It’s right around this time that I’ve started to regret not wearing wellies: the Other stage is a slopfest. The warmup DJ plays a Foo Fighters track and you’re reminded just how massive it would have been if they’d have played on the Pyramid on Friday.

But instead we have Rudimental and a mass of people slipping and sliding to their drum’n’bass anthems. For this Hackney sound system, however, it’s carnival 365 days a year. Their set is a constant shape-shifting coterie of guest singers, jumping hype men, pogoing brass players and soul, house, bass and rudeboy ragga hybrids that pump harder than Fitness First at peak time. In fact, watching them bound across the stage is enough to convince you to sign up to one on Monday.

Whether you’re a fan of their chart hits or not, you can’t fault how Rudimental have turned the prospect of watching four guys in baseball caps prod buttons into hyperactive spectacle. Not Giving In, which DJ Locksmith dedicates to his five-year-old son, is a sing-along high, while new track We the Generation is so energetic you wonder whether Rudimental put their their musicians through a Tough Mudder-style assault course in order to join them on stage.

Guest appearances are commonplace with Glasto headline acts and Rudimental are no exception – they trot out funk hero George Clinton for their “soul” moment, to sing their motto “spread love, go far” and blast peace signs from the screens, followed by grime kingpin Dizzee Rascal. But Rudimental don’t have to rely on other acts for their live show – their repetitive formula of high-concept chorus, emphatic brass parps and then a massive drop to go “mental” to – is indestructible.

Subtlety isn’t exactly their calling card, though perhaps they should explore it further. Their best moments come when they ditch the blaring gym tunes and go deeper and smoother, such as their newer material like Bloodstream, with Ed Sheeran’s vocals sung just as well by one of their backing singers. Still, when they play Waiting All Night, thousands of hands in the air, polo-shirted lads hugging each other, charging along like it’s a football chant, you know that Rudimental have smashed it.