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The city celebrated in style over the weekend. Tiffany Daniels, Elfyn Griffith, Ella Pawlik, Leah Pritchard and Jamie Skey were there. Pics: Ellen Doherty

It has been 20 minutes since BrisFest opened its gates, and it is difficult to tell what in particular has stopped me in my tracks. It could be the toxic fumes from the graffiti artists spray-painting the boards that line the passage from the entrance to the main stage, or the sight of the bearded gentleman having his face painted before noon and therefore – Venue would like to presume – soberly. It could be the hula hoopers, who, with the bass from Mr Wolf's reggae blaring between acts, become a welcome and mesmerising source of calm, even as they perform their choreographed routine to Michael Jackson's 'Blame It on the Boogie'. Whilst it could not have been predicted by the organisers that these events would all coincide, there is an impressive attention to detail throughout the weekend, which means there's never a long stretch where you won't see, for instance, someone being kicked around in a barrel or cycling a piano around in circles. And so, by Sunday evening, watching a band with no less than three ukuleles covering 'Money for Nothing', you're surprised – but hardly – when a unicyclist with a handlebar moustache, wearing a tuxedo, taps you on the shoulder so he can continue to navigate the crowd.

It's a community event, a fact which is never more obvious than when some of the less advanced hula hoopers, who range from 5 to 55, are practising on Saturday afternoon. A poorly timed trick, and suddenly a hoop is catapulted towards a young girl, who is almost taken out as she bobs along to an adult dance troupe's backing music. No apologies necessary, her dad signals – it's an inclusive collection of performers, and a forgiving and receptive crowd. That said, if you walk past the Gryphon Heavy Stage later that day, you'll hear “COME IN OR F*** OFF!” shouted at the groups of people walking past the tent. It's easy to sympathise with the parents who are less than forgiving, quickly ushering their children towards the Kids’ Area. But despite this incongruity, and a few others in the same vein, the programming is largely focused and considered, if not a little predictable at times. There's the aforementioned Heavy Stage, which is largely populated by sleeveless shirt-wearing, tattooed teens, where you'll see barrier climbing and singers straining so hard to scream that you can spot them hours later in the crowd by the redness of their cheeks; there's the acoustic stage, inoffensive if not a little vapid; the Weapons of Choice stage, showcasing the bass heavy – hip-hop, dubstep, funk, reggae; the Access to Music tent, which only allows bands under the age of 25 to play; and the main stage, which sees anything from cancan dancers to soul singers, covers bands to a Mr Motivator workout set.

As in previous years, there's no one act or performance that will stand out as a highlight. In fact, it's certain that everyone in attendance this year will take away a different picture of the festival – whether it is being assaulted by a juggler, seeing your child break-dance on the main stage or taking part in their first mosh pit, or one of the obscenely revealing outfits donned by certain audience members, which will forever be emblazoned on Venue's consciousness. It might be the degree of Bristol pride which is rarely seen at events like this, and which permeates the performances and the between-song banter. It can all be a little overwhelming – two days of constant entertainment – but the variety at BrisFest means there is always something else to escape to. (Leah Pritchard)

On the waterfront

Saturday night, booming drum & bass, youth in all its glory, lights, noise and atmosphere. Million Way fidget with all-encompassing electro-house-type waves of sound while I try to find a bar that isn’t heaving and six-deep with the cramped pill-popped young. A sweaty, claustrophobic 20-minute bar queue while serenaded by the nearby distorted dubstep of Komonazmuk on the Weapon Of Choice stage and it’s back over to Mr Wolf’s Stage to see Dub Mafia giving it soulful melodies amid a multi-layered combination of dub reggae, dubstep and drum & bass. Vocalist Eva’s voice soars above the bass-heavy numbers, augmented by layers of atmospheric synth, chugging guitar breaks and scattering drums. There are pearls like ‘Under The Radar’, ‘Rhythm Running’ and ‘Breakneck’ in the midst of a set which improves with age.

Speaking of age, that and lack of proper medication lead me to leave clubland to the youth. My only powders tonight being in the LemSip range…

Sunday is bright, breezy wet 'n' warm. The wetness has gone by the time of my arrival mid-way through a set by Bristol old school MC Kelz who serves up some visceral hip-hop in the authentic style and runs half an hour over his set “cos he’s Bristol massive innit”. His finale ‘Love Has No Challenge’ is possibly the highlight of the weekend. A lone skinhead dances with his kid stage front; the audience is sparse but growing… and is welcomely more diverse in age.

Blam! Dub Pistols attack. All energy, dub, ska, house and covers. The skinhead’s little boy is hoisted on stage to join in the dancing. It’s Madness meets Lee Perry and all stops in between. The Stranglers’ ‘Peaches’ gets a great outing as does The Specials’ ‘Ghost Town’ and their closer, ‘Gangsters’. Guest MCs include Red Star Lion from Barbados and Rodney P, who add some extra quality to their eclectic mix…

Over to Mr Wolf’s Stage and the big vocals and big southern soulful country rock twangs of Phantom Limb. Yolanda, a big woman with a big voice, takes the biscuit for the vocals of the weekend which raise their sound onto a very accomplished level.

