1996 saw the third year that the Tennents Brewery-sponsored music festival known as T in the Park took place in Strathclyde Park, near Hamilton, Scotland. The line-up for this year's event, spread over one main stage and three tents, was the best yet; partly due to the fact that the Glastonbury Festival was not on this year, but also because of the reputation that T in the Park had gained in its short lifetime. Unsurprisingly then, the event sold out completely three weeks prior to July 13th, with many people I knew planning to go suddenly finding themselves without tickets. Luckily, I'd managed to get a pair for both days of the festival, and guarded them jealously until the weekend itself.

Almost to no avail, as before I'd even made it to Hamilton, let alone the festival site, I found myself sitting on the express train to London Kings Cross. Fortunately, the train's destination was announced before it departed, so a quick sprint to the correct platform saw me journeying west, not south. Even this short journey was eventful: the train stopping halfway through its journey, due to "the train's security device being activated". This proved not to be caused by a bomb however, and the journey resumed. After a few more train connections, I set foot in Hamilton and walked the short distance to the festival site, accompanied by hordes of similar souls (this must be the busiest Hamilton ever gets...)

I was in. The site itself was pretty large - I have no concept of area - and I spent the first half-hour or so finding out exactly where everything was (main stage: check, NME Tent: check, Japanese Noodle stall: check, toilets: yuck). Being a complete trainspotter, I had written out a meticulous schedule to follow - to the nearest second - and, as there was a light drizzle, I was glad to see the first four bands I had chosen to see were all indoors. Heading therefore to the NME Tent, the largest of the three, I prepared to listen to the first band of the weekend.

Geneva have big aspirations indeed - they are new romantics (but far from Romo); taking their influences from some of the most beautiful, shining and wasted gods in pop's pantheon. Their main disadvantage comes when you open your eyes. Image is not the ultimate: but when you make music like this, it is certainly up there challenging the sound for importance. Compare Brett Anderson's glamourous style with Geneva's singer's jumper-and-jeans Oxfam appearance and you cannot fail to be disappointed.

Music from heaven, perhaps: but style from the local students' union. Nevertheless, an auspicious and uplifting start to the festival.

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4th Dimension then were a light-hearted and crowd-rousing techno outfit, consisting of two keyboard players and one singer/dancer/nutter. Their material was all high bpm, bass-heavy, in-yer-face techno - a bit too much for lunchtime perhaps - but still got the crowd going. Nothing too innovative, but not offensive either and certainly not boring.

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With a rather unconventional line-up including lead keyboard, violin and trombone, Gorky's blend of surreal madness ("now hear those teachers teaching - they're teaching for you, teaching for me") and loud, unpredictable shouty moments won over the majority of the crowd. The lead singer and keyboard player put his all into the performance, treating his synth like a drum kit and no doubt waking up very hoarse the next morning. The violinist had the detached air of a Candida from Pulp - i.e. "what am I doing here with this bunch of idiots? I'll just stand here and play my fiddle" - whereas the guitarist-cum-trombonist-cum-backing-singer tried to remain as cool as he could playing a large brass instrument.

To begin with, the audience were unsure of quite how to react - was this another Half Man Half Biscuit they saw before them? However, by the end of the set and after songs such as the prog-C&W "Heart of Kentucky" and the psycho-moog of "Lucy's Hamper", Gorky's Zygotic Mynci had proved themselves ideal festival fare: alternative, stompalong, visual (play that funky trombone, whiteboy) and most definitely weird. Indeed, after a litre or two of old Farmer Barleymow's cider and/or some happy tablets, they would probably turn out to be your favourite band in all the world.

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This was probably the first "big" band of the day, and the size of the crowd reflected this: the first moshpit of the festival had formed. 60ft Dolls are a band that have failed to impress hugely on record, but live they were a different story altogether. Non-stop punk pop tunes blasted out, including crowd-pleasers "Stay", "Talk to Me" and their finest single, "Happy Shopper". A half-hour set of shoplifting, joyriding, lager-swilling, songs-behaving-badly later and the Dolls closed with the traditional crowd-pleaser "Everyone's Got Something To Hide Except For Me & My Monkey", causing the first crowd-surfers of the day to suit up and venture out onto the undulating heads of the audience.

