In not-so-surprising fashion, Coachella 2009 (the tenth festival and my sixth) turned out to have a vast span of joys both small and large. While I though it might be a yawner, it was anything but. Guess I'll have to trust the organizers more in the future, huh? Here are some sweet-ass photos from Dave Bullock at Wired:
My Friday experiences: Gui Boratto (partial), Steve Aoki, The Hold Steady (partial), Los Campesinos! (partial), The Ting Tings, White Lies (partial), Franz Ferdinand (partial), Leonard Cohen (partial), Morrissey, and Paul McCartney (partial).
Gui Boratto was a nice chill entry into the fest, and Aoki followed him with a high-energy rock-and-roll via Justice set in the Sahara tent. The Hold Steady seemed to have a bit less energy than I’ve seen in previous performances, but energy wasn't a problem for Los Campesinos!, who played intense pop to an overflow Gobi tent crowd. After a bit of a technical delay, the Ting Tings boinged and bopped the Sahara crowd, while in the Mojave tent the U.K. buzz band White Lies flogged their not-awful blend of Editors and Coldplay. On the main stage, Franz Ferdinand were up for it but just slightly off their game, which meant that the trip over to Leonard Cohen was an easy decision.
Leonard Cohen had a hot-shit band and the best sound I’ve ever heard at Coachella, which meant that I could take the earplugs out and bathe in the lush sonics. He was in great voice, and all the should-be-hits were on display: "Dance Me To The End Of Love," "The Future," "Bird On A Wire," and more. Sadly, I cut that set short to position for Morrissey, only to discover that his set was a missed opportunity that saw him purposefully fucking up Smiths songs and haphazardly choosing solo works to spotlight (only one song from Your Arsenal and "Seasick, Yet Still Docked" is the choice?) while bitching about the wafting smells of cooked meat. But then it was time for Sir Paul, and Paul McCartney showed everyone what a legend is supposed to do at these gigs by bringing the hits (Beatles, Wings, solo) and a surprising amount of emotion. [Who knew that "Blackbird" was about the African-American experience in the '60s? And the dedication of "My Love" to his late wife Linda, who passed away almost exactly eleven years from that night's performance, was heavy.]
My Saturday experiences: Ida Maria (partial), Bob Mould Band, Thenewno2 (partial), Drive-By Truckers (partial), Amanda Palmer, TV On The Radio, Fleet Foxes (partial), Junior Boys, M.I.A. (partial), Glass Candy, Turbonegro (partial), The Killers (partial), Mastodon (partial), and MSTRKRFT (partial).
In the Gobi tent, young Brit Ida Maria was a fun if one-dimensional rock screamer with a naughty sexual edge. Speaking of sexual edge (if your idea of sexual is "older gay bear"), Bob Mould blazed through his expansive career (Husker Du, Sugar, solo) with raw power and enthusiasm. Thenewno2 and Drive-By Truckers were appealing if inconsequential; while they might have been great by themselves in different venues, they were comfortably in the background while I hydrated and shaded myself. Amanda Palmer (for point of reference, sort of a goth-punk Tori Amos) entertained by chugging wine and playing her solo stuff as well as a few surprises (two Dresden Dolls songs, a cover of “Time Is Running Out” by Muse, and a wild crowd-surfing encore of “Creep” by Radiohead on ukulele).
Back at the main stage, TVOTR brought the 21st Century dense art-funk with a three-piece horn section integrated into the tunes rather than an afterthought. On the outdoor stage, Fleet Foxes sounded gorgeous and looked homeless, like the kids of Crosby Stills & Nash kicked out of their mansions. The evening one-two Gobi tent punch of Junior Boys and Glass Candy provided some louche late-night dancing bliss, especially with the skintight-suited antics of Glass Candy's lead singer. (I'm sure it was even better coked up, as a few of my fellow attendees looked a bit chemically shifted.)
M.I.A. burned through the hits on the main stage -- as did the Killers for their performance -- but there were some left-field pleasures on the smaller stages to check out instead. Mastodon played a heavy interlocking set to a half-full tent while MSTRKRFT rocked an overflow Sahara crowd, proving that the last slot in the dance tent will blast your face off. And let's not forget the lads from Turbonegro, who produced the only circle mosh pit I've ever seen at Coachella, while they entertained with their Misfits-meets-Gwar formula.
