Nobody else alive can do what Childish Gambino is doing. It’s not a matter of outstanding talent in any one area: he’s far outranked at rapping by Earl, Danny and Vince, can’t dominate a singing feature like Anderson .Paak, hasn’t yet pulled together a concept album the likes of which make big waves in the scene nowadays. But the fact remains: that thing he does, that he did demonstrably, mesmerisingly, ridiculously at Coachella last weekend, is one of a kind.
I think his closest compatriot was actually Mac Miller – another rapper who, initially considered kinda embarrassing to listen to, pulled himself up through a scattershot spread of talent in basically every area. Up into something that looked from the ground like a genuine higher calling. Gambino’s mention of Mac’s name in the show’s quiet pause before an emotional “Riot” gives me hope that he thought the same. Or maybe he was just reading the room, feeling out that the crowd would be receptive to some tributes to fallen brothers – it’s hard to begrudge him that.
Donald Glover the man is brilliant because it seems like he can do everything, but Childish Gambino the artist is incredible because at any moment he might do anything. For example, he can debut a new song at Coachella with no words in English, a primitive tribal ritual which whips the crowd and striking team of backup dancers into a circle pit that feels seconds away from either transcending music entirely or…
It’s a sad fact of life that, after two full days and nights of festing and after partying in 90+ degree desert heat and an inordinate amount of substances willingly or unwillingly consumed, I’m not always going to be in tip top shape by the time Sunday of Coachella rolls around. I tell myself every year: it’s a marathon, not a spring. Rarely do I listen. So apologies, Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever, Hannah Wants, Noname, and Japanese Breakfast – I wanted to see you, I really did, but my body had other ideas. It didn’t help that my prediction that Sunday would an easy ride in proved horribly, horribly wrong. For no discernable reason whatsoever, event staff allowed concertgoers to wait in line for over an hour at various parking lots that ended up already being full, thus necessitating subsequent re-routing and even longer waits at other overflow lots. Not sure how this happened given the relative fluidity of previous days, but maybe there’s a lot more Eminem fans than I thought.
Luckily, Sunday’s offerings were fairly sparse compared to the abundance of riches that flowed from noon to midnight Friday and Saturday. After catching a few minutes of raucous LA garage punks FIDLAR (a left-field choice for your average Coachella attendee, but good for some chuckles and some yells), I hurried over to the Outdoor stage to see the entirety of Jessie Ware. Although technical problems delayed the start of her set and Ms.…
Upon closer examination, the Saturday lineup proved to be the most stacked of the day, a result that proved a fortuitous coincidence with another smooth day of sailing through parking, security, and the festival lines to arrive at the fest just in time for Big Thief around 3 p.m. While I’ve always been a fan of their somewhat off-kilter live show, Big Thief’s confessional, contrasting components – their guitarist’s uh, unique style has to been seen to be believed – was always going to be a bit of an odd fit at Coachella. Singer and frontwoman Adrianne Lenker always performs like she’d rather be anywhere else rather than on stage, but the small crowd was thrilled nonetheless.
As great as the lineup was, it presented a series of conundrums that have me seriously trying to finagle a wristband for weekend two just to go again Saturday (see that Missed Connections list *crying emoji*). I’d seen bands like First Aid Kit and Django Django before – in the interest of trying something new, I ventured to the Yuma tent for the first time all weekend to check out former Daft Punk manager and Ed Banger mascot Pedro Winter aka Busy P spin some old fashioned electro house to get out of the rapidly increasing temperatures. The Yuma tent remains the preeminent vibe for people younger than me to get fucked up in, and while I continued to enjoy the air conditioned environs and the relentless grooves, the…
When I first started attending and writing Coachella (way back in 2010 and just a couple weeks before this lovely website took me on as a staff member :0), I camped with the degenerates in the camping grounds and bought my ticket at the door. There was something liberating about being able to simply pack up for the desert a few days before the weekend to watch some of the biggest acts in the alternative scenes play in one of the most beautiful yet inhospitable environments on the planet. Eight years later, Coachella is very much the same: a gorgeous piece of scenery full of beautiful people and artists looking to either make a name for themselves or secure stardom. It’s a one of a kind experience, the only festival in the United States that has such a distinct vibe, sound, and a carefully curated aesthetic – tied up in the art, music, design, interactive experiences, and even food – that I promised myself I would keep coming out so long as my body obeys. At 29, I’m nearing the outer edge of the average Coachella attendee. The last thing you want to be is the old, balding guy busting out the rave shuffle in the Sahara tent. Even still, it would take a lot for me to stop altogether, especially with the sweet, sweet media access Sputnik can deliver.