A top performance, and if one band can get away with trashing their instruments without seeming contrived, it's the 60ft Dolls. They duly obliged, Richard Parfitt smashing his guitar into many, many pieces and drummer Carl Bevan standing up on his drum stool and falling into his kit. Thankfully, they managed to keep their infamous penchant for watersports in check...

Yobs perhaps, but enjoyable to watch and listen to all the same. There's enough room in the World O' Pop for bands such as Geneva and 60ft Dolls: where's the rule that says all music has to fit into someone's abstract genre and no other?

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Jesus Lizard began their pounding, post-grunge rock and a few people began to jump up and down: not many, however, as the band are a pretty unknown commodity over here. From the outset, you could tell David Yow was itching to get down amongst the crowd, and during their second number, he whipped off his shirt and did so. The audience surged to support him as he rolled about, yelping into the microphone at the same time. Twice he struggled back to the stage, and twice he returned back to the pit, causing the security no end of consternation (although one, obviously a fan, thought it highly amusing). These theatrics served to beef up the music, which - although loud and apocalyptic - all sounded a little samey after a while.

On a roll and back on the stage, Yow decided it was time to remove his jeans so, wrapping a towel around his waist he whipped them off too. Taking off a sock from his foot, he placed it in a far more strategic place, then proceeded to gyrate around the stage like some sweaty and overweight belly dancer. At this point you felt Yow would be more at home somewhere like the Jim Rose Circus ("see the Sweaty Man - he shouts! he screams! he removes his trousers!"), instead of fronting the frankly second-division Jesus Lizard.

A memorable performance, but not for the music.

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What I did hear however, was disappointing. There was nothing to rival "Female" - which they admittedly played well - the rest of their set consisting of songs either trying too hard to be different, or sounding like the b-side filler material that they obviously were.

Thanks for "Female", Space. Now go away.

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Anyway, for the Foo Fighters I made my first foray to the moshpit. A massive cheer greeted Grohl and his band's arrival and they launched straight into their set. One of the advantages of sets at festivals is that bands are given a generally tight window in which to perform. Therefore, they only play their best material - no filler - and this usually makes for a great performance. Sticking to this rule, Grohl, dressed in black jeans, white sweatshirt and hair loose, led the Fighters into a cracking set, consisting of all their best songs - "This Is A Call", "Big Me", "For All The Cows", etc. The pit was wild, the crowd pushing and surging as each song started, and the surfers going over the top every 5 seconds or so. The pushing and shoving got so intense at one point that several people had to get pulled out, causing Grohl to tell us all to take care of each other - then helpfully launching into another no-holds-barred grunge classic.

Foo Fighters definitely attract those that are only interested in them due to the obvious Nirvana connection, and some of the songs are noticably influenced by that seminal Seattle band, but Grohl's outfit have enough energy, conviction, presence and material to stand out on their own. I believe they have now reached the stage where more people think of them as a band rather than "that bloke that used to be in Nirvana messing about" - a hard thing for anyone with such a notorious past to achieve. Although not containing many surprises, the Foo Fighter's set was uplifting and glorious. They generated the best moment of the festival so far: during "I'll Stick Around", hundreds of people thrusting outstretched hands to the band whilst singing "I don't owe you anything"; at the same time as Grohl sang it to us. A wonderful piece of ambiguity, only possible at a large-scale, live performance such as this.

The first bona fide stars of the day.

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Some bands (Gorky's and Foo Fighters so far today) are born to play festivals; some are destined to shine only when playing small, smoke-filled venues of much more intimacy. Mazzy Star are one such band. Their slow, mellow country-tinged rock was luxurious and lazily inspiring; yet it was somehow lost in the environs of the large tent with the buzz of a big festival going on around it. Some of the quieter numbers were actually almost drowned out by the sounds of people milling about and talking, and by the muzak of the adjacent fairground rides.

A shame, as Mazzy Star live are excellent, Hope Sandoval's luscious, honey-dripping voice floating out into the atmosphere like angel's breath; the guitars echoing and layering upon themselves. When Sandoval stopped singing and merely stood there hitting a tambourine, head bowed whilst the music continued around her, Mazzy Star, like early Cowboy Junkies, managed to grasp hold of and make us aware of the silence between the notes that is just as important as the music itself.

I look forward to seeing the band again in a venue more sympathetic towards them.

