Festivals, that is. And Oxegen was the first of the pair that will eventually include it and Electric Picnic, for 2008 and – according to my parents – the rest of my life (apparently, I’m now “too old” for festivals and should be at home reading Penguin classics instead, not that the idea doesn’t appeal to me a tiny bit).

The temptation, at festivals, is always there to sit around in one’s tent drinking tinnies and watching the sun evade your every glance. This year, determination and sheer strength of will resisted this, and more bands were enjoyed than possibly ever before – which could have a lot to do with the sheer strength of the line-up. While on the subject of the line-up, it was not without its minor problems. MGMT in the pet sounds tent while Kate Nash hogs the O2 stage? Something is amiss with the organisers’ band rankings.

Friday started late, being, as it was, the preserve of the three-day ticket-holders, and we started later than it, with the impressive Battles in pet sounds. It has been said by some that they are much, much better in a smaller venue – say, Vicar St, where they played earlier this year, but they impressed the uninitiated with a stomping set and a very into-it crowd. Next – given a severe disinterest in either Tricky, Aslan or Paddy Casey (who was seen later on in the weekend queuing with the mortals for the shockingly-clean-all-weekend Portaloos) – was a trip to the food area, including a delicious chicken teriyaki from Aya and an unimpressive stale beer, courtesy of Heineken.

The Bacardi bar, as a non-music aside, was a valuable addition to this year’s setup, with cocktails (at €8, yes, yes, festivals are expensive) and a do-it-yourself Bacardi and mixer of your choice for €6, as well as nightclub lights and an excellent dj spinning the hits to go with the general mood. An excellent breather from what could, at times, have seemed like headwrecking indie-rock music.

Ben Folds astonished: an amazing musician, albeit not the most fashionable lad in the house (hats? why?). A great cover of Such Great Heights and a truly enthusiastic performance at a chronically underpacked O2 stage, which seems, really, to have been a recurring theme of the weekend. There’s a general roundup of opinion at Jim Carroll’s blog post on Oxegen.

Skipping the Go! Team was possibly the worst Oxegen decision ever made; having heard tell of Interpol’s greatness, it was decided – and pushed upon several others – to go to see them, thus ensuring proximity to the Followill brothers when they came out next. Big mistake. Big. Huge. Interpol were the snoozefest to end all snoozefests. I am assured by those who are dedicated fans that they were “magical”, but the consensus of everyone I spoke to who isn’t was that they were boring. Not a good sign for a band second to top billing on the main stage Friday night. And boredom + crowd = bad news. The crowd got rowdy, we moved back, grumpiness was all that was felt through Kings of Leon’s decent (but not spectacular) set.

For photographs, given that (a) mine are rubbish and (b) not uploaded yet, check out Lili Forberg’s selection.

Saturday, which had been promised as a sunny day, dawned bright but overcast, with the occasional, vicious shower. The Music played a good set in the green room, although the crowd wasn’t truly appreciated by sitting on the ground at the bag, sipping warm wine out of a Ballygowan bottle. Oxegen is all class, all class. Newton Faulkner was next; some were blown away, I appreciated his talents but not necessarily his performance, if sense can be made of that. He was skipped and replaced by the Ting Tings.

A prequel to my trip to the green room tent for the Ting Tings would go something like this: once upon a time, there was a band that emerged from the black abyss of nothingness, and was hailed as the “next big thing”. Our heroine was irked by this. Firstly, she had never heard of them: how could they be the next big thing? Creating an album in one’s garage does not everlasting fame assure. Secondly, their rise to the top reeked of the great PR machine and (more on this in a later post), PR killed the radio star. But….

Despite reservations, and the fact that the (massive, enormous, huge) crowd was there for that song, the Ting Tings killed it. A backing track didn’t at all dilute the fact that this band are going to be massive – they came, they gave, they conquered, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the place [sweat, you see].

