As we grow up, children typically cultivate inspiration from dream lands in space, kingdoms with knights in shining armor, or deserts where dinosaurs roam. When I was a kid, my guiding light for some reason was the glitz and glamour of California. Whether it was because I watched a lot of movies or took my ‘90s-influenced fluorescent fashion tips from Barbie, I have always longed to experience life on the left coast.
It was time for me to head to the land of my childhood heroes like My Girl 2’s Anna Sultenfuss to pseudo-rock stars/time travelers Bill & Ted as I embarked on my very own Excellent Adventure. After a whirlwind flight across the country, arriving in Los Angeles, driving a few hours through the desert, settling into a last-minute accommodation in an Entourage-caliber crash mansion in a gated golf community, and protecting my pale skin from the high heat and hard sun one thing is certain: California completely lives up to its ideal of perfection, and it’s all personified in Coachella.
You can feel the vibrant essence of this festival within mere minutes of arrival and it only gets better as the day goes on: clear skies despite the nearby bouts of smog, the mountains around the valley appearing purple at sunset, perfectly cured green grass fields lined with towering palm trees and virtually zero litter, incredibly pleasant crowds, easygoing attitudes, an undeniable level of energy, immaculately stellar sound quality (especially at the main stage of all places), and innovative visual art displays coloring your travels from stage to stage through an entirely stellar lineup.
Considering it’s my first Coachella, the first day was spent on getting my bearings. This made for a stimulating journey of sounds beginning with Black Kids, whose high energy dance pop kept people moving despite the sun retreating from high noon. And it might have been sweaty, but the chill came soon thereafter thanks to a memorable and incredibly charming performance from Jens Lekman. Backed by an orchestra of sprightly and lively females from keys to cello and viola, I was sidestepping with a smile on and singing along to “The Opposite of Hallelujah” in the perfect setting.
On my way to see Aussie dance dominators Cut Copy, I could hear The Breeders’ “Cannonball” blasting from across the field perfectly clear. Once I got there, they seemed to start slow and carefully pick up the pace, pulling an impressive crowd for the smallest tent on site.
The same kind of crowd convened at the second largest stage for former 4-To-Watchers Vampire Weekend – undoubtedly one of the weekend’s most-hyped sets. It was the first time all day that the audience was more akin to a brick wall, packed to the fringe and dancing to “A-Punk” and others from the quartet’s debut.
I ventured for the first time to the main stage, taking in Tegan & Sara backed by an impressive assembly of other musicians. The twins were louder and livelier than I could have ever expected. Lovely to watch as the sun started to set.
Then I trekked to the complete opposite end of the festival ground for just one of the overflowing DJ options throughout the weekend. It was hard to refuse Diplo playing with the mountains situated directly behind. As the crowd congregated over the period of an hour it was clear that typical signs of life are shifting towards a dance-dance-revolution. The tent was filled with people of all ages, shapes and sizes, eventually welcoming surprise guest M.I.A. to the stage as the set closed.
I was more than pleasantly surprised by the show(wo)manship of Santogold, representing Brooklyn with outpourings of sass and style. If anything else, I found it impossible to tear myself away from her expertly choreographed backup performers flanking her at both sides.
The Raconteurs were finishing up right afterwards; nothing short of marvelous as expected, closing their set with “Steady As She Goes” and “Carolina Drama” – the finale from their new album Consolers of the Lonely. In cahoots with the wholly underrated Brendan Benson, the sight of Jack White’s rambling passion was enough to remind us all he’s solidly secured his place at the helm of modern-day rock ‘n’ roll.
I stuck around lucky enough to catch return of The Verve, which opened its set with “This Is Music” and subsequently soaked the dusky desert with loud and resonant Brit-pop electric guitar. After a much needed break for beers, brats and an incredible showing from The Swell Season (Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova of Once), I got the ethereal experience and privilege of hearing “Lucky Man” and “Bittersweet Symphony” performed live. I’ll always remember lead singer Richard Ashcroft holding the microphone against his chest to amplify his beating heart as he finished singing the song and the controversial Rolling Stones sampled strings resonated over the excited crowd.
I wasn’t exactly ready for Jack Johnson to make me slow down (it had been too good of a day so far), and though I’m upset I missed secret special guest Matt Costa later in his set, there was one final act demanding of my attention.
For as much as this festival resembles a fantasy land, I couldn’t possibly cap off Friday without a little taste of home. Future documentary subjects and hometown heroes The Black Lips closed the day among tired eyes and still super-energized skate punks. While they were in their element, us regular showgoers couldn’t help but complain that we thought they’d toned down their act. That was until the very end. The crowd was warned of a “champagne toast” but the guys seemed to have forgotten the liquor and brought lighter fluid instead. As they said goodbye, their electric guitars were set aflame, smashed onstage, and tossed out to the crowd with the hopes no one’s teeth were knocked out. Antics and all, it was a real treat to share a taste of home with a bunch of total strangers.
Day Two is a conundrum from the get-go and will most certainly be putting my A.D.D. to the test. However, despite prospects like Prince, Animal Collective, VHS or Beta, Death Cab and Stephen Malkmus at the very tip of the iceberg, part of me is still waiting for Bill S. Preston, Esq. and Ted Logan’s band Wyld Stallyns to make its glorious comeback. San Dimas High School Football (and Coachella) RULES.
Leave a comment