Coachella Valley Music & Arts Festival

Ah, Coachella. It comes around once a year and packs a wallop, leaving you dizzy with its vast opportunities to gorge on bands and soak up some desert sun/sunstroke. Typically, the only complaints surrounding the festival are the inescapable heat and the rabid thirst that therefore takes over, causing you to fork over all your scrill to Crystal Geyser. But with temperatures this year reaching a merciful 90-ish degrees, the weekend happily did not require a $100 water budget and afforded a little sweet relief to those who wanted to tear it up with a lineup of nearly 90 (incredible) bands. Not to mention the between-stage antics of playgrounds, exhibits, screenings, gadgets, robots and a relentless parade of hipsters, yuppies and freaks. It’s a hectic time alright.
Saturday’s more accessible lineup was a bit less potent than the second day with its powerhouses of yesteryear. Dominating the main stage was a virtual British invasion, with lifestyle bands Keane and Snow Patrol duking it out for Most Compelling Alt-Rock Band (Keane-1, Snow Patrol-0). But aside from all that noise, day one hosted a string of indie rock gems like Mercury Rev, The Secret Machines, M83 (shockingly more rock than ambient) and the dark coupling of Jamie Hince and Alison Mosshart known as The Kills. The foreboding male/female duo evoked a dirtier PJ Harvey, sprawled over mean-spirited bass lines and cold kicks from a drum machine. Part blues, part goth and part heartless automaton, The Kills are bedroom music: wildly moody and dripping with sex (and very highly recommended). I cooled down with Wilco, who received the warmest of applause for finally making it to the Coachella stage after Jeff Tweedy’s detour into rehab last year. Their set was punctuated by a conversely tranquil and frantic rendition of “At Least That’s What You Said” and the shimmering “War On War,” which left the crowd gasping and grateful. Later in the evening a historic performance from Bauhaus climbed to the near-operatic level on the rock-o-meter, leading the rabble into the teeming nighttime mischief and a second day’s worth of sound and fury.
Sunday’s lineup presented the best and brightest of the weekend. The reunited forefathers New Order and Gang of Four showed up their progeny, which included dance-punk hopefuls The Bravery and Radio 4.The best band of the day and perhaps the whole weekend was Autolux, who swirled through a set of woozy, droning prog-rock meant for soundscapes larger than a mere tent. Out of the trio, Carla Azar stood out, her languid yet fierce drumming pushing the slow, slurring roar of the band’s songs. With the help of the colossal power of the sound system, Autolux proved they are a big, big band not to be missed. Performing mid-afternoon and also cementing their place on the not-to-be-missed list, The Fiery Furnaces deserve big ups for capturing the convulsive magic of Blueberry Boat and for thoroughly freaking out the straights. And, of course, Trent Reznor’s disciples were clawing at the stage during Nine Inch Nails’ brutal headlining set, which began with “The Wretched,” tore through “Piggy” and brought the entire audience to its feet for “Closer.”
A marked evolution from past lineups was the strong presence of hip-hop and R&B artists, appearing on every stage over the weekend. I read a bunch of press that excused the permeation of hip-hop in the festival as merely an extension of the diminished popularity of the DJs and dance music. That is absolute crap. Aesop Rock, The Perceptionists, Zion I and MF Doom, the few hip-hop artists I had a chance to see, drew in large, ecstatic crowds on the sheer force of their rhymes and funk sensibilities. MF Doom in particular packed the tent with a brilliant set tempered by the guttural chant “Doom!” echoing after each cut. And as for the DJ tent — well that went off too, with thousands of sweaty cadets shaking it to Miss Kittin’s hollowed-out electro jams.
The whole weekend was really a gratifying assault on the ears, the mind and the endorphins. But if you just have to know what there is to be pessimistic about, I guess there are a few things. One is the scheduling. Sometimes you have to pick Nine Inch Nails over Pinback or Wilco over Rilo Kiley. And who decided that The Locust, The Blood Brothers and Wolf Eyes, all playing the most avant and unhinged rock of the festival, should perform at the same time? A glaring mistake. Another problem is the fact that you will probably be let down if you expect to go and have an intimate experience with your new favorite band. It is inevitable to see an awesome act and be put off by the masses staring blankly, mouths all agape, not understanding what they’re seeing but crowding the front just the same. That said, I would prefer to see Bloc Party (who has some serious star power) or The Arcade Fire in a smaller setting next time around. That way, there would be little chance of being distracted by a couple bitching about their aching feet during an erupting performance of “Neighborhood #2 (Laika).” Such are the essential faults of festivals.
But the essential virtue of a festival like Coachella, the one that drags you back year after year no matter how astronomical the ticket price, is the chance to walk away with your mind thoroughly blown. That sensation came over me during the final set from Bright Eyes, who closed out the delirious weekend with a soaring, gorgeous performance of “I Believe In Symmetry.” I mention this because you might have dismissed its potential — and it was amazing. As was the whole experience. If you have been mulling it over, weighing the pros and cons, I’ll make it easy for you. Go next year. It’s worth every penny.
And no, I didn’t catch Coldplay.

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