It is pouring bloody murder directly over Hyde Park Barracks, which though a blessed relief from the ungodly heat of the day, is rendering us all sweatily sardine-like inside the Beck’s Festival Bar to the point where it is nearly raining inside, like a being trapped in a humidifier. Ray Mann Three however, are profiting from this nicely, playing their set to a very appreciative almost full house. Ray Mann himself is in possession of some very sweet, dulcet tones, but he is also a brilliant guitar player, and later in the night we see him cornered by an enthusiastic female fan who barrels him up for a nuts and bolts technique talk, which he takes graciously in his stride.

There’s mad jostling down the front to secure a spot from where to be hopefully flicked with sweat from a Dapking’s brow, spotted among the eager is non other than You Am I stickman, Rusty Hopkinson. The clock tower loudly chimes as if on cue, and the Dapkings, all (insert) players, come in on the count with a sound closer to that of an orchestra than a band, so BAM! the crowd is goosed right off the bat.

After the requisite anticipatory build-up from the MC, “and are you ready now? Miss! Sharon! Joooonnnessss!!” she is there, shimmying magnificently as though her life depended on it. Baby I’m tired/I’m tired of trying to change. The energy level instantly ratchets up to fevered, blowing the lethargy of the day high into the night sky.

Can Sharon Jones really be as old as the internet claims her to be? Surely not. What is that again, something about the devil’s music? However hot it is in the crowd, it is at least twice as hot on the stage, but Sharon Jones, glistening with sweat, is giving hot young things a run for their money. Though it sounds great from where we’re standing, it apparently doesn’t sound so great on the stage, and for a few uncomfortable numbers, Sharon Jones gets increasingly frustrated with the unfortunate sound person, who no one wants to trade places with in that moment. But once the levels are sorted out, the show is flying, and the band is showing off just how its reputation was earned.

“You know, Amy Winehouse, she took the keys to this car (gestures to the band), and she just took it somewhere else, you know what I’m sayin’?” Sharon Jones says, in either a gentle put down or genuine compliment, it’s hard to tell. “I’m from the same town as James Brown, you know,” (massive cheers) “and there we do a little dance. It’s called the boogaloo. I need some ladies up here! Who’s gonna come up here and dance with me?”

Three young women take the stage and do their city proud, clearly loving every minute of it and busting some truly impressive and carefree moves for the crowd, each of them taking their solo on Sharon’s command. “Can I get a thank you for my girls here?!” she demands and we happily oblige. They were brilliant.

The dudes however, are not doing quite so well. “I need you to listen to me!” Sharon Jones berates a somewhat stage-frightened young man whose moves have deserted him. “I’m sorry honey,” she’s a hard task master, “I need a young man who will listen to me!” She tries again and this time is almost accosted by a very tall man, clearly having a very good time, that is probably too good. “Are you getting fresh with me?” Don’t mess with a woman who was once a prison guard.

The rain has lifted and the courtyard space fills out with people dancing, one couple seemingly auditioning for So You Think You Can Dance for a small crowd. The set draws a lot from 1000 Days and Nights, with long extended jams effectively turn the show into one long, run together number. The mood is pure joy, and even when it rains on us again no one seems to mind. Instead they seem very happy to be entertained by one of the hardest working bands in show business.