Tom Dunne: Electric Picnic was the iPhone of festivals
Are you ever too old for this? I’d say no. Picture: Glen Bollard / Festival Republic
The Electric Picnic behemoth rolls into Stradbally next weekend. Gorillaz, Fontaines DC, CMAT, Amble, the cream of 2026, ably supported by the various eclectic side shows, gourmet food offerings, comedy, podcasts and great conversations. I’m still hopeful they’ll book my new show — — but they are cutting it fine.
The fact the Picnic has become almost the blueprint for festivals both here and worldwide says it all. Take a stunning location — Beeswax Farm, Curraghmore Estate — add acts that chime, expert curation in all things, like-minded people, and let them off. After that, just pray for sun.
But back to my act. Seriously, folks: Ask someone who was at Lisdoonvarna, Féile 90, Oxegen or assorted 'small' festivals held at various locations by the local town dreamer back from his holiday in Woodstock. There are people who went to these who are still expected home.
The essential ingredients at early festivals were simple: music and alcohol. And to be honest, if rain stopped play, interfered with the electrics, made stages float away, you could get by with just the latter. Alcohol could stand in for music, food, accommodation and transport.
Féile was the first festival where the idea of proper toilets arrived. And it wasn’t really anyone’s brainwave. They were already on site as part of Semple Stadium. If Semple Stadium hadn’t had toilets, no one might ever have thought of them as crucial.
So, people approached Oxegen with an expectation of music, alcohol and now, call me posh, toilets. Food was still not really a thing. You ate on Thursday before you left and again on Monday when you got home. But Oxegen introduced amusements, a kind of funfair. The game was changed again.
At this rate of development, good food at festivals would have arrived in around 2015 and glamping sometime in 2035. People would still be using tents their granddads bought in 1972. But life is all about dreamers, and in Picnic inventor John Reynolds, Ireland had a festival dreamer for the ages.
Electric Picnic was the iPhone of festivals. It did loads of things you couldn’t see the point of, but once you did, you became hooked. Mindfulness, massage, holistic things, foods our parents had never heard of, bands only Tom Dunne or Dave Fanning knew about, chats with clever people, you name it.
Peak early Picnic occurred when Downward Facing Dog was given a yoga-themed tent at Croí and a death metal band from Idaho on the Salty Dog Stage. Those expecting a yoga class were the ones I felt most sorry for. People were talking about “multiple overloads in Vinyasa transition” for years to come.
The first Electric Picnic in 2004 was the 'great leap forward' of Irish festivals and indeed festivals worldwide. It was the first to see that people who love music don’t just love music. They love books, film, comedy, food and travel. Music is often the gateway drug to, well, everything.
Someone at the time described music lovers thus: “They don’t just read the music reviews in papers. They read everything, the politics, the world events, the sports, the arts pages and lifestyle bits. The festival needs to reflect that.”
The first Picnics made music curation fun. Yes, you wanted to see PJ Harvey or Karen O. You wanted to demonstrate your cool indie kid chops. But at some point, two Grey Goose martinis to the good, you were damned if you weren’t going to lose it to Human League’s
Are you ever too old for this? I’d say no. The comfort level at festivals has risen dramatically in the last few years. The modern festival feels more like a theme park than a Lisdoonvarna of old. You can dip in and out, take a break, rest up and go back.
But the music is still the key. Music has become remarkably less ageist these days. You are as likely to see a 60-year-old man at a Fontaines DC gig as a 16-year-old girl. Music was always about finding out who you really are.
That appears to be a journey that never ends. Ask Van Morrison. The Poetic Champion turns 81 the day after the Picnic. Or ask one of the new pretenders to his throne, Geese’s Cameron Winter, 24 all weekend long. Belt up and get ready — EP 2026, here I come.
