The title Rising Doom hints that the second album from 24-year-old Paris-based Paul Régimbeau may not have much in common with the output of his fellow countryman and electronic dance music producer David Guetta. “Where Them Girls At?” this is not. The French are famed for their cheese but even fans of Roquefort have been known to balk at Guetta’s hideous amalgam of the least likeable club sounds of the last 20 years. Guetta’s is, unfortunately, the blueprint that rising commercial producers must ape, especially now the American market has opened to them.

A few years ago – peaking in 2007 - “cosmic disco” was a brief clubland rage. It came mostly from Oslo and consisted of calm, bearded Norwegian dudes creating a fabulous psychedelic stew of groovy house, Italo-disco, and their own ineffable proggy weirdness. Where filter disco, the unkillable dance-pop sub-genre kick-started by Stardust’s “The Music Sounds Better With You”, has mostly been hugely unadventurous, relying on basic retro pilfering, cosmic disco was always marinated in the deep, druggy pulse of the best nightlife.

Why is it that a certain strand of faceless electronic music, currently best represented by outfits such as Caribou and Gold Panda, often achieves such a strong media profile? These acts and their kin have their moments - the odd real cracker, in fact - but the impression is given that their classy, considered bedroom noodling is more valid than something equally faceless that's sweatier and more percussive.

The French national holiday of 14 July might be marked by parades and fly-pasts in Paris, but here on the Atlantic coast it’s the central date for Francofolies, the annual festival dedicated to French music. La Rochelle hosted its first Francofolies in 1985. Twenty-six years on, the festival remains the premier showcase for Francophone music. This year the bill took in David Guetta’s dance-floor cheesiness, Gotan Project's overhauled tango, actress Mélanie Laurent plugging her recent album and all points in between.

As subtlety in popular music becomes increasingly worshipped by heritage-led taste arbiters, we should relish proper shouty moron tunes. Few come more shouty and moronic than LMFAO, a Los Angeles duo named after the text abbreviation for "Laughing my fucking arse off". They comprise Berry Gordy's youngest son Skyler (AKA Skyblu) and his grandson Stefan Gordy (AKA Redfoo), renowned for goon club anthem "I'm in Miami, Bitch". They claim their second album is "more refined" - but it isn't unless your idea of refined is pole dancing to Limp Bizkit.

This is where the delirium kicks in. Tired but happy, the attendees started the third day of Sónar festival slightly boggled by how to pick and choose from the strange delights on offer. Saturday was when the true musical variety of the festival was displayed: straight-up hip hop to eye-popping South African tribal dance displays, balmy ambient revivalism to apocalyptic techno, heartbroken electronica to deranged prog rock: it was all on offer...

Certainly a good cross-section of people were in attendance for the first day of Sónar.

This is, not to put too fine a point on it, a masterpiece – but it could easily have been a bloody mess.