Watching Nas perform NY State Of Mind. One of the greatest hip-hop tracks of all time, it still sounds as urgent and dark as ever. Nas is one of the best bookings at the festival.
The last time I saw Skepta, he was with JME storming the Reykjavik Modern Art Museum. But the man's never been in Stradbally when it's Shutdown. Besides the obvious LCD hits, if you're looking for a festival moment in a tune that gets everyone going, this could well be it. Trusss me daddi.
Daithí's success can generally be measured at the Picnic, with the crowds swelling year on year. Every gig he plays seems to be his best one yet. You can bet 2016's performance will continue to add fans.
Young Dublin rapper and producer Kojaque is performing on the Body & Soul Bandstand this year. This kid is pure fire, with sophisticated beats, and a great flow.
Being hit by the barrage of nihilistic guitar sounds of Savages in a live setting is a brutal joy. It's immersive and disconcerting, powerful and brilliant. Let's hope the PA is turned up and the strobes are set to destroy.
Seeing all my friends. It's remarkable how in Stradbally you bump into people you don't see all year long. Just where the hell have they been? Surely they haven't spent the entire year in that field? There's probably a song in that.
Catching the Waterford Whispers News interview with Denis O'Brien (we wish). The satirical-news site will be at Mindfield, but we think they've missed a trick by not organising some live interviews with some of their most beloved subjects. Then again, it's probably easier to hide behind your laptop.
That crab linguini from Rathmullan House. This dish is lip-smackingly good.
Watching the hurling on the telly in some tent or other. Real culture, lads, and some proper mesmeric storytelling live from Croke Park.
Sligo synth-led sweethearts Slowplacelikehome have for years now been among the nation's best proponents of hazy, thoughtful and cosmically stirring electronica. Now with full band in tow, Keith Mannion's brain child deserves to be caught by anyone with ears and a beating heart.
Dylan Moran. Few other comics can balance long-form ruminations on humanity's desire for death alongside, say, the observation that all Irish babies look like they've had a decent stab at a rugby career.
Few things gladden the heart more than watching An Garda Siochana wading through EP, gathering sparkly additions and flourescents to their uniforms along the way. Keep an eye out for the younger gardaí subtly pumping their fists as they shuffle past the dance tent as slowly as they can, and their more circumspect older colleagues weakly smiling through their 400th selfie of the day. Public service at its finest.
Lana Del Ray is the sexy girl in the year above you in school who gets picked up by a guy on a motorbike and can roll a perfect cigarette. But when she sings her disenchanted Disney- queen opiate-induced pop she makes you feel part of the gang. Get front and centre for Video Games.
Utterly and unashamedly cheesy, no trip to Electric Picnic is complete without a jaunt (after a 20-minute queue) into the pop bubble that is the Silent Disco. Put on your headphones and throw some shapes to songs you'd barf at if they came on the radio, then walk out and pretend it never happened.
Hearing Losing my Edge by LCD Soundsystem. The sad fuzzy tale of an aging hipster who believed himself to be cool once ("I was the first guy playing Daft Punk to the rock kids, they all thought I was crazy") but now doesn't have a clue what's going on ("I'm losing my edge to the kids from France and London"). It's pretty descriptive of how I feel when I'm at EP and also, everywhere all the time.
A pie from Pie Minister. I largely subsist on a pie-based diet at Electric Picnic because every food should come in crusted pastry according to the Book of Leviticus (probably). That said, I feel the company should expand their service so that I might be able to get other things that I've found around the campsite pied (to "pie" is a verb, meaning to encase things in a tasty crust). Some cold meats. A banana. The Ticket Editor's phone. You know yourself.
The Old Man from Over the Sea by Lynched. What better soundtrack for a balmy festival and celebration of youth culture than Radie Peat from Lynched singing this melancholy air about a snivelling slavering old man matched for marriage with a sad young girl?
Meeting the guy I met last year who was regretting the fact he was in blackface. He was dressed, he told me, as "a disco man". He also had a glittery jump suit and an afro wig. "People don't like it," he said, racistly. "They say it's 'offensive'." "It is offensive," said a passing festivalier, accurately. He was like a challenging art installation about cultural insensitivity and regret. I can't wait to see what costume choice he's regretting this year.
Petting doggies. Cathy Davey curates the My Lovely Ranch stage at the Trailer Park where you can watch various acts perform on hay bales while petting rescue dogs and donkeys. It's where I go when I feel emotionally or physically fragile for the reasons outlined in LCD Sound System's Losing My Edge.
At some point, I'm going to have worked hard enough to deserve a Burger à la Mode, which is a classic burger made from the latest flesh fad (Ostrich/ Venison/Dodo) topped off with one or more scoops of vanilla ice-cream. Some self-assembly is required, but, trust me, almost half the time it's nearly worth it.
Earlier in the summer Nao released her debut album For All We Know, a sinuous collection of cybernetically enhanced R&B packed with charm. It has a deliciously funky tune called We Don't Give A… about an armouring bliss within an interracial relationship. I'd like to find other people who know the words. LOUISE BRUTON Familiarise yourself with Talos' O Sanctum EP before you head to Stradbally and get ready for every emotion to rise and bubble over during the Cork man's set. It's gonna be emotional.
Helping a festival virgin. They've lost their friends, their minds and their phone and all you can do is tuck them under your well-weathered wing.
At 2.15am Saturday night, Attention Bébé will be just the tonic.
Crying about your wasted indie youth for the duration of Broken Social Scene's set.