Sounds from the various stages bounce back from the buildings across the water, two grinning stilt walkers dressed as pink flamingos, erm, grin, and I glimpse a mad hatter playing a mobile piano. And yet I've only had a couple pints of Gem... strange.

Pop into the Young Bands tent on the way past a camp-fire acoustic session from Matt Woosie who does a good rendition of The Stones’ ‘Little Red Rooster’, and catch the end of the frantic indie guitars of Little Victories and three numbers by In Your Honour – and talking of vocals of the weekend, the singer in this three-girl, one-boy-drummer band deserves a mention. Like Adele/Lily Allen fronting a quirky, original pop thrust…

Past the vaudevillian extravaganza of the Carny Villains on Wolf’s into the healthy drum & bass of very large MC Carousel combining with female DJ Dazee on the Weapons stage and some scantily clad young dancers (for no apparent reason)… Junglists Run Ting mar their set with too much call-and-response nonsense from the crowd, although the crowd bafflingly seem to love it. The headliners Congo Natty aka Rebel MC with his coterie of Tenor Fly, Congo Dubz, Nânci and Phoebe don’t have to resort to this type of tripe but get on with the business of good, hard, direct MCing backed by some great drum & bass in that jungle manner. The vocals of the females stand out in a Lauryn Hill-esque way…

Prior to this over at Wolf’s Zen Hussies were going all gypsy jazz... but I was in a jungly mood. Innit, as the young people say. (Elfyn Griffith)

Stage by stage

Friday @ Mr Wolf’s Stage

What better introduction to the festival than a set from Laid Blak? The longevity of the urban reggae group’s career reflects in the stupendous reception their music receives. Closing Mr Wolf’s Stage on Friday night, the seven-piece justify their heavyweight title with a mix of songs old and new.

Saturday @ Jelli Records Stage

Opening the Jelli Records Stage on Saturday, Pete Taylor plays inoffensive acoustic music in the same vein as Newton Faulkner and James Blunt – though admittedly Taylor’s vocal is far less grating than the latter and his set complements the mood of his subdued audience nicely. Next to step up is Glaswegian Lonely Tourist, clutching his acoustic guitar to his armpits. Singer-songwriter Paul Tierney creates a more than impressive energy, with his lively troubadour punk-rock in tow. Referencing everyone from Hunter S Thompson to Leonard Cohen, his music also offers an intellectual awakening that reeks of a unique talent.

Saturday @ Mr Wolf’s Stage

Dominating Mr Wolf’s Stage midway through the day is Alonestar, presumably credit to their connection with Ed Sheeran and not because of any creative prowess. The poorly constructed collective frankly baffle the BrisFest attendees into a momentary stupor, only breached by a visit from a passing chimp that hugs and pats strangers in a consoling manner.

Later still Dakhla revive both the crowd and the sunshine, and power through with extraordinary vigour. They’re more bandstand than main stage, but the four-piece embrace the festival spirit with their faux-funk sbrass section and seemingly endless vitality.

Saturday @ Jelli Records Stage

The best is still yet to come. Or at least that becomes clear as soon as Rebecca Cant graces the Jelli Records Stage. A little bit Joan Osborne, a little bit Paula Cole, Cant engulfs the acoustic corner with beautiful tales of emotional turmoil and a dream-like state. Demanding a far bigger audience than the space can provide, her velveteen-smooth vocal influences a silence that even the passing steam train can’t challenge.

Saturday @ Mr Wolf’s

Coming on like a bad Nirvana covers band, Yes Rebels steal blatant riffs from their more celebrated American predecessors throughout their set on Mr Wolf’s Stage. As teenagers sprawl across the 10 feet in front of the stage, the band pull out cliché after cliché in an effort to entertain. The real rock ’n’ roll talent in Bristol is grossly underrepresented at the festival and Yes Rebels’ positioning on the bill is questionable.

Sunday @ Jelli Records Stage

On Sunday afternoon at the Jelli Records Stage, Vapor Onika play uplifting, melodic music better suited to a serene whisky bar, with the ironic addition of a gospel swill mixer. Thankfully, although there’s a noticeable lack of people compared to the previous day, their downtempo songs flatter BrisFest’s Sunday afternoon atmosphere perfectly.

Sunday @ Oxjam Stage

Despite some sound issues, on the Oxjam Stage, Jemima Surrender plays an interesting set full of loops and twists not usually heard from a solo artist. Bringing to mind She Makes War, her set creates a chilled and chilling atmosphere in the Sunday afternoon sun.