Next, the Counting Crows provided an irritating backing track to a half-hour of sitting on our rain ponchos, enjoying the lack of … well, rain, before Amy Winehouse – for whom we battled our way to the front, amid choruses of “I want her to punch me in the face!” We all saw the Glastonbury coverage, Amy. There is a lot that could be said about Mrs Amy Winehouse (as she was presented). But her life is not for my delectation, nor for yours, and media coverage that discusses her performance at Oxegen while speculating that she was on cocaine, or drunk, or out of her head, is unfair and, frankly, none of anybody’s business. If the world ran smoothly Amy Winehouse’s personal preferences would be unknown to us, and we would – shock, horror – be forced to judge her solely on the merits of her performance.

From where I was standing, she put on a good one. There is  no denying her unmistakeable talent, or the power of her voice (emphysema or no). But there was an odd, disconcerting lack of connection with the crowd. Sure, she blew kisses – but to whom? Her eyes didn’t connect, and she seemed uncomfortable, almost as if she was going through the motions. Forgetting the lyrics isn’t as huge a problem nor as unusual a one as others are making out, but it did cause a general sigh of disappointment: oh, here it comes, here she goes. To engage for a moment with the tabloid gossip though, she did look great – not a protruding bone in sight.

Stereophonics were next, and, from where we were standing – nearby but not listening – they sounded fairly mediocre. Then came REM, who put on a stomping good show, for the five songs I did see. But they couldn’t keep me away from Hot Chip, who were amazing. They played the pet sounds tent which was momentarily converted into the dance stage – for which I was, granted ,not in the mood, but Over and Over was a definite highlight of the entire weekend.

Sunday…. and what a sun day. The sun shone, the heat was heavy – my scalp and forehead bear the marks of the vengeful Apollo. Not abandoning the tent on time, Lightspeed Champion were missed, as were Delorentos, but the Blizzards were caught, while lounging in the sun. The boys from Mullingar have now – correct me if I’m wrong – played Oxegen four times, relying on the same material from one album. Lazy, no? Apologies to those whose patriotism this may offend, but being an Irish band does not entitle you to play on the main stage; the Blizzards are neither big enough nor, in my opinion, accomplished enough to warrant this compliment. Get ‘em off, I say – back to the O2 stage where they belong. The main stage was practically empty for their set, which is not good news. And while the weather can be blamed for people’s relaxed and somewhat lacklustre approach, hail, rain or shine won’t deter an enthusiastic festival crowd.

The Kooks are the perfect sunshine band, and proved this as they followed the Blizzards and enlivened the crowd. But they were abandoned for the amazing MGMT (is it MGMT, or Management? said, like), whose set was amazing for the last three songs and slightly dull for the first three. The crowd, spurred, according to some, by enthusiasm (although in my opinion it takes a certain type of boredom to encourage this kind of action) began climbing the support towers, and one crazy b**ch climbed up to the very top, slipping slightly on her way down – who was she trying to kill? – resulting in MGMT leaving the stage for around 15 minutes until the crowd had calmed down. Encouraged by a very calm security man “now, calm down, just … calm down”, we did, and they resumed. Electric Feel was, unsurprisingly, amazing. Just…. beautiful.

Band of Horses were as good as they were in Tripod some months back, which is to say amazing. Some new stuff (promising), songs from Cease to Begin (great), and some controlled swigging out of a Jameson bottle endeared them to all and sundry.

Róisín Murphy leapt on to the stage in the first of seven costumes, with two dancer / singers who were tip-tapping robotically to the synthesised beats of her best-known and lesser-known tunes. Ms Murphy stole her own show, if that’s possible. There were moments when it seemed she was performing more for the cameramen than for the audience, but I’ll forgive her that – I’ve been known to engage in a bit of camera-wooing myself. She was mesmerising, though, that’s the truth.

In all, Oxegen 2008 was a vast improvement on Oxegen 2006. Tents were burned, it’s true, but only at the end and they seemed, in general, to be being set alight by their owners. Wasteful, yes, but not necessarily vindictive. Security was plentiful, as were stewards and general helpfulness. Portaloos were clean, and for the first year in my memory, there were real, live bins. And the eco-cups gave a lot towards overall arena cleanliness.

Oxegen, I’ll be back.