Last weekend, at its first gathering of the year, All Tomorrow's Parties returned to its birthplace on the Sussex coast. The long-running, left-field rock festival may have begun at Camber Sands, but this down-at-heel holiday camp now feels very much like the poor cousin of its sister site in Minehead, which has larger venues and smarter facilities. Even so, the weekend was an enjoyably rowdy and ramshackle affair, despite inadequate air conditioning for the sweltering heat.

Now in its ninth year, ATP has expanded into a global brand while commendably resisting the commercial compromises and corporate sponsorships of other festivals. This weekend's guest curator was Pitchfork, the Chicago-based music website known for its influential yet absurdly rigorous reviews. This partnership will continue with further joint ventures in the US this summer.

As ever, cultish old hands shared a bill with young hopefuls. The grunge veterans Sebadoh played a robust set on Friday, swapping instruments between songs. Among the highlights was the singer Lou Barlow's deceptively jaunty and muscular version of Soul and Fire, a heartbroken relationship post-mortem so moving that it actually persuaded his ex-girlfriend to come back.

Also playing were a loosely linked family of bands who blend the sparkling “high life” sound of African guitar pop with collegiate American indie-rock. Yeasayer and Dirty Projectors were interesting enough, but Vampire Weekend have been more widely hyped and proved more entertaining. They performed with wit and brio, even if their clean-cut culture-clash style owes more to Paul Simon's Graceland than to any authentic African artists.

One of the pleasures of ATP is taking lucky dips and making new discoveries. The Atlanta five-piece Deerhunter, a self-described “ambient punk” band fronted by the implausibly thin and preposterously tall Bradford Cox, were one of the best. Their droning, chugging, three-guitar sound was alluring and hypnotic.

Equally impressive were the Bristol-based keyboard duo F*** Buttons, who performed face to face like musical sumo wrestlers, blasting each other with weapons-grade electronic noise. Another bunch of rowdy Brits, rejoicing in the name Shit and Shine, attempted something similar in a more unplugged vein, building up a monstrously loud racket using five drummers and a blue-faced guitarist dressed as a giant rabbit.

All good fun, but overall, this was not a vintage ATP event. Too many middling guitar bands crowded a musical menu that lacked the festival's usual diversity of electronica, hip-hop and folk artists. But at least the second ATP of the year, held in Minehead next weekend, promises to be a more eclectic and exotic affair.

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