With the addition of a second weekend in 2012, however, Coachella began to transform into the mainstream…
Long Island alt-rock/indie outfit The Republic of Wolves have made new details available surrounding their upcoming third LP, shrine. The record now has an official release date of March 27, 2018, and will feature the below artwork and tracklist. There will be three bonus tracks on the album as well, with titles that are as-of-yet TBD:
01. The Canyon 02. Bask 03. Sundials 04. Birdless Cage 05. Mitama 06. Dialogues 07. Northern Orthodox 08. Colored Out 09. Ore 10. Worry If You Want (Yume)
Two of the songs from the above tracklist have already been released. “Mitama” and “Northern Orthodox” can be heard here. A version of “Birdless Cage” was also created for NPR’s Tiny Desk Contest, although it allegedly differs from the version that will appear on shrine.
“Mitama“
“Northern Orthodox“
Additionally, for those who haven’t been following the most recent developments, the group has also been releasing studio updates regarding the album. These installments can be viewed below:
After 4.5 years together, I have never dragged my boyfriend to a metal show, despite it being a frequent pass time of my college years with loansonlineusa. The allure of slumming it with my metalhead peers in my usual haunts lost its luster a long time ago, admittedly. Combine this with a 9-to-5 career and a general antipathy towards being in crowds and the show outings slow down to a near halt.
Yet sometimes it’s still nice to get out and go to a show. Generally on Saturdays my boyfriend and I tend to do ‘whatever,’ with this day in particular being filled with fall outings and zip-lining. I’m not on Facebook so when my boyfriend skimmed his suggestions on what to do he noticed a show starting in a couple of hours.”Have you heard of these bands?” he asked. “Um, yeah, absolutely” I replied. When I showed some excitement at the prospect of seeing Imperial Triumphant and Pyrrhon, he decided he wanted to be cool and take me (which was cool, of course).
“It’s going to be pretty intense,” I warned, “they’re fairly heavy.” I know he can hang, he’s been to a fair share of punk shows in the past, and his penchant for 90s and alternative music like the Pixies, Pavement, Husker Du, and Sonic Youth mean that he’s got good taste. I mean, the first song we danced to was “Venus As A Boy” (at his request), so again, he can hang.
The last day of the weekend, as is tradition, came in searing hot with temperatures hovering around mid-90s. Fairly balmy as far as the desert goes (I seriously do not know how Weekend 2 does it), in fact, but for a Coachella with some of the best weather I’ve ever experienced – no wind storms! – this must have been penance. Those who shook off the accumulated dust, depleted serotonin and residual hangovers of 2+ days were rewarded with the finest lineup of the weekend, all surging to King Kendrick’s closing set that you could feel as a palpable anticipation over the grounds. The rapper’s coming out party had some serious competition beforehand, though, thank to two shockingly lovely sets on the Outdoor Stage from an old favorite from Ed Banger and a fish-out-of-water composer better known from the red carpet.
First, though, I made it a point to play through the pain and get to the festival earlier rather than later to catch the indoor set from under-appreciated Brooklyn indie band Caveman. The Fat Possum rockers remain firmly under the radar after last year’s War on Drugs-aping Otero War, but their live show showed a band ready to take the next step. The same goes for singer-songwriter Ezra Furman, whose rough-and-tumble set on the Outdoor Stage not only made dancing under the sun somewhat tolerable for a few minutes, but was also the only artist I saw all weekend who had the balls to call…
The best day of the festival almost turned out to be a disaster. Those aforementioned clear paths from the parking lots and sweet, smooth walks through a security staff with light hands did not extend to actually getting to the festival. Indio and Riverside County police turn the warren of gated communities and golf courses and miles-long blocks that surround the polo fields into a frustrating maze of blocked-off streets and unintuitive one-way turns that had me doubling back and retracing my drive more than once. And by the time I finally found a way to a parking lot, the line to get in was absurd and poorly directed. Note to Goldenvoice: please put a GPS address on your parking directions that actually works, and preferably more than one, so that I don’t have to miss all of Shura, Mitski, and Local Natives.
