Daylight is the enemy of electro. The early hours were all waiting bodies doubled over; faces creasing up around sunglasses. A stern faced hi-viz patrol collared a trouble maker, only to be petitioned by a loud cheer from the crowd, which only relented once the lad had been tossed over the barrier to be embraced by the mob who won him back.

Soulwax take to the main stage, the tinny clatter of the VIP tent is drowned out by huge, perpetual bass. A band of great note, dressed like the worst conceivable wedding singers. Dan Band look-alikes in dismal pastel blue tuxedos, who lead a huge cheer from the audience as the sun sets behind their attentive faces.

A Peter-Gunn theme, with electro detail. Guitar led riffs with synth rhythm, pushing off to the lyric ‘It’s not you, it’s the E talking.’ Electro is not all about alienation, Tiga picks up the optimistic stick and beats us with it. ‘Every time I look into your eyes I see the future’, a laser lit miracle of digital instruments, sonar beeps and heavy, grimy breakbeat.

The Stage 2 tent lies empty, the ground scattered with crushed cans. A thin crowd remains, because they are waiting for the Bloody Beetroots. Waaa guitar and scary masks. Regular synth beats, but with all kinds of swerve. 808, 303, Korg or keys. Whatever it is, they know how to use it. Rage bass licks, the singer prowling, shouting. Long, eerie ambience. Raw blood then lots of lights. The crowd came in swathes. The first third crushed at the front for knowing ahead of the rest, the second two thirds drawn to how brilliant the gig is.

A chill out session reigns across the park, to be broken by ‘Die (Fokken) Antwoord’. A three piece set up to terrify the mob before Friendly Fires sooth them at 6pm. A woman who looks like a little girl, dressed in clothes tighter than her own skin, rapping about woman beating, vaginas (at length), all spun out with a freakish dress up and lots of ‘Fuck You’s’.

Friendly Fires tune up includes an array of brass instruments. Clouds rolled in, turning the fields cold, a sprinkling of drizzle brings the crowd closer together for warmth. A strange smell of foot odour drifts through the air. But that ain’t feet home boy. The crowd thickens as the band arrives. Above our heads a patchy awning of umbrellas appears. Sun breaks through as the drizzle continues, a resilient cheer is met by further, heavier rain. A rainbow appears over the stage.

The band arrive, letting a long drawn out synth tone drop into ‘Lovesick’. A smattering of new tracks are played without intro, peppered with proud prog stompers like ‘White Diamonds’. ‘On Board’ pulling the people out of a rain soaked funk to sing along to ‘Paris’, “They’ll be out - for Us!” What is rumoured to be their last performance before the release of their second album warms the crowd, “Yooou’re aaaaaalllll, I neeeeed.”

A rush of smoke and Goldfrapp take to the stage. The band clad in freaky silver lycra, up front a woman in a fluttering dress of black plastic tassels, blown in every direction by two opposing fans. A shunty crowd of latecomers fill around the main stage. Dry ice billows out the roof of the stage like cigarette smoke from an open mouth. The audience rush from their shelters to the feet of Allison Goldfrapp. Long ambient vocals backed by synth keys, surrounded by wind and smoke, her free arm reaching out as the tassels on her dress were flung in every direction. An electro beat bouncing over the top of the verse to be drowned out by a forging chorus.

Aphex Twin lands on Stage 2 to deliver a loud industrial mash up, he stands proud before his decks at centre stage. Die Antwoord reappear to continue their fearsome tirade, dressed in their mad cow outfits and MCing over the noise. A thick, raving crowd pack into the tent.

‘I think you should say he’s not playing what he should play.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Aphex Twin. This is electro dub step.’

Corrected by a connoisseur, amid a crisis of terminology. The new and the ill-defined. Heavy beat with electro timpani. A great crowd begins to spill out into the open air, the force and aggression building ever higher beneath the awning. Pockets of people dance around the circumference of the tent, free to shimmy, smile and jive on the open ground.

A storm of lasers gather overhead. The wild aggressive music, utterly and unstintingly intense, begin to turn the crowd fierce. Aphex Twin does not relent, the craze growing more and more potent as he pushes further and further into a psychological onslaught we struggle to handle. The visuals, a face recognition system contorting the faces of the crowd, finally imposing Richard D James’ ghoulish expression upon the front row.

A massive crowd wait for Leftfield, the headliner draw the entire attendance. A perpetual horn blast announces the arrival of the group, an alien landing of the third kind. Ambience and a slow creeping beat, an MC chanting as the rhythm leads up to a massive kick in. A low pensive rhythm with a sweet voice resonating over the top. A long set of reversions from Leftism to Rhythm and Stealth, climaxing in an encore of ‘Phat Planet’. Bass pounding like an alarm to collapse over the drop to form one huge pulse sounding every other second, shaking chests at the back and rattling bones at the front.

A solid opening from LED, headlined by Godfathers and peppered with startling talent. More of the night and less of the day. Reach for the lasers, safe as fuck.

Next week we'll be previewing more of Charlie Targett-Adams' photographs from the London Electronic Dance festival - so keep an eye out for more stunning party photography.