Sunday @ Mr Wolf’s Stage

Over on Mr Wolf’s Stage, BrisFest’s gone all covers band on us. First to step up to the challenge is Ten Pound Suit Band, who show what it really means for a band to take a song and make it their own. Their set is a driven, balling, ballsy attack on forgotten classics and new loves, all blended into a thigh-slapping pop machine. Bringing some much-needed fun to the festival, they’re one of the few bands to inspire a chant for more as they exit the stage. The second cover act is Rinky Dinks, five men dressed in cricket gear singing songs by The Jam, The Cure and, err... Jet. Their set also beckons a phenomenal reception, but the band pale in comparison to Ten Pound Suit, with whom they’re constantly trying to catch up. (Tiffany Daniels)

I'm with the band...

Honour Your Pain (Friday, Gryphon Heavy Stage) Bristol bruisers Honour Your Pain start on the wrong foot, stranded on stage for 15 minutes as they battle buzzing, burbling amps and other sundry malfunctions. When they strike up, though, they're devastating. Their no-pain-no-gain grade of metalcore pummels mercilessly, ripped with the kind of skull-fucking blast beats and belligerent breakdowns Pantera would be stoked to dispatch.

Laid Blak (Friday, Wolf’s Stage) There's a distinct waft of cheese about Laid Blak's street-smart rub-a-dub, and Venue aren't talking about the high-grade sensimillia kind. The city massive may find their Bristol-to-Brixton blend of cod-reggae and Brit-hop brap-worthy, but, in the main, the seven-piece weigh in with bass-lite entertainment. Their cover of Bob Marley's 'Three Little Birds', though, is a more than welcome bounce-along.

Cheeba (Friday, Weapon of Choice stage) Watching and listening to Cheeba takes you back to unspecified but very real moments of complete awe and wonder from childhood. His performances monopolise your ears and your eyes, and Friday night’s skitter of sound and sights from the last few decades was no exception. Amazing talent and amazing dedication. A great all-round athlete.

Alonestar (Saturday, Mr Wolf’s Stage) Ambiguously billed as “featuring Ed Sheeran” – but the aforementioned Ed-shaped star was nowhere near the festival. Disappointing, and that was before Alonestar even made a sound. When they did, their alleged cross between hip-hop and urban music sounded more like Alonestar have mashed together the two genres so much they’ve ended up with an embarrassing dribble of pap. One to miss. Unless you are a masochist.

Dakhla (Saturday, Wolf’s Stage) Late Saturday afternoon, brassed-up Dakhla articulate their inner animal through baritone and alto sax, cornet and drums. Their desert-psyche horns cluck, honk, trill and quack atop the hasty click-clacking of jazz-steady swing. Fizzing refrains appear only to scurry down invisible rabbit holes again. Song themes include escaped chickens, beetles and komodos, we're informed. Fittingly, poultry-inspired dad dancing breaks out on all sides.

A Bit Too Far (Saturday, Gryphon Heavy Stage) This skate-punk foursome from Trowbridge spunk out songs entitled 'Speedos and Fairy Wings' and 'Back Door, Want More'. Their mid-set banter is similarly puerile. Says guitarist Alan to singer JR: “Something stinks. You've shat yourself.” JR replies with shit-eating-grin: “That's your top lip” They're tight and their sprinting beats and NOFX-lifted riffs could kick-start a circle pit at 50 paces, but it's all old hat.

The Hats (Saturday, Wolf’s Stage) Awful name, The Hats. But the Bristol-based septet make amends with their infectious, danceable partycore attitude. Evidently, they've thumbed the same sun-and-psyche LPs as Isle of Wight groovies The Bees, but are wont to apply Hendrix fuzz for good measure too. Their Saturday evening set progresses from knee-bending skunk-funk to wig-out psychedelia, with James Graham's Jamie Callum-esque croon imparting emotional gravity in the mix.

Leo (Saturday,  Underground, Rave-on-Avon) Leo. Small name, big yes. He was handed the baton of sound, then ran into Room One and began proceedings on Saturday night in the Underground with aplomb. A perfect selection of Bristol sounds – house, bass and everything bubblin’ good in between. Leo is a very good DJ.

Pinch (Saturday,  Underground, Rave-on-Avon) Pinch played his standard high-impact, low-frequency set. Unfortunately therein lay the problem – it was a good old rumble, but other than that, not exactly a remarkable rumble. Must try harder. See me.

Underground general Underground music in an underground car park. A good idea in theory, but one with practical challenges. The acoustics had a ‘portaloo next to the main stage at a festival’ feel and the two systems pretty much facing each other created a near-fatal sound bleed. But despite the logistical issues, it was still a splendid night (fire alarm aside). Well done, Bristol. (Ella Pawlik & Jamie Skey)

Copyright Tiffany Daniels, Elfyn Griffith, Leah Pritchard 2011; pics copyright Ellen Doherty, Duchess Photographic www.duchessphotographic.com/