I did manage to see the tail end of Icelandic rock band Kaleo, a group that is appearing more and more to be the next Black Keys in terms of arena headlining potential. The group’s muscular delta blues rock is nigh indistinguishable from their American counterparts, and with a hit single that already went gold on the Billboard chart, likely only to get more and more omnipresent. A lot of the credit should go to frontman JJ Julius Son, whose deep vocals complemented the band’s deft, rootsy work with a showmanship that seems already a decade earned. Easy contender for band most…
The American way can be described with any number of clichés, but Coachella has rapidly taken to heart one of the most obnoxious: bigger is better. Bigger artists; bigger stages; bigger crowds; bigger tolerance of alcohol, drugs, and generally seeing who looks the most fucked up; bigger vendors selling bigger fries with bigger amounts of curry mustard, sriracha, pickled onions, pork belly and other gastropub fetishes all over the festival. As the preeminent festival in North America and, Goldenvoice would argue, the world, Coachella should be applauded for taking the initiative in all aspects of its operations, but its seemingly relentless expansion has had its downsides. The addition of a new stage this year in the Sonora provided a blessedly air conditioned arena for a series of up-and-coming punk, garage and indie bands, as well as old fogies Guided by Voices and T.S.O.L., and the re-orientation of the various stages improved sound bleed problems and helped with traffic low.
But it also extended travel times around the festival by significantly expanding the size of the size of the grounds (by 41 acres) as well as creating some impossible to navigate blockages for certain anticipated acts. With the festival at capacity with 125,000 fans attending Weekend 1 (an increase of 25,000 by most estimates) and only so much room and personnel to go around, it’s perhaps inevitable that Coachella may not always get to have it both ways. Then again, Goldenvoice likely doesn’t care too much: gross…
The Osheaga Music and Arts Festival was ill as fuck last year, when I went with some of my close personal bros and saw motherfucking Tyler, the Creator (made me grin but feel old), Brand New (made me grin and feel old, but in a good way, like the movie Boyhood or Timehops from when I was fatter), and Anamanaguchi (made me grin and feel young and turnt), as well as a buncha other artists with average scores in the 3’s or higher in our humble little database. The festival is held in Montreal’s Parc Jean-Drapeau, right on the Saint Lawrence River.
I am going again this year and am pretty stoked. If you’ve been to these kinds of massive festivals before, and I imagine that many of you have, you know that scheduling conflicts come with the territory (and that, no matter what, you will underestimate how long it will take you to make it from one stage to another). Here are a few conflicts that are burning me up inside,so you help me make the call:
About the time of the festival where you realize how much quality sleep you haven’t gotten over the past 48 hours, how much carb-loading you’ve done in the name of trudging to that next stage, how badly you calculated your water/hard alcohol balance and consequently will spend the first half of the work week with your office door closed. Reduced to watching the amazing Kamasi Washington and his sprawling backup group under the beer garden tent while grubbing down another order of crab fries – all that gourmet cuisine this year and go fuck right the hell off – was not ideal, but the peak temperatures of the weekend necessitated it. It also made Washington’s loose set even more impressive, crowding turntablists next to saxophonists and drummers and even Washington’s father on flute on the Outdoor Stage with a setlist that seemed like it could go anywhere, and usually did.
I skipped between the Gobi and Mojave tents for the next hour, taking in sets from Tennessee tongue-lasher Meg Myers, who accurately conveyed her man-eating persona live but who’s voice fell a bit flat at times, and Joywave. That latter band, who played to a surprisingly full Mojave (likely on the strength of single “Tongues”’ placement in that cellular commercial), should be a hit, but frontman Daniel Armbruster’s vocals come and go, and his asshole-hipster shtick comes off as more manufactured than genuinely funny in a festival setting. “Destruction” is still a jam, though.
Loaded with artists I wanted to see but cursed by conflicts, Saturday was a bit of a disappointment. The breeze that made Friday such a blessing in disguise (no dust storm!) fell away to a typically scorching April sun in the desert. My first stop was no stage but a hefty order of crab fries lathered in disgustingly pungent/delicious garlic aioli – my one true love and certainly the most consistent item at Coachella. After that came Canadian indie poppers Alvvays, who have somehow avoided the Coachella hype train and were making their festival debut. I had seen Molly Rankin and company multiple times in the past year, and their set was enjoyable but, at this point, sort of workmanlike. In hindsight, checking out a new face – SOPHIE in the Yuma or Strangers You Know at the Mojave was probably the move.
