If I were to rock up to work in a leopard-skin print shirt I’d have the piss unmercifully ripped out of me, but all Miles Kane gets is admiring glances. Whippet thin and of the feathercut mod persuasion, he’s accompanied by three similarly sharp-dressed mates who’ve all read The Paul Weller Guide To Being Effortlessly Cool from cover to cover. It’s not all Jam retreads though with Kane & Co. also dealing in whig-out psychedelia (‘Give Up’), modern era Britpop (‘Don’t Forget Who You Are’) and dirty Dr. Feelgood-esque rhythm ‘n’ booze (‘Come Closer’). Sonically it’s exhilarating but impeccable as his influences are the 27-year-old doesn’t have the killer songwriting chops of Weller, Gallagher (Noel) and, most pointedly, his Last Shadow Puppets partner Alex Turner with whom he’s obviously been swapping sartorial tips.
I’m not a Wu-Tang authority, but the Donegal lad next to me almost explodes with excitement when eight of them amble on stage.
“That’s everybody except for Ol’ Dirty Bastard... who’s dead,” he helpfully tells me. With the whole Clan there rather than the four or five who normally travel, we’re treated to a masterclass in old skool block party rap. Unlike De La Soul’s cabaret turn a few weeks ago at Indiependence, there’s still something dangerous and gramatically incorrect about the likes of ‘Bring Da Ruckus’, ‘Da Mystery Of Chessboxin’’, ‘Clan In Da Front’ and ‘C.R.E.A.M.’
Having simmered away nicely for 30 minutes, the gaff goes properly mental when DJ and hype man Mathematics starts scratching up a heavy metal riff storm. Not content with using his hands he theatrically whips off his sneakers between beats and literally socks it to us. The incendiary ‘Liquid Swords’ that follows is this writer’s undisputed highlight of the day.
You can’t accuse the Picnic of being musically one-dimensional with Staten Island’s finest followed on the Main Stage by My Bloody Valentine who prove to be the most divisive of acts. Lovers of their full-frontal noise assault are duly sent into raptures while those who’ve signed up to the idea of Friday being Picnic Party Night make an immediate beeline for Body & Soul. Personally, I think they’re the dog’s proverbials with the aural equivalent of a squadron of jetfighters taking off, ‘Wonder 2’, and the shoegaze-tastic ‘Soon’ a double-whammy to cherish.
It’s hard to know what critical criteria to apply to a Fatboy Slim set. There are no live musicians, guest singers, dancers or anything else to add or subtract from the well-worn favourites of which it comprises. The mixing may be live but doesn’t sound it, and Norm is not one to engage in between-song banter.
Instead his genius lies in being able to instantly transform a windy field into the funnest warehouse party you’ve ever attended. His deft populist touch means that in addition to his own tunes we get a Latino You Tube-r supplying the vocal for a bootleg remix of Daft Punk’s ‘Get Lucky’, a ‘Satisfaction’/’Rockafeller Skank’ mash up it’s impossible not to shake a leg to and a pogo-inducing burst of ‘Jump Around’. The lights, lasers and other eye candy are stunning, but like eating a Chinese 30 minutes afterwards you’re left feeling strangely empty.