COACHELLA IS THE BEST DRESSED FESTIVAL ON EARTH
Well the plan was, in our addled state to get to the polo fields in order to make muse - but it soon looked like that was a half baked idea after ti took us 1.5 hours to travel 10 miles! Oh well - see you October stitched face Matty.
Thursday were on the main stage at that time and boyeee - what an emo crock.
Maybe I am being too harsh, but it definitely wasn’t my cup of tea, coffee or any other annotated beverage.
But we survived to get good posi’s for Belle and Sebastian. Oh how incredibly beautiful and twee and lovely!
The strings made my skin glitter and the finger click dancing was for all to see. They had about 12 players, amazing they all fitted in the one space. I met Stevie Dreads, their tour manager who is a great guy - I thought he must have incredible orderly skills to maintain tabs on 12 people at once! Oh how ace…the invitation to invade the crowd was taken up by numerous fans one pf which looked like a human skeleton.
Being hungry we bopped over to queue for food - the norm now, and saw some of Bright Eyes…another crammed side of stage and another round of Conor love from the consuming masses. I think I like his songs more than the way he sings them. My friend put it best when she said: “It’s like when Bob Dylan writes for other people - that’s quintessential genius.” I cracked up. But hey, he was skinny Conor with a funny accent and a bunch of songs - nice food to eat my dinner to.
I spied Robert leaving the throng after Bright Eyes and told my mate. She ended up having quite a chat with him, and I watched the stars come up over my head - only a day away from a Harvest Moon.
The 2nd of May. A day that will live in infamy for me, for numerous and diverse reasons, but mainly as it was the day that I saw one of my favourite bands just completely die onstage with technical retardation.
Am I being dramatic - hell yes! But I feel things to passionately for it to be a small fuck up. It was a major one, the only one on that stage (that I saw) all day. We got there a little early, grabbed some food and sat back on the bleaches so we could gauge the audience response and have dancing room for ourselves: but we kind of panicked when - with 10 minutes to go, there were only about 100 people there. Thankfully the pull from the Wayne Coyne Show wasn’t too bad and a rather large mass gathered.
Nick skipped to the riser, and Peter and Robert ambled onstage - I was glee’d: with the capacity to generate THIS much noise it should be an excellent show!
Opening track was to be Spread Your Love.
It was SYL - just sans any vocal - and no offence to the crowd, but their attempts were pretty anaemic in the vocal ranges.
Six Barrel and another were to follow, but they sounded a little scratchy, kept cutting in and out and at this stage I was a bit - uh oh. My friend felt worse, after wishing Robert luck earlier in the day: “Shit! I’ve cursed them!”
Uh oh wasn’t enough though. By song four, White Palms (if memory serves me correctly) Robert tossed his bass offstage midway through - Peter “we can’t play without bass”. I later found out 2 amps died as well…so we switched to acoustic electrics (if that makes sense) and we got the treat worthy Complicated Situation. A few more acoustic tracks while Robert cradled his head in his hands sitting on the riser alongside Nick, now moved from his priorly straddled position, and we tried to get back to electric mode.
At this stage I was thinking - DRUM SOLO as it seemed to be the only instrument without technical complaint.
Robert was exceptionally apologetic, and Peter was like - “Hahaha…..fuck” in that downward lilt he has perfected so well. I think both were thankful no one fled.
Things kinda got back on track, but to be honest, the lighting was a highlight, and for a band that usually leaves me in a human puddle on the floor, I was very much still intact. Damn.
They cut their losses early. By this stage Wayne Coyne was walking across the massive audience at the main stage - he was in a plastic bubble, I kid you not.
Moving into Mogwai I was a little odded out. Would my favourite instrumental punk sonic sounds cape cum disembowelling guitar maestros suffer the same fate?
NO! They were loud, but more than that, they raked the depths of the tent and screeched through such highs, if you weren’t wearing ear plugs you were screwed. The new stuff sounded brilliant, and for ever more I was amazed at how a bunch of Scottish men who, look like Granddaddy rejects, can sound so fiercely indifferent to ANYTHING else going on.
From the Mogwai show it was the end of Basement Jaxx - testimony to Americans not being able to dance - HAHAHA!! Perusing the Wayne show safe from our perches: The Flaming Lips are an enigma not soon to be forgotten.
And then there is Le Tigre.
I was quite excited to see these ones, as it had been 4 years since my Garage experience and I had heard reports of the show just being completely built up since then.
Indeed it was: everything from the projections, the spearing electronic blips and manic dancing made for a show you could dance to, but think at.
If that indeed makes sense.
We wandered over to the main stage to see The Cure. Oh man. It was great. We got there just before they went offstage for the obligatory encore, so when they came back out - a grinning Robert Smith (visibly amped to be back in the fold, and playing so damn well) launched into some ‘pop’ - Love Cats, Close To You - gah! He went in like a greatest hits spree…to to to brilliant.
We received the phone call of ‘where the fuck are you’ and made our way tot the car, only to be trapped in traffic for 2.5 hours. It was a mixed day for me, but what can I say, it was festival.
