CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM THE DAY HERE.

If you had to sum up the stage banter at this year’s Big Day Out in a word, it’d be – œoverheated’. Nearly everyone has something to say about Sydney in the height of summer, and for good reason. The Showground – with its unrelenting stretches of concrete and distinct lack of greenery – is not exactly idyllic in 37 °C conditions. For the majority of punters, though, it’s but a small obstacle to overcome. After a labrador assesses your groin and your water bottle is safely confiscated, the good times (and perspiration) begin to roll. As ever, there are plenty of guys who’ve forgotten the – œSlip’ in the – œSlip-Slop-Slap’ equation, proudly flaunting singed flesh and – œa good idea at the time’ tats. Ah, the sights and sounds of Big Day Out.

Those hardy enough to send skin cells into trauma are treated to a suitably sunny main stage set from The Grates, while Little Red does its jangly pop thing on the Essential Stage. Most of the early-arrivers choose to take refuge in bar queues and whatever sporadic shade is on offer. The first big energy burst comes from love-or-loathe duo The Ting Tings, whose fairly thin sound is bolstered by a hearty sing-along.

The day’s first – œmust-see’ band though is surely TV On The Radio (sorry Bullet For My Valentine, your banner looks pretty). Having ruled Album Of The Year lists with Dear Science, the Brooklyn five-piece boasts a mercurial live show. However you define the band’s sound, it sure is danceable. The sun is merciless at the Green Stage as the dapper gentlemen file on stage, led by the most dapper of all, Tunde Adebimpe. Their succinct hour slot is pure joy; all squalling guitars and urgent vocals. Kyp Malone provides sturdy support on the mic while Adebimpe leaps around and the crowd streams with sweat. Satellite is a surprise, while DLZ and Golden Age translate forcefully live. Rounding out with a rousing Staring At The Sun cements this as the set to beat. A finger-wag in the direction of all the people who left, presumably to seek solace in Sneaky Sound System.

“It is HOT AS HELL on this stage,” Lupe Fiasco announces to the Boiler Room. It isn’t exactly air-conditioned down here either. The man and his band try valiantly to appear unfazed, delivering charged versions of Kick, Push, Paris Tokyo, Superstar and Daydreamin’. We all perspire together, doing our best with the sound bouncing round the walls. As he did at his sideshow, Lupe Fiasco makes a solid case for Most Athletic Frontman out there. Over on the Blue Stage, Pendulum is doing its best impression of a metal band. The effort is validated by lively circle pits (how sweet the scent of bourbon sweat), but there’s something so humourless about this group. Regardless, there’s enough testosterone coming off the stage to make Serj Tankian fans dance to drum – œn bass. Meanwhile a smattering of My Morning Jacket devotees have gathered amongst the beer cans at the Green Stage. Clad in black (style before sunstroke), the quartet is mightily impressive as a live unit. Condensing its tendency for epic jams into 60 minutes, there’s grunt and melody in equal measure.

Simian Mobile Disco has ascribed to the Chemical Brothers school of live performance: dazzle with lights and recede into the background. The pulsing strips of neon certainly fit the brief, but something is lacking. Maybe it’s the cavernous Boiler Room or the dinner-hour time slot, but there’s not enough to inspire the feet. A raved-up version of Hustler is tremendous fun though.

No heatwave is going to wilt The Drones frontman Gareth Liddiard, who attacks the band’s Essential Stage slot with as much fire as ever. A modest gathering sways along to the likes of Shark Fin Blues, attempting to transcend the rather unlovely surrounds. Next door, Cut Copy regales a packed dancefloor with Hearts On Fire, before rocketing through the hits and a well-received b-side. “Thank god the sun’s gone down,” says Dan Whitford, summing up the feelings of 45,000 punters. As they will prove later tonight at the Beck’s Festival Bar, Holy Ghost! possess an enviable crate of disco records, but their Boiler Room set is a non-event.

The Australia Day enthusiasts have turned out in force for The Living End on the Blue Stage. As seasoned a festival band as any, the lads put on a rollicking, beer-swilling show. If that is indeed your thing. Opening with One Pure Thought, Hot Chip grapple from the get-go with The Boiler Room’s vast scale. This is certainly an upgrade from the – œwood chopping arena’ in 2007. Whatever your opinion on the band’s albums, there’s no denying they’re tight and impressive live. The addition of a drummer to the touring party gives added thump to the likes of Boy From School and Ready For The Floor. With his deep baritone and unapologetic dancing, Joe Goddard once again steals the show. We might look good on the dancefloor, but Arctic Monkeys look a little uninspired onstage. That said they do manage to get people loved up and singing along – no mean feat on so stifling a day.

Then it’s time for Neil Young. Not since The Chemical Brothers in 2005 has the D Section been so sparsely populated. As predictable as that was, it’s still a bit of an adjustment after Rage Against The Machine’s rabble-rousing closer last year. But enough of all that – the lucky ones who are there witness a special show. The stage set-up is appropriately homespun, with an artist even painting canvas behind the drum-kit. As expected, it’s mostly a plugged-in and rocking affair, allowing Young to showcase his formidable guitar skills. The trifecta of The Needle And The Damage Done, Heart Of Gold and Old Man ensures instant reverie; each delivered with great poignancy. Later, Rockin’ In The Free World amps up a tiring crowd, before the encore culminates in Young feverishly unpicking his guitar strings. His thanks are warm and genuine too.

In terms of crowd size, The Prodigy has certainly won the headliner face-off. The Fucking Boiling Room is packed from wall-to-wall to welcome the Big Day Out veterans. Their set-list has barely changed since the last tour four years ago, but to little detriment. There’s enough fire in Liam Howlett’s arsenal to distract from the fact that Keith Flint’s shtick is now mildly embarrassing. You know the drill: Firestarter, Breathe, Smack My Bitch Up, Their Law, Out Of Space and some okay new ones, all delivered with pummelling force. Maxim does the “all my Prodigy people!” routine, while Keith stalks the stage pulling faces. The stomach-rattling Comanche proves Howlett still has some inspiration left, which is more than can be said for Invaders Must Die. The Prodigy now occupies shaky ground: how much longer can past glories sustain their shows?

And so, with apologies to Fantomas and Dropkick Murphys (both excellent, reports suggest), another Big Day Out bangs to a close. Oh cheese-on-a-stick, warm beer and Olympic Park station – when will I see you again?