electric picnic: friday, september 2

It’s bright and breezy in Stradbally today, so I’m determined to squeeze in as much choonage as possible while the grass is still long and the godawful ‘Rolling In The Deep’ remixes are still tucked away in their CD cases.
It’s only been 13 hours since Northy art rockers Eaten By Bears found out that they were going to be opening this year’s Electric Picnic, and although it’s only been 14 hours since last I saw the Pick For The Picnic winners perform, there’s plenty of reasons to be impressed the second time around. The 30-minute set encompasses cleverly manipulated electric violin, hefty grindcore vocals, demonic percussion and just a touch of yodelling, but the hook-happy four-piece are tight enough to make it work. Funeral Suits take their throwback electro-pop in a dreamy new direction over in the Electric Arena, while an unfamiliar bluesy voice is luring a sizeable crowd to the Cosby Stage. The sound belongs to Hozier, AKA Wicklow singer-songwriter Andrew Hozier-Byrne. While his funk-tinged pop would struggle to hog the limelight after nightfall, at four bells in the afternoon, it’s just what a disoriented Friday crowd wants to hear.

Meanwhile, a truly unforgettable voice is pouring out from the direction of the Main Stage. Armed with just a guitar and his smoky basement growl, a scruffy Willy Mason is in superb voice. “It’s a little lonely up here,” he whines, before adding “But who needs a band when I got you all here?” As it happen he’s right; this soulful troubadour doesn’t need any help, and by the time he gets to ‘Oxygen’, the delicate but hard-hitting folk lullaby that made him famous, heckles of “show us your Willy!” have finally died down. French production whiz Onra makes for a huge change of pace over at the Little Big Tent, where his cutting edge hip-hop beats and distinctly old school flow are getting everyone in the mood to trip. It’s certainly an odd scheduling move by the organisers (the sampling mastermind is more accustomed to closing festivals), but when the groove is this delectable, no-one, including the beatmaker himself, seems to mind.

A solemn stripped-back live show is the last thing Sinéad O’Connor is making headlines for these days, but for all the bizarre tweets and pottymouthed personal ads of late, there’s nothing untoward about her EP Main Stage debut. Physical differences aside (she looks prim in a black trouser suit and white scarf), she’s hardly changed from her ‘90s guise, her vocal style and intense stage presence at least are just as arresting as always. Aside from new track ‘What Is A Real VIP?’, which sees Sinéad spookily chanting out lines like “Now we’re gorged upon what devils feed/In the shallow form of MTV”, it’s remarkable how simple and lovely the set is. An acapella rendition of ‘Stretched On Your Grave’, dedicated to the late Amy Winehouse is suitably haunting, and even if O’Connor is the last person you could imagine serenading a brown-eyed boy in a pink dress, as lyrics from her new album Home illustrate, the whole show feels fluid, rather than forced. ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’ sounds as sincere and beautiful as ever, and Sinéad seems genuinely thrilled to sing it, cracking, “That is a great motherfucker of a song, isn’t it?”

New York new wavers Twin Shadow are blessed with the first truly heaving crowd of the festival, and deservedly so. Brandishing his collection of perfectly-crafted nostalgic pop-rock, George Lewis Jr. delivers his lines with more pomp and ceremony than the best glam rockers in the business. Later, over at the Electric Arena, The Rapture are coming off as the ultimate festival band – their mindless pop tunes and ruthless rock rhythms are enough to empty work-weary minds of all their woes. As the show progresses, the saxophone gets a stretch, the monochrome visuals are cranked up a notch and a palpable boost in energy takes things from mild frolic to full-on hootenanny.

All-girl four-piece Warpaint keep things sweet on the Crawdaddy Stage with an hour-long set of lo-fi swoon rock, but for all the hair-tossing and spot-on harmonies, their show is far from the most memorable of the night. The inimitable PJ Harvey on the other hand is cutting a magnificent shape. Clad in a feather head-dress and strumming her trusty autoharp, she’s perched herself what seems like miles away from her band of musicians, effortlessly setting the mood for her sensitive spook rock. Rumbles of war ripple out through the crowd as her stunning eighth LP Let England Shake gets its first Irish live airing. It was never going to be easy to transport the Stradbally massive to the booming trenches of wartime England (on Sunday night at least the site will resemble a battlefield more closely), but our staunch raveness plays the part so brilliantly the new material easily trumps tracks from her previous records.

Elsewhere, Santigold delivers on spectacle, but not on tunes, even if cheerleaders, costume changes and stage invasions do make for a colourful hour. Never mind, though, because ethereal production duo Solar Bears are absolutely killing it over in the Body And Soul village. Those seeking sanctuary from the doom-laden Interpol show have taken themselves over to the Electric Arena, where DJ Shadow is putting on a phenomenal visual show. Only a handful of punters are close enough to appreciate the Californian’s mixing skills, but a giant orb that switches from planet earth to a Tron-esque bubble at the drop of a beat is something that everyone can enjoy.
While the first day of EP brought a handful of individual triumphs, it lacked a single knock-out up-tempo performance. Terrifying as it sounds, it may be up to Flava Flav to bring the noise.