In the desert.
An oasis of green grass in the midst of sandy nothingness.
And I was there.
Thursday were on the main stage at that time and boyeee - what an emo crock.
Maybe I am being too harsh, but it definitely wasn’t my cup of tea, coffee or any other annotated beverage.
But we survived to get good posi’s for Belle and Sebastian. Oh how incredibly beautiful and twee and lovely!
The strings made my skin glitter and the finger click dancing was for all to see. They had about 12 players, amazing they all fitted in the one space. I met Stevie Dreads, their tour manager who is a great guy - I thought he must have incredible orderly skills to maintain tabs on 12 people at once! Oh how ace…the invitation to invade the crowd was taken up by numerous fans one pf which looked like a human skeleton.
Being hungry we bopped over to queue for food - the norm now, and saw some of Bright Eyes…another crammed side of stage and another round of Conor love from the consuming masses. I think I like his songs more than the way he sings them. My friend put it best when she said: “It’s like when Bob Dylan writes for other people - that’s quintessential genius.” I cracked up. But hey, he was skinny Conor with a funny accent and a bunch of songs - nice food to eat my dinner to.
I spied Robert leaving the throng after Bright Eyes and told my mate. She ended up having quite a chat with him, and I watched the stars come up over my head - only a day away from a Harvest Moon.
The 2nd of May. A day that will live in infamy for me, for numerous and diverse reasons, but mainly as it was the day that I saw one of my favourite bands just completely die onstage with technical retardation.
Am I being dramatic - hell yes! But I feel things to passionately for it to be a small fuck up. It was a major one, the only one on that stage (that I saw) all day. We got there a little early, grabbed some food and sat back on the bleaches so we could gauge the audience response and have dancing room for ourselves: but we kind of panicked when - with 10 minutes to go, there were only about 100 people there. Thankfully the pull from the Wayne Coyne Show wasn’t too bad and a rather large mass gathered.
Nick skipped to the riser, and Peter and Robert ambled onstage - I was glee’d: with the capacity to generate THIS much noise it should be an excellent show!
Opening track was to be Spread Your Love.
It was SYL - just sans any vocal - and no offence to the crowd, but their attempts were pretty anaemic in the vocal ranges.
Six Barrel and another were to follow, but they sounded a little scratchy, kept cutting in and out and at this stage I was a bit - uh oh. My friend felt worse, after wishing Robert luck earlier in the day: “Shit! I’ve cursed them!”
Uh oh wasn’t enough though. By song four, White Palms (if memory serves me correctly) Robert tossed his bass offstage midway through - Peter “we can’t play without bass”. I later found out 2 amps died as well…so we switched to acoustic electrics (if that makes sense) and we got the treat worthy Complicated Situation. A few more acoustic tracks while Robert cradled his head in his hands sitting on the riser alongside Nick, now moved from his priorly straddled position, and we tried to get back to electric mode.
At this stage I was thinking - DRUM SOLO as it seemed to be the only instrument without technical complaint.
Robert was exceptionally apologetic, and Peter was like - “Hahaha…..fuck” in that downward lilt he has perfected so well. I think both were thankful no one fled.
Things kinda got back on track, but to be honest, the lighting was a highlight, and for a band that usually leaves me in a human puddle on the floor, I was very much still intact. Damn.
They cut their losses early. By this stage Wayne Coyne was walking across the massive audience at the main stage - he was in a plastic bubble, I kid you not.
Moving into Mogwai I was a little odded out. Would my favourite instrumental punk sonic sounds cape cum disembowelling guitar maestros suffer the same fate?
NO! They were loud, but more than that, they raked the depths of the tent and screeched through such highs, if you weren’t wearing ear plugs you were screwed. The new stuff sounded brilliant, and for ever more I was amazed at how a bunch of Scottish men who, look like Granddaddy rejects, can sound so fiercely indifferent to ANYTHING else going on.
From the Mogwai show it was the end of Basement Jaxx - testimony to Americans not being able to dance - HAHAHA!! Perusing the Wayne show safe from our perches: The Flaming Lips are an enigma not soon to be forgotten.
And then there is Le Tigre.
I was quite excited to see these ones, as it had been 4 years since my Garage experience and I had heard reports of the show just being completely built up since then.
Indeed it was: everything from the projections, the spearing electronic blips and manic dancing made for a show you could dance to, but think at.
If that indeed makes sense.
We wandered over to the main stage to see The Cure. Oh man. It was great. We got there just before they went offstage for the obligatory encore, so when they came back out - a grinning Robert Smith (visibly amped to be back in the fold, and playing so damn well) launched into some ‘pop’ - Love Cats, Close To You - gah! He went in like a greatest hits spree…to to to brilliant.
We received the phone call of ‘where the fuck are you’ and made our way tot the car, only to be trapped in traffic for 2.5 hours. It was a mixed day for me, but what can I say, it was festival.
In the desert.
An oasis of green grass in the midst of sandy nothingness.
And I was there.