to the unchanging tempo. Meanwhile, in the modest Factory Club stage noise act ATOMIZED destroy the competition for stupidest hat of the festival while polluting the room with hideously staticy malignant noise which could make whatever follows seem as melodic as a windchime. TAINT conclude the Factory Club with their early-Tool style rock, cunning riffs and post-metal screams.

  Mmm, dry ice. After ten minutes of frankly boring intro tape SUNN O))) make up for it with a transcendentally powerful sound channelled through O'Malley and Anderson and into their eight stacks (2 bass and 2 guitar stacks each). Behind the clouds of artificial fog the amplifiers stand like a stone circle and beneath their druidic garb the two guitarists employ a sort of synchronised Tai Chi approach to attacking their instruments. At these volumes softness develops into force as scraped chords melt into feedback like snow shovelled into a fire. The hour or so set goes by without a single chink in the wall of sound and the audience is boiled alive in bowel-shakingly low frequencies. It may be very repetitive but it's impossible to tear yourself away from the fascinatingly dramatic starkness of this lumbering performance.

  Typical of this festivals sensibilities the following act, VENETIAN SNARES, is the other end of the spectrum entirely. Head bobbing up and down like an eager puppy trying to get at a cat in a tree, Aaron Funk sweats out some infectiously convoluted dance music, heavy with drum n bass and electronica. Branching out crazily like M. C. Escher's stairs the percussive melodies scatter and regroup leaving the game audience and Mr Funk bouncing to the the pulse of the Prodigy/Squarepusher style beats.