As we stood in the forecourt of the old army barracks, bats silhouetted against the night sky, I suddenly felt rush of psychedelic drugs take over my body. I hadn’t had any, regrettably, but there was something about this evening that was removed from the ordinary.

Although putting the acts in a tent is never ideal per se, the setting, which I’d experienced in the pouring rain a week earlier, was significantly improved. Sydney Tower and the monolith financial institutions towered over, the 19th century building behind was lit up in primary-coloured projections, and one of the most abstract artists in the world, the everyday looking Four Tet, was perched at the front of the tent producing all manner of bizarre soundscapes.

We’d missed the support, through no intention of our own, but rather due to an ignorance of the fact the show was a bit of an early one. But we had managed to catch the last few tunes of Simon Caldwell’s set, who threw in random hip hop beats with an electric feel along the lines of Anti Pop Consortium. But when Four Tet did take his place behind 2 laptops, a mixer, and something akin to a kaos pad, although by no means quote me, a surge to the front ensued.

It was quite bizarre to see a yard full of people focusing intently on a man who could have been looking at porn for all we knew, but whatever he was doing, the tunes were happening. Pulling gems from his four or so full albums, the man who left his band to pursue a side project in what’s been dubbed ‘folktronica’ started off on a fairly coherent manner, with a more traditional perception of what a song should be, at least with a discernable rhythm, a bassline, and a few more bleeps and blobs. But the closer to the climax of the set it got, the more random the rhythm, the more vicious the noise, the harsher the electronic grinding, and the more thoroughly intriguing it became.

At one point the only person showing much movement at all was he himself, but as soon as the mood switched from general noise to something more accessible, for want of a better word, more and more people began to at least attempt to shake their backsides. Just in time for the rain, in fact, which fell in great sheets, illuminated from the lights above, as the record for number of people in a tent attempt began in earnest. It’s funny the exposure the Sydney Festival tag gave the gig. At a rough guess, you’d say half the people had very little idea what they were letting themselves in for, but most will not be forgetting this in a hurry. Indeed, it was at least half an hour before a single vocal was heard, although that was by no means detrimental to the set as a whole.

Basically, this was a lesson in the boundaries of electronica. House, techno, dnb, breakbeat; the influences of all were seen in the work of a man who would commit to none. And it was bloody entertaining. How much longer are people gonna pay through the nose to watch someone mix other people’s beats for an hour and a half?