As a respite from the heat and the uncomfortable roiling feeling the crab fries were bringing to my stomach, I headed to the Despacio tent, a new attraction that appeared to be a one-time-only event for Coachella. Despacio is a bit of an oddity at Coachella, although it fits right in with the festival’s aesthetic. Designed by James Murphy and the Dewaele brothers from Soulwax along with audio engineer John Klett, Despacio is billed as the world’s best listening experience, a cutting-edge speaker system specifically suited for spinning vinyl classics. It’s a small tent lit by a series of lights and a quintessentially…
It was only appropriate that Axl Rose lasted all of one night of Guns N’ Roses’ ballyhooed reunion tour before breaking his foot, resulting in Rose taking a cue from a less fatter veteran in Dave Grohl and performing much of the band’s headlining Saturday set at Coachella in a throne. After all, a solid majority of Coachella 2016 attendees were likely barely able to walk themselves when Axl last performed with this lineup of a formerly great band. Instead, we were treated to Rose bringing out Angus Young (an appropriately shameless tie-in for Rose’s new role as frontman of AC/DC ) and a bloated (rimshot!) setlist that most of the crowd only joined in for the karaoke favorites. That Goldenvoice, the promoters behind Coachella, recently announced plans for a new festival of some of rock’s heaviest (and greyest) hitters was a happy bit of corporate synergy for a festival that has succeeded in mining nostalgia to its further extent.
2016 was a year of disappointing headliners – the joy of seeing LCD Soundsystem again was dampened a bit by them hitting literally every festival on the planet this year, while Guns N’ Roses and Calvin Harris symbolize Coachella’s ruthless pandering to its most profitable audiences at its worst. Lucky, then, that Coachella has improved in most every other facet since I started attending seven years ago. The food is downright gourmet; the security experience is more streamlined, save for the…
Three weeks after braving a sixth year of the desert of Coachella, I was off across the country to Atlanta, Georgia, to take in the relatively fresh-faced Shaky Knees music festival. Only in its third iteration in as many venues, Shaky Knees has shot up fast in festivalgoers’ estimation: its penchant for widely disparate artists, with a noticeable lack of pandering to wide-eyed EDM fans, convenient location in the heart of Atlanta, and relatively cheap cost for a three-day festival (at $125 for early bird tickets, that’s $175 cheaper than Bonnaroo and a full $250 less than Coachella). DEALZ$$. The fact that my editor harassed the media until they granted my journalistic integrity a pass sealed the deal – another weekend in a mishmash of parks, side avenues, and parking lots to catch set after exhausting set. Hey, at least I now know what the weather at Bonnaroo feels like.
After a debut in a historic Atlanta park and an artistically successful, location-challenged (at an outdoor mall??) second year, Shaky Knees’ move into downtown Atlanta’s Central Park was apparently a welcome one to many fans I talked to, although the location was more a chunk of park (actually two parks, as it connected a bit with Atlanta’s Renaissance Park – Atlanta has a lot of parks) winding its way through a few residential divisions and a massive parking lot for Atlanta’s Civic Center, all tied together by a heavily trafficked, closed-off street. This had pros –…
Another year, another Coachella won by the DJs. It was apparent seeing the massive crowd flocking to the Main Stage for Kaskade’s 7:30pm set that no matter the time, no matter the place, big electronic names have supplanted rock ‘n roll and pop acts as the biggest draw of the festival. Ever since Tiesto’s headlining set in 2010, electronic music and its den of iniquity, the Sahara tent, has consistently drawn the most packed crowds, with the requisite increase in dilated eyes and face paint. Not to say Kaskade’s set was a bust – indeed, it was quite good – but it failed to rise above the constraints of its audience, who know what they want and are happy enough to get it. Still, credit to Goldenvoice: where past Coachellas have gone heavy on the big names), the electronic acts this year pushed the boundaries of their genre, from Kygo, who’s languid house beats draw white girls like moths to a flame, to Jamie xx’s innovative, heavy set, to John Talabot, who proved the best avatar of the Yuma’s throbbing, mutating waves of bass music. Sure, David Guetta may have still closed out the Sahara Sunday night, but: progress! And that’s not even mentioning one of my favorite sets of the night, which rocked the top of the Mojave, of all places.
Placing Canadian indie-pop legends Sloan at a noon time slot on THE LAST DAY OF THE FESTIVAL is downright criminal – getting out of…
