I'm sprinting through a field in Stradbally and the pangs of regret are already arriving. No matter how well-crafted and agonised-over your list of must-see acts is, there's always at least one heartbreaking clash on the horizon at any festival worth its salt. So here's your HP correspondent, tearing himself away from Savages and tearing towards the Electric Arena to see the always top-notch Walkmen. As the New Yorkers launch into the nimble, effervescent 'Woe Is Me', I can settle into the set and enjoy, but with towering frontman Hamilton Leithauser leading most of the mid-tempo songs with an acoustic guitar and offering shout-outs to the young kids in the crowd, it's quite the tempo and mood change from the new Coolest Band In The World Right Now™.
The two-thirds of Savages I've left behind have been, quite frankly, astonishing. Debut LP Silence Yourself is a brilliant album-as-manifesto piece of art, and live their post-punk dispatches take on new power. Clad as ever in black, the four ladies have a real 'last gang in town' feel about them and in frontwoman Jehnny Beth they have an intensely charismatic focal point. For a relatively new band, they're as close to the finished article as you could hope for. Leader-of-sorts Gemma Thompson is ice-cold as she casually tosses Sonic Youth-style squalls and showers from her guitar, Fay Milton is formidable on the skins and, eyes closed in deep concentration, Ayse Hassan somehow steals the brilliant show, coming up with line after hypnotic line of deft, jungle-rumble bass.
It's a testament to their brilliance on the evening that The Walkmen don't ignite, for this scribe, in the way they usually do. One of the most underrated acts around, they are part of that rare club of musicians whose creativity and talent is still traveling along that upward trajectory after over a decade in the game. New album Heaven is a peach and the title track, an anthem to family, contentment and commitment, a fine closer, but they don't thrill in the way the bracing Savages just have.
That London quartet are the Cosby Tent – and weekend – highlight, but there's plenty of other contenders. Cali garage-rock duo Deap Vally bring the riffs and spangly outfits, coming over like Janis Joplin fronting Black Sabbath. Are the songs a bit lightweight? Perhaps, but they work extremely well on a carefree festival afternoon.
Later, Peace prove themselves to be prime baggy revivalists. With lead singer Harrison Koisser dressed up and shimmying about like a young Bobby Gillespie, brother Samuel Kossier plucking bass lines incredibly indebted to Mani and guitarist Douglas Castle rocking a loose paisley shirt, they do occasionally make you yearn for bands of yesteryear rather than this 2013 version. The nostalgia pays off in spades, however, on their sprawling cover of Binary Finary trance classic '1998', where their admirable grasp of sonic dynamics builds to something almost transcendent.
Same place, different time, Palma Violets are a shambolic joy. 'Best Of Friends' is a big, bellowing triumph that is clearly more clever than it sounds. 'Chicken Dippers' is a highlight. Pete Mayhew's constant organ swirl is a nice signature of the band, but co-frontmen Samuel Fryer (the laid-back, crooning one) and Chilli Jesson (the shouty, contagiously excitable one) are the big draw. A finale that includes a smash-and-grab version of the Hot Nasties' gonzo 'Invasion Of The Tribbles' finds Chilli and Pete dancing about sans-instruments on stage before Chilli ends up crowd-surfing, then watching his own band with glee from the audience and it all ends in feedback. Carefree and unfussy Gun Club-inspired rock and roll.
Over at the main stage, Robert Plant proves to be a bit of a tease. Playing with his Sensational Shapeshifters – a flexible group that can switch between eastern grooves and heavy rock at the drop of a hat – he does offer up some Led Zeppelin classics but also leaves the crowd wanting more. "I've got a feeling," the golden god smirks at one point, "Way down inside…Nah. Too easy." So he doesn't particularly want to give us every inch of his love, but he's still pleasingly affectionate. And that iconic voice? Still in fine fettle.
The utterly unique Björk follows, bringing along a choir/performance art posse. Needless to say, her choice of headwear is as odd as ever, but when the the elegant eruption of emotion that is 'Jóga' arrives, she takes your breath away.
Similar could be said about John Grant, who has garnered plenty of acclaim for new album Pale Green Ghosts this year. He captivates on the keys, songs of heartbreak such as 'Where Dreams Go To Die' flooring a rapt Rankin Woods Stage audience. Sending it over the edge is the arrival of one Sinead O'Connor for a duet or three. Looking terrific, sounding, as ever, like an angel, she gets one of the most remarkable receptions of the weekend. A magical moment.
As we drift past midnight, Factory Floor put on an unrelenting, industrial-dance show at the Little Big Tent. The night there is closed out by producer-of-the-moment Hudson Mohawke. His DJ set lurches from dubstep to hip hop, with the imperious 'Bugg'n' and invigorating 'Higher Ground' – both from his TNGHT catalogue – being the perfect accompaniments to some Saturday night revelry.

Image credit: Sean Conroy