It’s Portishead’s first Irish performance in 17 years and the Main Stage of Electric Picnic is drenched in darkness.

Appropriate for a band who deal in dramatic, emotive musings. Their turn at this year’s Glastonbury was one of those all-too-rare ‘it’s actually coming through the television’ moments, reminiscent of Nine Inch Nails’ stunning run of ‘Hurt’ at Reading several years back. In person, Beth Gibbons and co transcend even further, effortlessly creating the kind of industrial-strength daze-haze that My Bloody Valentine struggled with on the same stage this time last year.

As with any festival, first-timers and die-hards gather. The former scratch their heads and wait for it to ‘kick in’. The phrase "bad buzz" is thrown out. Disorienting visuals don’t help these wayward souls. ‘Machine Gun’ silences all, catching some unawares and reducing others to awestruck statues. A video links the downfall of Irish banks to war-torn conflict before the sun rises, silhouetting all and creating the weirdest visual tribute to 'Get Lucky' you'll ever see. You feel the lower half of your legs quiver. It’s a pulse, a signal, with Gibbons acting as contained siren while that weaponised beat sweeps through Stradbally in ruthless fashion.

‘Glory Box’ and ‘Sour Times’ alternatively glide and grimace, the effect hypnotic. This is music for a most wistful apocalypse; direct, dream-like and forever devastating.