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The crowd in front of the Main Stage was massive, as The Prodigy were one of the biggest names on Saturday's bill, particularly after their recent chart-topping success with "Firestarter". When they appeared, amid flourishes of dry ice, flashing lights and a huge cheer, all previous doubts dissipated as quickly as the dry ice on the breeze: The Prodigy were immense. All-round headcase Keith Flint began to skip around the stage, dressed in some kind of black and white kilt affair, sticking his pierced tongue out at us and slapping his devil-coiffured head with his hands. Then the music kicked in, and for the duration of the whole set, several thousand people jumped up and down in unison. This synchronised pogoing, together with the huge and vibrating bass must almost have caused Hamilton to fall down: it certainly generated a fantastic feeling amongst the audience.

The set consisted of impressive - and very loud - versions of all the hits, the biggest responses being reserved for the aforementioned "Firestarter" and "Poison". Flint constantly playing the pyschotic fool as Liam and the rest of the band whipped up a glorious twister of noise.

Night or day, The Prodigy are one of the best live acts I have ever seen.

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Lush have successfully managed to relaunch themselves onto the current musical ocean, mainly on the strength of two ace singles: "Ladykillers" and "Single Girl". Whereas when they were first present on the scene back in the late 80s and early 90s, they played much dreamier, more layered and produced music; the material they currently possess is poppier and - let's face it - influenced by bands such as Sleeper and Elastica. In many bands, this might have resulted in a disaster, being written off as bandwagon-jumpers. Lush, however, have managed to avoid this; instead having two impressive and different sets of material to draw from.

The King Tut's Tent (King Tut's is a small venue in Glasgow) was more or less full for Lush, consisting of a crowd much more indie-oriented than any previous audiences today. Despite a couple of technical differences - the most serious appearing to be a fault with Emma's microphone - Lush played a very competent and tight set, roughly split equally between their two periods. Their newer material, being more familiar to most of the crowd, going down best; but older material such as "Sweetness and Light" also filling the tent with well-crafted and marvellous sounds.

Closing the set with a viciously spiky version of "Ladykillers", Lush carried off a small victory: although probably never going to be up there with first-division bands, they are far from irrelevant.

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After a few minutes delay - I read after the event that the band apparently got locked out their dressing room - Beck appeared. Resplendent in dark grey suit, white shirt and tie, Beck made a couple of funny noises into the microphone, then launced into "Devil's Haircut" from recent LP "Odelay". His backing band handled the musical duties well, the song featuring some crushing bass and guitar work. What was missing a little from this and other songs, however, were the samples that make some of Beck's songs so off-the-wall and original. No matter, though - in a live environment, this is easily forgiven.

The classic/millstone "Loser" was an undisputed highlight, as was recent single "Where It's At". Beck's stage performance was also impressive, with him jumping around the stage, doing the splits and wailing incomprehensible laid-back gibberish at the audience between songs. The right side of geek cool. The set was very tight and accomplished, and soon I even managed to ignore the Morissette woman's warblings from outside.

Perfect festival fare from one of the coolest operators around.

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Taking the stage unassumedly, Thom Yorke and the rest of the band appeared and began a set full of wonder, passion and strength. You tend to forget the Radiohead canon has some absolute stormers in it ("High And Dry", "Anyone Can Play Guitar", "Fake Plastic Trees" - all delicious incarnations of their recorded counterparts), and this set contained them all. Yorke made a strange frontman indeed, his small, gaunt frame and screwed-up, strained face belying the epic passion that he and his band produced, seemingly with little effort.

Although being right at the front of the stage, the manner of the songs meant that the crowd didn't get too wild, allowing everyone to benefit from the moody lighting and dry ice that accompanied such star-grasping classics as "Iron Lung" and "(Nice Dream)". Having spoken in the press about how much they hated playing "Creep" live, it was testament to the respect the band had for the festival that they played it, and hugely impressive it was; bone-breaking guitars and tortured vocals soaring over Strathclyde Park making for one of the most spine-tingling moments of the day. Another highlight was the marvellous "Lucky" (from the "Help" charity LP), a poignant and wondrous song that charged the atmosphere until it was almost tangible.

After an encore of more superb material, Radiohead thanked the audience genuinely and left the stage, leaving us awestruck and drained, having witnessed probably the world's only credible stadium band. Knowing that we had seen genius, we staggered out of the festival site, past the thumping Dance Tent and jumping rave stall and into the night, tired and sore but uplifted. T in the Park had proved to be all it had promised - a varied, exciting and - above all - immensely enjoyable festival.

And only half-way through...