When you find yourself in a disused airport with 40 odd thousand clubbers, you know you've found Creamfields 2K1.
This is clubbing Cream style: leave your Afro wig and assorted Scouse clichéat home please.
Starting the evening off, both at the festival and live to (no doubt) millions on Radio 1, is Yousef.
The Cream resident, local boy done good and the man no one can say a bad word about, is dishing up his brand of disco-Latin house.
It's a good warmer for the evening to come simply because, while Yousef plays it funky, he's hardly smashing boundaries or lifting the roof off. Not that he could, even if he tried, mind: he's playing outdoors.
The view over the Mersey as the sun goes down is enchanting, as Yousef cuts up two copies of M.A.W.'s "Work" and slips into "Reach."
Across in the Boutique tent the Stanton Warriors are fighting an uphill battle.
Their breaks-garage sound seemed a little lost, creating mild dance floor shuffling rather than pandemonium. Even a slew of future classics - Jameson's "Urban Hero" and the DJ Zinc v Missy Elliot bootleg for example - don't destroy the place like they did at the Stantons triumphant Homelands sunset set. Battling against low sound levels to boot, Mark and Dom throw down their remixes - Azzido Da Bass, Basement Jaxx and the epic Reach and Spin - but this time they don't reach the dizzy heights they're capable of.
Orbital, by complete contrast, are rocking the Bugged Out! tent. Yes that Orbital, you know: bald blokes, knob twiddling, head glasses, the same album released every other year since '88. The only change is Paul's invested in a tasty pair of lederhosen. Niiiice.
Seemingly oblivious to the band's criminal fashion faux pas, the crowd are going nuts to Orbital's brand of break infused warm techno. The tent's rammed, hands are aloft and eyes are transfixed on the visuals and what seems like large rotating drug packets behind them. Truly Orbital are one of the "great festival bands" as they wizz through classics like 'Chime', 'Dr Who' and 'Satan.'
Gorillaz are the complete opposite of Orbital. Instead of the brutal simplicity of two blokes, a bank of knobs and some tunes, the apes are a modern multimedia extravaganza. They remain hidden behind a screen on which is projected the Jamie Hewitt visuals that so makes the band's identity.
Each member has lights behind them, which leave shadows on the screen, merging the band with it's own image in a perfect brand synergy. The tent is rammed for the appearance of Damon and co [sadly minus Del], but, again, in contrast to Orbital, the crowd merely shuffle to the gentle beats of the Gorillaz' pop and stare. Not ideal festival fodder but a visual feast nonetheless.
Across in the Boutique tent Fatboy Slim is packing them in. If big beat is dead, Mr Cook is leading a merry dance on it's grave with ten thousand nutters in tow.
He rips through the kind of swirling 303 acid tracks not heard since Hardfloor and Phuture were in their heyday. With that deranged look Norman always has on his face when he's behind the decks, he drops the festival's undoubted anthem. "It began in Afrika ka ka" goes the sample Norman himself used over a decade ago. No one cares, they're lost in the Chem's driven oblivion.
With all this epic acid-inspired hedonism at Creamfields, it comes as a wonderful surprise to find the best vibes in the whole festival are with Metalheadz. Maybe it's because their tent is half as big as anyone else's, but as a consequence it's always rammed and the crowd up for it. Maybe it's because they employ MCs to lift the vibe and engage people in the dance.
With, say, Seb Fontaine in the vast 12,000 capacity main Cream tent, it's hard to feel a connection with someone who appears to be doing something faintly interesting several miles away. But chez Metalheadz you're part of one big family.
Jungle has taken it's fair share of criticism for becoming too dark of late, but tonight there were unmissable feelings of positivity, inclusiveness and good times.
Loxy warmed the tent nicely with a mix of Dillinja bass and brittle Total Science breaks. Doc Scott played as tight as ever with MC Justice a real star of the show. His well formed rhymes were more of the US MC tradition than the usual British toasting, in the way that MC Dynamite always shines. Someone give the man a solo deal. But the star on the decks was undoubtedly Storm.
It was a breath of fresh air to see 1. a woman DJ and 2. someone smiling like they enjoyed the job. Her long fluid mixing was flawless, despite needle trouble, as she teased in the uplifting vocal anthem of Un-Cut's "Midnight", the Marcus Intalex & St Files mix. Stepping out of the "we only play our label's records mode" she dropped the jazz-funk-on-steroids of DJ Zinc's "Casino Royale" plus another anthem that simply intoned "dot dot dot."
Girls were dancing, blokes were smiling, the MCs were vibing and the DJ looked like she was having fun. What more do you want from a festival?
