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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…

There was a surreal moment on Saturday night of the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival that typified just how much the festival has changed over the past twelve years. As the orchestral swells and backing vocals dissipated from Leslie Feist’s huge backing band as “Feel It All” faded away into the dusk on the Outdoor Stage, Feist waved to the cheering crowd and thanked them for the support, adding nonchalantly, “see you next weekend!” It was an odd, wrenching tearing of the reality-altering cocoon that Coachella has built up around itself. For months leading up to this weekend, the hype and excitement for what has become the quintessential American music festival is nearly all-consuming, eventually leading to a weekend that, regardless of the seeming impossibility of meeting expectations, manages to live up to it all. Whether you spend your weekend camped in the baking heat, surrounded by a swell of campers who flash eternal smiles despite conditions that would appall the writers of the Geneva Convention, or carpool in from the surrounding small vacation towns of Indio and Palm Desert that turn into veritable cities of drug-addled youth and defiantly stereotypical hippies, Coachella remains a singular experience.

Yet there Feist was, breaking the illusion that this was a unique happening. The splitting of Coachella into two weekends was arguably necessary, given that 2011’s festival sold out in less than six days and this year’s edition was a two-week sellout within a couple hours. Arguably, the…

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