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…
The worst part about Coachella 2013 was easily the dust storm that turned Sunday into a set piece from the Depression and choked the life and easy visibility out of a struggling Red Hot Chili Peppers closing set. 2014’s storm wasn’t nearly as bad; for the most part, walking around during the day Saturday felt like you were travelling on a strange, ominous alien planet, the sun reduced to a weird, haunting half-light and the wind picking up curlicues of dust seemingly at random while bits of sound escaped intermittently over the fields. That creepy feeling was magnified by the fact that everyone seemed to be running from one destination to another, as if constantly striving to avoid the almighty wrath of the weather gods/the narc chasing them. It was how I imagined walking on Mars might be, if everyone on Mars was really, really fucked up all the time.
Of course, God being the sick bastard that he is, Saturday turned out to be my favorite day of the festival. When you kick things off with a blogger’s wet dream of Foxygen, Ty Segall, and CHVRCHES on the Outdoor Stage, it’s easy to ignore the fact that your choice of t-shirt and board shorts for the day will prove quite uncomfortable against pelting sand and an insidious wind chill. Like Friday’s HAIM set, Coachella is made for a band like CHVRCHES, not quite on the verge of widespread popularity but certainly on…
