27 bands gathered on five stages last Saturday for 12 hours of songs. VooDoo Music Experience, the six year-old festival of rock and rap, drew nearly 50,000 people from around the country to New Orleans for a near perfect day of music.

Practicing pop music as therapy, Polyphonic Spree brought their rainbow colored robes and happy songs to VooDoo's main stage. "Cult-like" is the label they can't escape, but they looked more like earnest undergraduates in an ethnic dance class than brainwashed acolytes about to down their final cup of Kool Aid on this planet. Bouncing back and forth in the early afternoon sun, the army of musicians--I counted twenty-four--sounded like a cross between the Beetle's Sgt. Pepper and Led Zeppelin at their most operatic. Nothing wrong with being happy, but the Spree's joy seemed calculated. Too much like a broadway musical and too little like rock and roll.

You should never tell the audience, "I hope we remember these songs, since we haven't played them in forever." Despite the inauspicious start, Eisley, four sweet-faced siblings and their good friend, performed a tight set of chiming melodies and close vocal harmony. The music, which will see its major label debut January, had touches of country slides and an occasional edge of low-key menace.

The British boys Gomez, playing at one of the secondary stages, pounded out bluesy pop, propelled by both a drummer and a percussionist. Although they can't vote in the U.S., like many bands at the festival they made their preference for John Kerry clear by the bumper stickers attached to their equipment. The set had nothing to do with politics, though. Tom Gray, the keyboardist, kept saying, "Dance! You're at a music festival." As Gomez kept playing high energy tunes, the audience eventually got on their feet.

Back on the main stage, the Killers reminded us why the 80s were so cool. Hailing from Las Vegas, this quartet channels the glamor of Brit pop from the early days of MTV. Their songs are as catchy as Duran Duran or the Smiths, and the band has mastered every glamorous rock star move.

Sonic Youth followed, announcing that their first song was a vote against George W. Bush. After a few verses of mumbled lyrics, they launched into their trademark guitar noise. When the song ended, I heard a guy say, "I was undecided until I heard this." The band seemed unfocused, and after twenty years their brand of sonic mayhem felt routine. As they swung their guitars in the air, banged them against the amps, and drug the necks across the stage, it felt more rehearsed than reckless.