Traffic congestion and a lengthy trudge to the Abbeyleix entrance meant the sun was already setting by the time I finally arrived in Stradbally. One desperate tent set-up later (with thanks to the invaluable assistance of helpful neighbours) I managed to make it to the main stage with five minutes to spare before Friday’s main event: shoegaze royalty My Bloody Valentine.
Kevin Shields and co. are known for their blisteringly distorted walls of sound, and the volume here was indeed on another level entirely. A misjudged sound mix regrettably all but drowned out the vocals of Shields and Bilinda Butcher, but the fuzzy, inspired soundscapes still offered hypnotic rhythms for those willing to navigate their way through the noise. A failed experiment or two aside - Wonder 2 fell flat - MBV still provided a captivating lesson in the capabilities of the humble guitar (when backed by dozens of pedals and amplifiers).
Fatboy Slim took the stage next. The half hour I caught was relatively light on the iconic hits casual listeners such as myself might associate with Norman Cook (an opening Right Here, Right Now and scattered Funk Soul Brother samples aside). A gifted, enthusiastic stage presence, no doubt, but the remix heavy set was not to this writer’s personal tastes. Eat, Sleep, Rave, Repeat, though, completely won over the crowd, and became one of the most frequently cited mantras of the festival.
Homegrown talent
Rounding out a lightly scheduled Friday night was RSAG (Rarely Seen Above Ground) - the insanely talented Kilkennian Jeremy Hickey pounding his drumset to a varied bunch of backing tracks. A reliably fantastic and unique performance from one of Ireland’s most distinctive performers.
Irish talent was well-represented throughout the weekend. Daithí’s pounding beats complemented his electronic fiddle playing with surprising force - keep an eye on this youngster, barely into his twenties. Little Green Cars had a sluggish start, but with instantly anthemic numbers like Harper Lee and The John Wayne they brought the Electric Arena to life on Saturday evening. Further international attention surely calls if they can create more songs and performances to this standard.
Given their heavy reliance on rock ‘n’ roll history, you’d be mistaken for thinking The Strypes arrived from decades past, with only the tight hipster jeans - seemingly mandatory for all bands with ‘the’ in their name - betraying their modernity. Musically, once you’ve heard one of their songs you’ve kind of heard them all. But credit where credit is due: they drew one of the biggest, most enthusiastic crowds of the festival, and they have a stage presence well beyond what you’d expect from band members still in their teens.
Tiranniesaur were cursed with a Sunday afternoon slot, that meant that a largely hungover crowd mostly remained seated around the comfortable hill of the Body & Soul stage. But Annie Tierney’s extraordinarily effective pop-rock spoke for itself, and by the midway point of the set an enthusiastic minority were rightly dancing their hearts out near the front of the stage. With insanely catchy songs like Sketch alongside songs from their newly released second album DIYSCO, resistance was futile.
Old guard
Nostalgia is one of the festival circuit’s most prevalent forces these days, and Electric Picnic had no shortage of musical legends gracing their stages. I regrettably only caught a song or two from Robert Plant, but the man still has still got that indefinable ‘it’. His capable backing band The Sensational Shapeshifters supported his rather sprightly performance, and the familiar riffs of Whole Lotta Love and other Led Zeppelin standards set spines-tingling around the arena.
Johnny Marr also achieved a beautiful harmony between familiar classics and new material. Still, as strong as some of the fresher stuff was, most of the crowd was undoubtedly there not for a solo artist, but the once-upon-a-time The Smiths guitarist. And, as odd as it is to hear Bigmouth Strikes Again without Morrisey’s distinctive vocals, Marr’s guitar and substitute vocals delivered during a selection of their greatest hits. The rapturous reception was well-deserved.
Billy Bragg impressed with his articulate observations during Newstalk's Futureproof's live show in the Science Gallery Tent (to be broadcast this Saturday - it's well worth a listen). On stage, he was equally charismatic, with lengthy and passionate liberal commentary being offered between all his catchy songs. Being so polemic can be a dangerously obnoxious game in music, but Bragg manages to pull it off with relative grace.
Girl power
What to say about Bjork, wearing what looked like the unholy abomination that would occur if a blue automobile, Jessica Rabbit and Christmas tree were sent through some sort of malfunctioning matter transportation device? It was a predictably dream-like and unique experience, that improbably odd Icelandic voice having lost none of its ability to bewitch. A dozen-strong choir and surreal video accompaniment made this a performance to watch, even if Bjork’s militant eccentrism failed to convince you.
If there was more forceful, devastating bass-playing at Electric Picnic than Ayse Hassan’s work with Savages, I probably just missed it. Still, Hassan’s pounding bass was the electrifying centerpiece of their excellent performance (not to belittle Jehnny Beth’s endearingly twitchy efforts on lead vocals). The music itself was unstable, dark and demanding, its effect only amplifying as the performance went on. Post-punk heaven.
Warpaint, alas, endured the most severe technical issues I witnessed at the festival. Their set was cut short by fifteen minutes before they even took to stage, and a technician was darting back and forth throughout, semi-futilely trying to solve issues with microphones, amplifiers and monitors. It was a tad distracting, but kudos to the band for playing their darndest in less than ideal circumstances. The music was solid (mostly new material, although they did get through Undertow), but I couldn’t shake the feeling the quartet were only getting going when they had to prematurely leave the stage.
Best ‘til last?
David Byrne and St Vincent’s set on Sunday was so charming, so energetic, so captivating, so musically accomplished that there’s no risk of hyperbole calling it the highlight of the festival. Actually, it’s one of the best performances I’ve ever had the absolute pleasure to experience. Backed by a sizeable brass band, the duo - playing off each other like they've been collaborators for decades - offered hits from both their separate careers and their collaborative album from last year.
Byrne and Clark both looked like they were having an absolute blast. Songs like Who absolutely overflowed with life on stage, assisted by constantly inventive (and even witty) lighting and choreography. The crowd couldn’t get enough, with a mass euphoria flowing around the tent.
It was the Talking Heads material that sealed the deal though - including Burning Down the House and an encore of Road to Nowhere. It was This Must Be The Place - which I have frequently and completely unironically called ‘the perfect song’ (I’m confident this could be mathematically and scientifically proven) - that provided Electric Picnic’s most memorable four-minutes. Arctic Monkeys and The Knife were still to come, but Electric Picnic 2013 had been definitively owned by a naive melody.
