CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM THE FESTIVAL HERE.

Times have changed at Sydney’s Laneway Festival. Approaching Rozelle College of the Arts across a pristine lawn, it’s clear we’re not going to see any laneways. Of course, that’s no bad thing after the frustrations of 2009. The essentials have remained the same: unique venue, passionate management, considered line-up…and lots of vintage dresses.

What the new location lacks in grunginess, it makes up for in sandstone. The three stages are enclosed in courtyards, flanked by the College’s restored heritage buildings. It creates an ambience quite unlike any other festival (the site once housed a mental asylum designed by a man who believed in the curative powers of “pleasant surroundings”).

The most striking of the stages is the Inner Sanctum, whose peaceful patch of grass away from the thoroughfare makes it worthy of the name. Far less charming in title and layout is the Car Park Stage, the biggest of the three and the most utilitarian. With the wide, long space solidly bustling for much of the day, it’s hard to imagine how a laneway would’ve coped.

It’s there that Kid Sam deliver one of the festival’s early highlights in the searing afternoon sun. The delicate voice of Kieran Ryan is given weight by his cousin Kishore’s prodigious percussion, and it’s hard to be unmoved.

Over at the Clock Tower, there’s a far closer energy between the stage and crowd. It helps that the band on show is Scotland’s Frightened Rabbit, who seem incapable of a dispassionate performance. Four people sharing a tight space heightens the set’s charged intensity, with the most vigorous of all drummer Grant Hutchison. Stationed behind his frontman brother, he bounces on his stool, mouthing along with a wild glint.

In contrast, The Middle East seem marooned on the Car Park Stage, despite the undeniable strength of the songs. The vocals of Bree Tranter and Rohin Jones go some way to creating intimacy, but the “good times are on their way” spoken word bit is a lot less stirring than Jones may hope. The still-wonderful Blood is the most rousing moment of the set, lifting the crowd out of its heat-stroked stupor.

Wild Beasts is a curious proposition live. Strolling onto the Inner Sanctum stage, the four members look plucked from disparate bands. Primary vocalist Hayden Thorpe (wiry and neatly-buttoned) carries the mannered falsetto that made last year’s Two Dancers such a beguiling pleasure, while Tom Fleming (singleted and laddish) offers a deeper register. Over a galloping beat from drummer Chris Talbot, We Still Got the Taste Dancing On Our Tongues sees both voices harmonising beautifully; despite some of the delicacy dissipating in the open air.

It’s a canny move by Laneway to schedule Mumford & Sons and The XX at the same time, but that doesn’t prevent a crush at the Inner Sanctum for the latter – œband of the moment’. The now-three-piece is given a hero’s welcome, and the cheers only grow louder as each familiar song is aired.

The sultry croon of Romy Madley Croft is untainted live, with Oliver Sim her perfect foil, even though the slow seduction of the music is at odds with the heaving and over-juiced crowd. Oddly, anyone keen to hear The XX’s inspired cover of You’ve Got the Love has to settle for it played through the PA as the band files off.

There’s an exodus of Wayfarers and lady-undercuts as the wait for Daniel Johnston begins. When the man appears – dishevelled and as obviously heat-affected as the rest of us – he shakily clips the lyric sheets to his music stand, takes up a squat acoustic guitar and starts strumming. This opening section, including the almost unbearably raw Living Life, is Johnston at his most exposed. It’s almost a relief when he’s joined onstage for Life In Vain.

The next part welcomes Old Man River’s band, leading into the dark but outright catchy Man Obsessed (“the only way/you could get her to look at you/is to die”). Gripping tightly to the mic stand and taking trembling gulps of water, the frontman still manages a few wry jokes and asides. Old Man River shine on Mountain Top and Fake Records Of Rock and Roll; both reminders of Johnston’s keen instinct for a pop hook. By turns inspiring and uneasy, this is one of the day’s rarest sets.

By now the bars are looking strangely deserted, with everyone waiting in long, snaking queues at the food stalls. It’s a good day to be a gozleme lady. At the Car Park Stage, the crystalline-voiced Sarah Blasko ties off a typically polite and pleasant set with All I Want and No Turning Back (polite and pleasant is not how you’d describe what the Black Lips are up to over the other side).

Soon after, Blasko is called on to join Dappled Cities for a shimmering Vision Bell duet in the Inner Sanctum, but it’s hard to compete with the gold jumpsuits the Dappled boys are modelling.

Balmy twilight greets Echo & The Bunnymen, who face an audience divided between fans and those waiting for Florence. Ian McCulloch looms over the microphone on a darkened Car Park stage, making the occasional bone-dry quip (“this is the second greatest song ever written”). It’s a – œstand and deliver’ show, with each member focused on his instrument – not least a brooding Will Sergeant at side of stage. McCulloch’s voice has retained its grandeur despite the gravel of age, with The Killing Moon an obvious highlight.

Festival headliners are so often not the day’s true star, but Florence Welch is a singular talent. It’s astounding how a 24-year-old with one album could arrive this fully-formed as a performer. Strutting onstage with her Machine, the impossibly leggy, fiery-haired singer is a revelation (if, of course, you’re in a sweet spot for sound).

Welch’s voice is both gutsy and unwavering, and the set deftly gathers pace with an ecstatic closing gambit of Dog Days Are Over, You’ve Got The Love and Rabbit Heart. That said, those choosing to finish the night in the company of Eddy Current Suppression Ring get a fast and furious set, with Brendan clambering onto a rooftop, mic in hand.

As the punters trudge towards certain public transport hell, Laneway’s co-director Danny Rogers takes to the stage to wish us a safe journey. After the successes of Melbourne and Sydney, he’s clearly a man relieved. Laneway may have lost the laneways, but it has still got the love.