Electric Picnic: saturday, september 3

Note to self: remember at EP 2012 that if you’re 48 and have an insanely busy day ahead of you, it’s a really bad idea to stay up all night raving in the Stradbally Estate woods.
Despite looking and probably smelling worse than a badger’s bottom, Hot Press’ Saturday kicks off with a frenzied bout of speed-gigging. First to be given the glad eye are Grouplove who instantly put smiles on faces with the close-harmony gorgeousity – if it’s not a word, it should be – of ‘Lovely Cup’ and ‘Itchin’ On A Photograph’.
Resplendent in paisley print shirts and hippie hats, the Californians are equal parts CSN&Y, My Morning Jacket and Arcade Fire and will undoubtedly grace much bigger stages here in the near future.
Leaving the Cosby, it’s off to the CrawDaddy Stage where Rarely Seen Above Ground are returning to their unabbreviated experimental roots. While I loved Jeremy Hickey’s brief pop flirtation – ‘The Roamer’ was one of my ‘Singles of 2010’ – the record-buying public didn’t, which has prompted him to recruit live bassist Colm O Caoimh and construct a seven-minute, Krautrock-referencing epic, ‘This Winding Sheet’, which receives its live debut here. Despite a malfunctioning laptop (they’re worse than fucking drummers!) he exits to deafening cheers and confirmation that he’s probably doing the right thing ditching the singalong choruses.

The feeling over in the Electric Arena is that after six years of dues-paying, Le Galaxie’s time has come. Egged on by a loyal gaggle of fans brandishing photocopied A4 ‘Tune’ signs, the Dublin outfit are an insanely danceable mix of pre-popstar Moby and Death In Vegas (more of whom anon) who one suspects would be envious of scabrous guitar-driven epics like ‘Orion’ and ‘Midnight Midnight’.
Having somewhat incongruously made their CrawDaddy Stage entrance to what sounds like the Ben Hur theme on steroids, veteran Mancunians I Am Kloot do what they always do, which is make us wonder why such blissful alt. pop tunes as ‘Northern Memories’ and ‘Hey Little Bird’ have been bought in such infintesimal numbers.
In stark contrast, Dubliners 3epkano are a crushing avant-drone bore on the Main Stage where they’re followed by soon to be ex-Today FM DJ Donal Dineen and his jazz-funk collective Parish who throw all the right shapes, but just don’t have the songs or vocal oomph to grab the mid-afternoon masses.
Back on The Cosby Stage it’s moshing-room only for Adebisi Shank whose Vinny McCreith is easily the coolest balaclava-wearing bassist on the planet. It’s all a bit stop-starty/Pacman goes post-rock for my tastes, but there’s no denying either the musical proficiency or visceral appeal of an outfit who deserve a big shiny gong for their services to the Irish DIY scene.

Ahead of their underwear-wettingly funny Hot Press Chatroom session, Limerick gougers The Rubberbandits treat fans to a typically anarchic performance in the Electric Arena. Tunes like ‘Up The Ra’, ‘I Wanna Fight Your Father’ and (of course) ‘Eamon de Valera Double Dropping Yokes’ go down a treat with fans, while there’s an unlikely homage to fellow Picnicer Lykke Li thrown into that old classic ‘Bag Of Glue’ (“I think I’m a little bit, a little bit, a little bit in love with glue”). Brilliant.
Jape performing ‘Floating’ in the same tent is a genuine cowbell-clanging, crowd-surfing moment, spoiled only by the decision to follow it by the comparatively somnambulant ‘The Oldest Mind’. Richie Egan is a fine songwriter, but having so many strings to his musical bow means that his gigs have a tendency to sound disjointed.
Back on the Main Stage there’s a 20-minute delay before a Toots-less Maytals – we’re told the sexagenarian has laryngitis – do their classic pop reggae thing. After a shaky start, promoted backing singer Marie “Twiggy” Gittens ass-shakes her way through versions of ‘Got Soul’ and ‘Higher & Higher’ that the gaffer would be proud of.

Dressed in a get-up that makes her look like a Native American squaw, the multi-talented Kazu Makino of Blonde Redhead is one of many unconventional frontwomen performing at this year’s Picnic. Grumpy-faced and recklessly flailing her hair around her head, she appears to move in slow motion – it certainly matches the sullen alt. rock, but hardly makes for a scintillating CrawDaddy Stage show.
The whole festival literally shakes at the might of James Blake, whose thumping great bass drops draw a healthy Main Stage crowd. The production-heavy ‘CMYK’ creates a delightful club vibe, while ‘Limit To Your Love’ breaks every heart in the joint. The Londoner is followed by Lykke Li who, cloaked in a minimal black robe and with hair swept tightly back to the nape of her neck, looks every bit the gloomy Swede. She sings, she writhes about, she pounds the cymbals, but she never smiles – not that we’d want her to. Tunes from her Wounded Rhymes album sound best today, the sleepy chorus of ‘Sadness Is A Blessing’ and the gentle sway of ‘Dance Dance Dance’ mixing happily with the arse-kicking ‘I Follow Rivers’ and the insolently primal ‘Get Some’.

While Death In Vegas are too detached from proceedings to get the Electric Arena going, the same can’t be said of Public Enemy who with their us-against-the-world camaraderie and alternating turns in the spotlight are the closest thing hip-hop has to an E Street Band. Along with the obligatory ‘Don’t Believe The Hype’, ‘Timebomb’, ‘911 Is A Joke’ and ‘Bring The Noise’, we’re treated to a storming ‘Back In Black’ mash-up and a White Stripes/Nirvana mix, which confirms DJ Lord as the greatest turntablist in the world… ever!
Suddenly I’ve got the energy to do it all over again in the woods and to hell with the Sunday morning consequences!