INDIO “”mdash; The only thing better than cleaning up at Casino
Morongo is blowing your winnings on junk food like a 5-year-old who
just found a $20 bill. Subsequently, the only thing better than
that is waking up the following morning, having cookies for
breakfast and heading over to the Empire Polo Field for two days of
heat, music and seriously bizarre sights at Coachella. What follows
is an account not just of the music we heard, but of the experience
we had.
Saturday:
2:00 p.m. We’ve heard rumors of surprise guests, and when
we arrive, they are confirmed. This year’s answer to Beck is
hours of powerful wind, which does everything from making the
lowliest main stage set feel epic to blinding us more effectively
than a quick peek in the rave tent at night.
2:40 p.m. We catch the last half of Radio 4, which isn’t
long enough to judge. The band sounds like a cross between Ted Leo
and The Rapture, to make a hasty comparison.
3:30 p.m. Next in the Mojave Tent is Ambulance LTD, which Mark
wants to see solely for its perfect three-minute pop song,
“Anecdote.” Fortunately, his wishes are answered.
Notorious Francophile Nick takes in a set by Paris-based M83, whose
lush, synth-heavy soundscapes envelope the audience, sometimes
going so far as to make some concertgoers want to nap in the
infamous rave tent.
4:15 p.m. Snow Patrol takes the main stage and surprises Mark,
who is not a big fan, by giving a solid and lively performance.
Perhaps he should mind the Irish more often.
5:00 p.m. Back to the Gobi Tent for the lyrical stylings of
Immortal Technique, who spits rhymes edgy enough to make 50 Cent
sleep with a night light. New York-based Technique calls out
everyone from President Bush to himself in what is the first of
many quality hip-hop acts.
5:30 p.m. No festival is complete without the presence of a band
like Keane. Watching it, we desperately wish to identify with the
emotional and physical gesticulations of singer Tom Chaplin, who
clearly feels the music more than anyone. There is not a more
grandiose, unintentionally hilarious act at the festival. Or so we
think.
6:45 p.m. After eating $8 sandwiches that make us yearn for our
junk food, we settle in at the main stage to see the best
non-hip-hop act, Wilco, which was supposed to be a headliner at
last year’s festival. Singer Jeff Tweedy apologizes for the
pullout (due to his trip to rehab), saying that “(he) was
f***ed up.” Wilco quickly makes amends, mixing classics like
“Jesus, etc.” with new standards like “Spiders
(Kidsmoke).” Mark, who didn’t like the last record,
even decides to give it another chance.
8:00 p.m. We skip MF Doom to get closer to the main stage for
the final acts. This proves to be our most egregious error since
lunch at Carl’s Jr. Weezer takes the stage and, while
technically solid, enrages us by not playing a single song off
“Pinkerton.” Aside from the wretched “We Are All
on Drugs,” the set list isn’t awful, but certainly
isn’t “El Scorcho” or “The Good
Life.” The lack of “Pinkerton” and the ensuing
depressive effect later leads us to converge in the frozen foods
section of Walgreen’s like sobbing, jilted spouses.
9:15 p.m. After being nearly crushed in the rush to see Bauhaus,
Mark quips that these old farts had better be good. Goth Fan #1
whips around and assures Mark they will be
“magnificent.” Mark nods, then offhandedly mentions he
would be down for some good Goth. This invokes the wrath of Goth
Fan #2, who indignantly claims Mark will get his ass kicked for
calling Bauhaus “Goth.” Mark then hides himself in the
massive girth of Coldplay Fan #1. It turns out Goth Fan #2 is
correct: Bauhaus out-Goths everything, completely defying
categorization and all conceptions of good music. They play a set
that begins with the frontman, whom we nicknamed Grand Master
Wizard after he appeared looking like Merlin in S&M gear,
hanging upside down. The one thing that can be said is that Bauhaus
takes excellent advantage of the wind. In fact, we suspect that
GMW, quarterstaff in hand, has conjured the powerful gusts to draw
attention to his wispy white hair and billowing man-dress. And the
music? As the hipster high school kids behind us quip, “Hey,
they’re playing the same song for the 10th time in a
row!”
