Electric Picnic 2007: Saturday

Growing up doesn’t mean selling out. This could serve as the unofficial motto for Electric Picnic, which has become a blockbuster on the festival circuit without losing its distinctive hippy-tinged ambience. This year, all of your favourite zany Picnic trappings are present and correct. Pink and purple flags dance gaily in the watery sunshine; grown men dressed as characters from the Wizard Of Oz frolic in the grass; in the Body and Soul zone, dancers in butterfly costumers cavort to the strains of New Orleans jazz.
On stage, meanwhile, the prevailing mood is giddy eclecticism. Blessed with balmy temperatures (though, needless to say, little in the way of actual sunshine) day two of the festival gets into its stride with an exquisitely bonkers set by Radiodread, a rasta eight-piece who answer the question that nobody, in their right mind, would wish to ask: what would Radiohead’s art-pop dirges sound like if given a dance-hall overhaul?
Following them are The Magic Numbers, a boy/girl quartet of hairy introverts whose sunshine harmonies and shoegaze lyrics are offset by bassist Michelle Stoddard’s grunge goddess poses. Looking like they could do with a hug and a cup of tea, the UK-by-way-of-Jamaica quartet nevertheless offer the crowd an early chance to let their inner rock monster off the leash.
Meekly rocking the Foggy Notions tent, Camera Obscura are living proof that Belle and Sebastian are far from the last word when it comes to twee indie pop from Scotland. Across the room, girls in hair-clips are dancing sadly with themselves: it’s like the grey, grim '80s never ended.
Bending the Electric Arena to her steely will is M.I.A. the London/Tamil rapper whose genre-hopping music vaults crazy-eyed from the speakers. Incorporating bhangra rhythms, Bollywood beats and wicked grime flows, M.I.A. scuppers the myth that she’s strictly a studio talent.
How to upstage a globe-straddling firebrand? By turning all of your louche powers of seduction on the audience. At least, that seems to be Jarvis Cocker’s strategy, as he quietly and calmly sweeps us off our feet, delivering velvety highlights from his unjustly cold-shouldered solo debut, Jarvis, plus a stonking end-of-set cover of Thin Lizzy's 'The Boys Are Back In Town'.
Beneath the white-washed nave of the Nokia Trends Lab, Patrick Wolf comes on like a charity shop Bowie for the 21st century. Musically, there’s still something of a naif about the Home Counties dandy. But lilting faux-folk tunes such as ‘The Magic Position’ suggest that, should he curb his tendency towards tweeness, a colorful future stretches ahead.
Sauntering over to the Crawdaddy arena, you’re just in time for Ladytron, two scowling fem-bots backed by a posse of tech-nerds (also scowling). Harking back to the eyeliner-heavy era of Numan and Ultravox, the Scouse crew are unabashed retro merchants. Close your eyes and images of Commodore 64s and Tomorrow’s World re-runs float in front of your eyes. Something similar might be said of Erasure, whose frisky perve-pop has weathered the decades more handsomely than one might imagine, at least judging by their bravura greatest hits romp at the Electric Arena. Forgive me for being size-ist, but singer Andy Bell might want to cut down on the trips to Pieminister though.
With night stealing over Stradbally, the Nokia Lab welcomes the most engaging curve-ball of the afternoon: a UK/Punjabi electro group called DHOL Foundation, whose sitar-steeped pop froth conjures up thoughts of Westlife collaborating with Talvin Singh. Obviously this is marvellous and you do appreciate the little touches: such as the identical spats sported by each group member.
Back on the main stage, 18-piece Texan ensemble Polyphonic Spree are here to remind you that swooning, string-infused indie rock doesn’t begin or, indeed end, with Arcade Fire. Granted, their overweening giddiness can eventually feel claustrophobic, like music’s answer to a laughing gas overdose. In modest quantities, however, their Wagner-meets the Beach Boys bubblegum is absolutely exhilarating.
Over at the Electric Arena, Beastie Boys are holding a teeming crowd in thrall, performing a greatest hits set which leads one to hope that their current infatuation with quirky instrumentals is nothing more than a passing phase. Rather quirkier thrills are on view at the Foggy Notions tent, where, utilising nothing but violin and FX loop, Final Fantasy’s Owen Pallot keeps a large audience spellbound. Finishing with the dulcet chamber-pop of ‘This Lamb Sells Condos’, he makes you wish the song would linger forever.