My Sunday experiences: Supermayer, Friendly Fires, Sebastian Tellier, Lykke Li (partial), Brian Jonestown Massacre (partial), Antony & The Johnsons (partial), Yeah Yeah Yeahs, My Bloody Valentine, Public Enemy (partial), and The Cure (partial).
Supermayer perplexed a largely empty Sahara throng with their psychedelic dance tracks, and U.K. buzz band Friendly Fires flogged their not-awful blend of LCD Soundsystem and Coldplay. The oh-so-French Sebastian Tellier rocked the guitar and the beard and the slightly sleazy super sexy songs, and Lykke Li jumped her Swedish synth-pop around the outdoor stage. Long past their pop-culture zeitgeist hour, BJM trotted out their droning fossil rock with proficiency and an absence of surprise, but the NYC collective Antony & The Johnsons showed some brass balls by trying some different electronic music bed elements under their chamber pop with varying success.
The main stage saw the Yeah Yeah Yeahs plowing through a successful but somewhat subdued set, while My Bloody Valentine broke the sound barrier as well as some eardrums (although there was just a sixteen-minute feedback section in “You Made Me Realise” instead of the 26-minute marathon I saw them whip up in Chicago months ago). Public Enemy blasted through It Takes A Nation Of Millions yet again, and had I not seen the exact same set at last year's Pitchfork festival -- or if they had The Roots as their backing band, as they did on a recent episode of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon -- I would have stayed to watch for much longer than I actually did. As the main stage closers, The Cure dipped into their catalog (songs from Wish and Disintegration and 4:13 Dream and more) in an engaged and vigorous fashion, which isn't always the case when you see Fat Bob and the boys play.
As Brian and I walked back to our rented hybrid Toyota Camry and reflected on the weekend (I had a young Mexican gent stop to kiss my Bimbo jersey while his friend took a picture, I gave a hungry dude a piece of my pizza and he looked so happy that I thought he might cry, I heard at least four people shout out lines from the animation still on my Sunday t-shirt, I saw things in the Porta-Potties that I hope to never see again, and so on), I realized that Coachella is impossible to mess up. It's a festival that's about the journey and the destination alike, the little experiences that make up the full event, the dust and the skyline and everything in between. I'm already geeked about Coachella 2010, so let the artist speculation (and the countdown) begin.
My Friday experiences: Gui Boratto (partial), Steve Aoki, The Hold Steady (partial), Los Campesinos! (partial), The Ting Tings, White Lies (partial), Franz Ferdinand (partial), Leonard Cohen (partial), Morrissey, and Paul McCartney (partial).
Gui Boratto was a nice chill entry into the fest, and Aoki followed him with a high-energy rock-and-roll via Justice set in the Sahara tent. The Hold Steady seemed to have a bit less energy than I’ve seen in previous performances, but energy wasn't a problem for Los Campesinos!, who played intense pop to an overflow Gobi tent crowd. After a bit of a technical delay, the Ting Tings boinged and bopped the Sahara crowd, while in the Mojave tent the U.K. buzz band White Lies flogged their not-awful blend of Editors and Coldplay. On the main stage, Franz Ferdinand were up for it but just slightly off their game, which meant that the trip over to Leonard Cohen was an easy decision.
Leonard Cohen had a hot-shit band and the best sound I’ve ever heard at Coachella, which meant that I could take the earplugs out and bathe in the lush sonics. He was in great voice, and all the should-be-hits were on display: "Dance Me To The End Of Love," "The Future," "Bird On A Wire," and more. Sadly, I cut that set short to position for Morrissey, only to discover that his set was a missed opportunity that saw him purposefully fucking up Smiths songs and haphazardly choosing solo works to spotlight (only one song from Your Arsenal and "Seasick, Yet Still Docked" is the choice?) while bitching about the wafting smells of cooked meat. But then it was time for Sir Paul, and Paul McCartney showed everyone what a legend is supposed to do at these gigs by bringing the hits (Beatles, Wings, solo) and a surprising amount of emotion. [Who knew that "Blackbird" was about the African-American experience in the '60s? And the dedication of "My Love" to his late wife Linda, who passed away almost exactly eleven years from that night's performance, was heavy.]