10:40 p.m. Coldplay caps off the first day with a crowd-pleasing
set peppered with hits and new tracks off its upcoming album
“X&Y.” While Coldplay’s no Radiohead,
anything at this point is better than Bauhaus. Mark has a hard time
enjoying the music, still lost in Coldplay Fan #1’s heft and
nearly being brought to tears by the stupidity of drunken Coldplay
Fan #2’s flashing devil horns during “Clocks.” He
is cheered up, however, by the treasure hunt for dropped objects in
the aftermath of the show. (Rockstar Energy Drink trucker hats!
Yes!)
Sunday:
2:00 p.m. Following a night of Hot Pockets and terribly botched
chicken pot pies, we arrive and catch the tail end of hip-hop group
The Perceptionists. The only things more pleasing than MC Mr.
Lif’s tentacle-like hair is the group’s steady beats
and lucid delivery.
3:00 p.m. A brief interlude in the godforsaken rave tent.
Matthew Dear is playing. To us, it sounds like a bunch of noise,
but for two members of our party brave enough to ford the river of
trance-loving zombies, Dear satisfies.
4:10 p.m. It is a difficult choice between the Fiery Furnaces
and M.I.A., but eventually the Sri Lankan sweetheart wins, and we
fall in love. M.I.A. delivers perhaps the best set at Coachella,
her high energy delivery and masterful beats converting a skeptical
crowd into a roaring one. In fact, it culminates in the only
legitimate “encore” we’ve ever seen, with a
bewildered M.I.A. stepping back on stage to a screaming crowd to,
in the words of her DJ, “just make something up.”
5:00 p.m. The Futureheads takes the main stage. While catchy and
entertaining, they play so quickly and with such uncontrolled
energy that eventually everything runs together. Plus, we’re
still heartsick for M.I.A.
6:15 p.m. The scheduling gods smite us as we’re forced to
leave Gang of Four early to get in position for the Arcade Fire.
What we see of Gang of Four is certainly impressive, and we
immediately see and hear their influence in some of our favorite
bands. Curse you, organizers, and your penchant for difficult
decisions.
6:35 p.m. The plan to get in good position fails miserably.
However, our lingering M.I.A. hangover subsides when the golden
children of Montreal open with “Wake Up.” While it is
difficult to see well, the mix of the sunset, the ever-present wind
and the Arcade Fire’s infectious spirit are able to overcome
the wall of people. By the time they close with “Rebellion
(Lies),” they have sold many on their unique pop.
7:35 p.m. Mark rushes to the main stage to catch New Order and
nearly goes into convulsions as his aging heroes launch into
danceable hits like “Bizarre Love Triangle” and classic
Joy Division tunes like “Love Will Tear Us Apart.” Nick
heads off to the Outdoor Stage to see Aesop Rock, who continues to
define this Coachella as a hip-hop festival with his sharp
production and clever rhymes.
9:00 p.m. Mark settles down at the main stage and is giddy to
finally see Trent Reznor and Nine Inch Nails live. They come on
stage late, following a bizarre broadcast of a demolition derby. A
large, robotic baby and a robot with claws appear to be involved,
with the baby left seriously hurting. Nine Inch Nails delivers a
set heavy with new tunes from “With Teeth” and hit
singles like “Hurt” and “Closer.” Mark
enjoys them, but is disappointed that they play little material
from “The Fragile,” his favorite album. Meanwhile, Nick
wanders, catching snippets of Pinback’s accessible indie rock
and the macabre dance-punk of The Faint.
10:40 p.m. Attention, all Nine Inch Nails and Bright Eyes fans
who left the main stage en masse after NIN: Thanks for letting us
get up front. Black Star caps off Coachella 2005 in appropriately
overwhelming fashion, with Mos Def and Talib Kweli playing a blend
of both Black Star tracks and their own solo material.
Kweli’s voice is raw due to an illness, but Mos Def and
special guest Common more than make up for this. The rhymes are
tight, the beats are heavy, the wind is blowing harder than ever,
and one thing is apparent: 2005 was the year hip-hop ruled
Coachella. And we couldn’t be happier ““ unless we had
more junk food and M.I.A. as our date.