A Complete Explanation Of Everything

Slightly belated but what better way to kick off the new blog than with a review of The Electric Picnic experience and a weekend spent under canvas (rarely) in Stradbally, Co. Laois.

The ticket had been purchased well in advance and upon my return from parts known and despite the price, €175, I can truly say I was moist with anticipation. The Picnic is heralded as the hispter answer to the Irish festival experience. Oxegen is for example, definitely a once in a lifetime experience. Go once and you'll never want to go back. The mainstream acts tend to bring the GAA jersey & buckfast packing brigade out in force and tho' some are good natured, there is a certain predilection amongst this group for the getting totally out of it within five minutes, hurdle the tent, set fire to the tent and generally annoy the crap out of everybody else.

Therefore, probably because The Picnic is disassociated with this type of clientele, there is a certain distasteful inverse snobbery to the whole thing. The fears that the regulars had, seeing as the attendance was increased by 10-15000 thousand this year on the usual 25000 were set in the context of the newcomers not being as chilled as the old hands and that there would be "trouble".

These fears were far from realised in the final event and though certainly there were more people than ever before, the general atmosphere was certainly chilled and far more relaxed than at Oxegen.

I left the airport at lunchtime on the Friday, having dispatched the tent to Stradbally earlier in the day in the company of some of Rob's mates. The decision to drive was a tough one but given the fact that my annual leave is non-existent and the extreme likelihood of a no show on Monday at work should I stay the Sunday night meant I was burning gravel at about 1:30pm.

Two hours or so of stationary traffic later in the slip lane off the motor way on the way into Stradbally, I exited the car.

Outstanding in my own field.

Other festival types were quickly making their preparations for war, an operation that probably rivalled a D-Day landing in it's efficiency. Tents, trays of beers, wellington boots, extra socks, all these essentials were ferreted from the depths of thousands of automobiles. I surveyed the scene for a moment and then joined the rabble in the panic.

Having gotten through security and located the campsite where the lads had staked their claim, I approached with supplies in one hand, the mobile in the other and trepidation everywhere else.

Jay was supposed to have put up the tent.

It was clear that the tent had been erected by someone who had no material interest in it's structural integrity or the material well being of those prisoners who would rely upon it for shelter. In view of the inclement weather in prospect, there had been no rain as of yet but it was certainly promised, I immediately set about righting the structure and inserting the sturdier pegs that I had specifically purchased for just such an emergency. Ably abetted by two cans of beer, Rob and Brian and in just 40 mins, we had righted the tent and all was well with the world. It was time for the mad dash across the fields to catch the first worthwhile band of the weekend, those mighty Belgian art rockers, dEUS.

On returning to the campsite later, we would discover that our tent efforts had been for naught. Some uncomprising peg stealers that arrived during Friday night left our structural integrity well below what was recommended and at times during the weekend, the stability of the tent would be dependent solely upon the comatose bodies resting within it.

Back to the art rock. dEUS at 6:30pm on a Friday evening with a beer in one hand and a full weekend of shenanigans in prospect, well. I was a happy person. Following a suitably electric performance, with an excellent version of my dEUS favourite - "Put the Freaks Upfront" from The Ideal Crash, we adjourned to the merchandise stalls to hunt good friends.

Jane, Christian's significant other had her new label partnership, Fable, up and running and a concession at the festival itself. The tent boutique provided a useful meeting point for the next three days and we managed to rendezvous frequently and annoy the hell out of Jane doubtless. Still though, she managed to get The Rapture one of her t-shirts on the Sunday so that should have been more than enough recompense!

Ear-splittery was on hand next from instrumental (mostly) noise rockers Mogwai. We followed this up with a quick jaunt to the Crawdaddy tent and PJ Harvey who was in suitably bewitching form. I have vague recollections of Massive Attack on the main stage but unfortunately the excitement and exertions of the day and the heroic consumption of alcohol had by now taken it's inevitable toll.

I repaired to the tent at some point and swiftly lost consciousness whilst the more energetic and severely drugged amongst the picnic faithful disappeared to the dance arenas and into other people's tents to do unspeakable things.

There was a still whole world to explore tomorrow.