The following takes place between 2pm and 11pm.
There’s a strong breeze blowing as your correspondent makes his way down towards the main stage at the beginning of Oxegen, day two, and the sky, as Willy Gibson put it in Neuromancer, is the colour of a TV set tuned to a dead channel. Flags flap in the wind and litter is whipped around violently among those punters chilling out on the grass in the area just behind the sound-desk. Up on the main stage, Maximo Park are perfect entertainment for this point in the afternoon. Their spiky brand of back-to-the-future, angular art-rock gets feet tapping even among the tired and the hungover, while up front, the energetic mosh-pit contingent, dancing away enthusiastically to ‘Apply Some Pressure’ and ‘Going Missing’, prove that there’s only one suitable answer to the gloomy weather – you’ve got to party hearty Marty.
Wandering by the New Band tent, I’m made curious by the hypnotic dance beat emanating from within. Inside, Cut Copy are delivering an absolutely brilliant set of pulsating dance-rock. Equal parts My Bloody Valentine, Prince, Depeche Mode and Clor, the Australian three-piece are perhaps the most exciting band in their genre this side of LCD Soundsystem and The Rapture, and rank as my discovery of the festival.
Back on the main stage, Manu Chao is getting the crowd grooving with his bewitching mix of ska and reggae, lending a real party vibe to proceedings. One particular gentleman in the crowd is wearing a stetson and poncho, which I immediately decide shall be my own festival attire of choice in future (and, what the hell, maybe for day-to-day casual wear also). However, it’s Chao for now, as I take my leave and head towards the Pet Sounds tent, where the Divine Comedy give a masterclass in catchy, clever pop that once again reminds us just why they are one of the finest bands to have emerged from Ireland over the past 10 or 15 years.
Neil Hannon, looking every inch the super-cool Scott Walker torch singer in suit and shades, delivers a crowd-pleasing mix of excellent newer material, such as ‘Diva Lady’, and classics like ‘National Express’, ‘Becoming More Like Alfie’, and the song that first turned me into a DC fan as a mere 15-year-old lad, ‘Something For The Weekend’. My new favourite person at the festival is the chap to my left in a very sharp grey suit (with sunglasses dangling from breast pocket) and wellingtons, who dances like nobody’s business throughout the set. Now that’s style.
Back in the dance arena, Erol Alkan is performing a blistering set of pounding electro. I’m standing, drink in hand, grooving away blissfully, when a fair-haired gentleman with sharp features settles in beside me. He’s accompanied by a moustachioed fellow wearing a cardy and open-necked t-shirt. Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen – I’m standing beside Alex Kapranos and Paul Thompson. Pretty soon they’re surrounded by fans. After patiently shaking hands, signing autographs and posing for photos, they eventually drift off outside to do some to-camera stuff for MTV. Ah, the rock star life. It’s a tough job but somebody’s got to do it.
After a wonderful set by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah in the Pet Sounds tent (a euphoric affair in the manner of Arcade Fire, with the hobo blues of ‘Gimme Some Salt’ being a personal highlight) and 15 minutes or so of the World Cup final on the big screens, it’s time for Franz themselves on the main stage. Showing precious little evidence of being shaken by our encounter earlier, Alex and the boys rattle off rapturously received renditions of ‘Do You Want To?’, ‘Take Me Out’, ‘Matinee’ and ‘This Fire’, and all in glorious sunshine to boot.
After some sun-kissed Californication from the Red Hot Chili Peppers brings an end to the evening, it’s time for home. Overall, a hugely enjoyable day and, unlike Jack Bauer, we at least didn’t end our latest adventure beaten to a pulp and incarcerated on a trawler bound for China.
We’ll leave that for Electric Picnic.