My Saturday experiences: Ida Maria (partial), Bob Mould Band, Thenewno2 (partial), Drive-By Truckers (partial), Amanda Palmer, TV On The Radio, Fleet Foxes (partial), Junior Boys, M.I.A. (partial), Glass Candy, Turbonegro (partial), The Killers (partial), Mastodon (partial), and MSTRKRFT (partial).
In the Gobi tent, young Brit Ida Maria was a fun if one-dimensional rock screamer with a naughty sexual edge. Speaking of sexual edge (if your idea of sexual is "older gay bear"), Bob Mould blazed through his expansive career (Husker Du, Sugar, solo) with raw power and enthusiasm. Thenewno2 and Drive-By Truckers were appealing if inconsequential; while they might have been great by themselves in different venues, they were comfortably in the background while I hydrated and shaded myself. Amanda Palmer (for point of reference, sort of a goth-punk Tori Amos) entertained by chugging wine and playing her solo stuff as well as a few surprises (two Dresden Dolls songs, a cover of “Time Is Running Out” by Muse, and a wild crowd-surfing encore of “Creep” by Radiohead on ukulele).
Back at the main stage, TVOTR brought the 21st Century dense art-funk with a three-piece horn section integrated into the tunes rather than an afterthought. On the outdoor stage, Fleet Foxes sounded gorgeous and looked homeless, like the kids of Crosby Stills & Nash kicked out of their mansions. The evening one-two Gobi tent punch of Junior Boys and Glass Candy provided some louche late-night dancing bliss, especially with the skintight-suited antics of Glass Candy's lead singer. (I'm sure it was even better coked up, as a few of my fellow attendees looked a bit chemically shifted.)
M.I.A. burned through the hits on the main stage -- as did the Killers for their performance -- but there were some left-field pleasures on the smaller stages to check out instead. Mastodon played a heavy interlocking set to a half-full tent while MSTRKRFT rocked an overflow Sahara crowd, proving that the last slot in the dance tent will blast your face off. And let's not forget the lads from Turbonegro, who produced the only circle mosh pit I've ever seen at Coachella, while they entertained with their Misfits-meets-Gwar formula.
My Sunday experiences: Supermayer, Friendly Fires, Sebastian Tellier, Lykke Li (partial), Brian Jonestown Massacre (partial), Antony & The Johnsons (partial), Yeah Yeah Yeahs, My Bloody Valentine, Public Enemy (partial), and The Cure (partial).
Supermayer perplexed a largely empty Sahara throng with their psychedelic dance tracks, and U.K. buzz band Friendly Fires flogged their not-awful blend of LCD Soundsystem and Coldplay. The oh-so-French Sebastian Tellier rocked the guitar and the beard and the slightly sleazy super sexy songs, and Lykke Li jumped her Swedish synth-pop around the outdoor stage. Long past their pop-culture zeitgeist hour, BJM trotted out their droning fossil rock with proficiency and an absence of surprise, but the NYC collective Antony & The Johnsons showed some brass balls by trying some different electronic music bed elements under their chamber pop with varying success.
The main stage saw the Yeah Yeah Yeahs plowing through a successful but somewhat subdued set, while My Bloody Valentine broke the sound barrier as well as some eardrums (although there was just a sixteen-minute feedback section in “You Made Me Realise” instead of the 26-minute marathon I saw them whip up in Chicago months ago). Public Enemy blasted through It Takes A Nation Of Millions yet again, and had I not seen the exact same set at last year's Pitchfork festival -- or if they had The Roots as their backing band, as they did on a recent episode of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon -- I would have stayed to watch for much longer than I actually did. As the main stage closers, The Cure dipped into their catalog (songs from Wish and Disintegration and 4:13 Dream and more) in an engaged and vigorous fashion, which isn't always the case when you see Fat Bob and the boys play.
As Brian and I walked back to our rented hybrid Toyota Camry and reflected on the weekend (I had a young Mexican gent stop to kiss my Bimbo jersey while his friend took a picture, I gave a hungry dude a piece of my pizza and he looked so happy that I thought he might cry, I heard at least four people shout out lines from the animation still on my Sunday t-shirt, I saw things in the Porta-Potties that I hope to never see again, and so on), I realized that Coachella is impossible to mess up. It's a festival that's about the journey and the destination alike, the little experiences that make up the full event, the dust and the skyline and everything in between. I'm already geeked about Coachella 2010, so let the artist speculation (and the countdown) begin.
VIVA LA COACHELLA!
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