It’s Day One here in Stradbally, and the Electric Picnic festival is fully charged. Festival goers are gammy with sweat at 5pm thanks to the combined burden of the Irish summer’s muggiest day yet (thanks be to God it’s not raining, at least) and the weight of rucksacks laden with the weekend’s essentials. But while the underarms of t-shirts are already in a state of decay, the faces are fresh, the livers are primed, the eyes are wide and the ears are tingling at the prospect of three days of multi-sensorial bliss in the unusually hedonistic Laois countryside. It’s been 12 long months dear Picnic, and oh, how we’ve missed you.
Having made our way through the torrents of traffic pouring into the village, found a parking spot and patiently overcome the queuing crowds (with a significantly smaller tailback than last year), we tread the now familiar path into the main arena. A wander around the site reveals the lengths to which organisers have gone this year to bring the festival to the next level. Original art is everywhere, from the giant boards denoting the campsites (a Warholian Warhol portrait, a hazy, purple Hendrix…) to the Temple Of Truth (a giant willow Eiffel Tower-like construction), and all points in between. The attention to detail is astonishing, I think to myself, as I notice an array of hologram wind catchers hanging delicately 30 feet up a tree, and wonder who put them there, and how.
While the line-up may not be as strong as it has in previous years, the fact that the schedule isn’t crammed with must-sees means we have more capacity to take in everything else on offer. And, while we’d never wish it, at times it does feel like all the bands could fuck right off and we’d still have a rockin’ time. Though we’re sure it’ll never come to that, especially with the likes of Jape, Goldfrapp and Sigur Ros around to keep us entertained.
Tonight’s musical excursion begins on the Cosby Stage with Cork near-deities, Fred, whose slot has the tent all a-quiver under the spell of their artful pop nous. By mid-set, it’s easily three quarters full with a devoted crowd who sing the words to every song and offer up wild applause. It’s a triumph for the five-piece, with ‘Skyscrapers’ and ‘Running’ proving the highlights, the only downside being a slightly murky sound mix that loses the sharpness of some of the lyrics in its quagmire.
Over at the Crawdaddy stage meanwhile, is Wexford singer-songwriter-with-a-difference, Wallis Bird. The difference being that this girl has no audible connection to the now maggot-ridden Irish singer-songwriter scene of five years ago: she hollers and squeals like she’s been doing it since she came out of the womb, plays with a gusto and abandon that holds the stage effortlessly, and her catchy pop songs are riddled with personality. Punters skip into the tent with arms in the air and Ms Bird looks like she’s about to take flight. She’s got an Irish tour coming up in October, go check her out. Next up are The Raconteurs endorsed Jape. The ear-to-ear grin of frontman Richie Egan is audible, as he jumps around summoning all manner of funky, infectious electronic grooves from his instruments. ‘Floating’ sounds fantastic, and closer ‘Phil Lynott’ rings out with a mass singalong. It’s yet another triumphant performance from an Irish artist at the Picnic, and a hat-trick for our review. Result.
We head off to the Main Stage to catch a set by a band of genuine Touareg rebels – or the Malian Clash, as some are calling them – Tinariwen. Decked out in traditional garb and featuring a mixture of bongo drums and electric guitars in their enticing, groovesome sound, it’s easy to see why they’ve been making such waves both at home and abroad, but it’s their message that’s the crucial factor. While we can’t understand a word they’re saying (it’s all sung in their native language), the passion of the delivery is impossible to ignore.
One to find out more about when we get home, we think, as we head over to Joan As Policewoman in the Little Big Tent, whose gorgeous dusky dulcet tones reverberate like aural velvet on personal favourite, ‘The Ride’. “Starting now the wait is over…” she sings, and we fall hopelessly in love in with every note. The same can’t be said for Carbon/Silicon though, who are on after her: despite stellar punk credentials (The Clash’s Mick Jones and Generation X’s Tony James are the mainmen) all they manage to inspire in this reviewer is a barrage of yawns.
Sigur Ros on the main stage, meanwhile, bring nothing of the sort. Jonsi Birgisson’s searing falsetto cuts through the night air like a hot knife in a stellar, magical performance awash with colour that brings the first night of the festival to a majestic close. The good vibes last till the wee small hours, and when the sun comes up, we’re ready for Day Two…

Goldfrapp
Main Stage
You can always rely on Alison Goldfrapp to dig something remarkable out of the closet, and tonight’s no exception with the 42-year-old taking to the stage in a harlequin-patterned smock that ranks alongside Josh Ritter’s Wyatt Earp number and Grace Jones’ Gandalf-meets-Scarecrow from the Wizard Of Oz ensemble as the weekend’s sartorial highlight.
Musically, she’s spot on too with a lush ‘Utopia’ and starkly beautiful ‘A&E’ making you realise just how much of a car crash Amy Winehouse was last month at Oxegen. If only female singers made tabloid headlines for the right reasons…
There’s a limit to the amount of gentle shuffling a Friday night festival crowd can do, and sure enough with half-an-hour to go the synths and Ms. Goldfrapp’s disco vixen tendancies kick in.
By the time she’s vamped her way through ‘Ride My Wild Horses’, ‘Number One’ and ‘Strict Machine’ no one’s in any doubt that they’ve been privy to a Picnic classic.