Who: The National.

Where: Other stage, 5.20pm Saturday.

Dress code: Beardy blokes, with only two in sensible hats, and at least three in top-to-toe black. They're wearing sunglasses, but not for effect – singer Matt Berninger even apologises for it at one point, quoting the Michael Stipe law about not disrespecting the audience by wearing shades on stage. But it's either that or squint.

Who's watching: Men nodding and hugging, bonding over vodka shots, punching the air, making the universal sign of "COME ON!"

What happened: "This is how it looked like in our heads. But it was a little darker. And there were more girls." When the National launch their Saturday afternoon set, they look like bears who've overslept while hibernating, stumbling out of a cave, staring into the summer sun. Berninger's amazingly low growl has a touch of the Vic Reeves "in-a-club-singer-style" about it, but once they've hit Bloodbuzz Ohio a few tracks in, it's all up from there. He heads out into the crowd – twice – while stirring the band into pulling off a literate rock set that wins over the crowd: who would have imagined that songs about swarms of bees, fake empires and professionals in beloved white shirts would work so well at a festival?

High point: Fake Empire is an anthem waiting to happen.

Low point: Matt Berninger's voice is about as low as you can get while still being audible to the human ear.

In a tweet: The National continue to expand their very real empire.