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It began as a drive from Los Angeles in a rented Dodge van (similar to a Tarago) with my FasterLouder colleague and the two winners of our Coachella competition. We soon realised the drive, which usually takes two hours, become a journey of five and half hours. Welcome to peak-hour freeway traffic, LA style.
Mind you, the vista during the journey was pretty amazing once we left suburbia behind, with desert snow-clad mountains on both sides, and occasionally coming across an endless sea of wind farms mixed with small trailer park towns. Not forgetting, of course, the high-rise casino (complete with outlet stores) that appeared out of nowhere. Eventually, we arrived at our digs for the next three nights (courtesy of the lovely people at Capitol/EMI), La Quinta Resort.
Nobody could’ve prepared me for the audacious nature of this hotel complex – 42 swimming pools, green grass and planted flowers everywhere amongst adobe type accommodation, mine featured a very large bedroom, his and hers bathrooms, a private courtyard and a full-size swimming pool and spa, shared with three other guests. After a few welcoming beverages in the bar with the record company label manager and a couple of fellow Aussie music writers (from The Australian and Melbourne’s Herald Sun), jetlag set in and it was time for an early night.
The site of the Coachella Festival is located about ten minutes’ drive of the main town areas in a polo field complex, surrounded by palm trees. At around 25 degrees, the weather turned out to be a little warmer than it had been in LA.
1999’s inaugural festival featured Beck, Tool, Morrissey, Rage Against The Machine, Spiritualized, At The Drive In, A Perfect Circle. Since then, Coachella’s bill has included a long list of diverse acts, such as the Pixies, Radiohead, Desert Sessions, Kraftwerk, The Cure, Flaming Lips, Mogwai (in 2004), The Beastie Boys, The Hives, Queens Of The Stone Age, Hot Hot Heat, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, White Stripes, Iggy & The Stooges, Sonic Youth, The Mars Volta (in 2003), while Björk, Siouxie & The Banshees, Oasis, Foo Fighters, The Vines are just some of the acts who appeared in 2002. Jane’s Addiction, Weezer, Iggy Pop, Sigur Ros, Dandy Warhols were amongst those who played in 2001.
Converse provided a tour bus shuttle service from the hotel and when it eventually arrived on we jumped to be greeted by some very excited people who handed out some special gift bags, and to my amazement asked me my shoe size. Soon, I was the proud owner of two free pairs of Converse shoes – thanks very much!
The Converse chaps dropped us off at the VIP/Artist Services entrance. (I later found out that this was the more desirable way to enter the fields.) The layout of the festival wasn’t too dissimilar to Australian festivals, including a main stage and four other stages with food stalls, merchandise stands, bathrooms and bars lining the perimeter of the field.
Speaking of the bars, all alcohol had to be consumed in these marked areas. With a cup of beer going for US$7 and spirits for US$8, the festival proved to be quite a sober one for this tightly-budgeted writer.
Now to the bands. The delay of the shuttle bus meant I’d missed performances by Buck 65 and Scandinavians The Raveonettes, so it was off to the Mojave tent to catch some of Stereophonics. The tent was tightly packed, and many punters leaked out of the side entrances, making it difficult to find a comfortable place to watch them from, alas. From what I heard and saw – the band were dressed head to toe in black leather – they certainly translated better live than they had on their latest album. Moving onto the main stage, I caught a sober Jeff Tweedie fronting Wilco as the sun slowly worked its way down. Opening with The Late Greats off their latest album A Ghost Is Born following on with I’m Trying to Break Your Heart from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Most of the shortish set contained tracks off A Ghost Is Born and ended with Spiders. Apparently, the band were to appear at last year’s festival but Tweedie checked himself into rehab, with the singer mentioning “We would have been here last year, but I was too fucked up.”
Let’s just say, I’m not a fan of Weezer and the whole emo/geek generation, singer/songwriter, Rivers Cuomo has seemingly inspired. With that preface, I think I must’ve been one of the few who think this way and from the opening song, Say It Ain’t So through to the Sweater Song, Hash Pipe, Island In The Sun, the new single which is all over radio airwaves, Beverly Hills and closing with The Buddy Holly Song there were occasions throughout the set where you couldn’t hear the band over the singing crowd.
One of the highlights of the weekend was the set from the original line-up of Bauhaus. Yes, Pete Murphy, Daniel Ash, David J and Kevin Haskins on the same stage nearly twenty five years since their first single was released. A glorious entrance – one that only such a legendary act could get away with – opened the set, with platinum haired singer Pete Murphy lowered upside down on a wire in a cross position, dressed in a scraggly ribboned outfit which fluttered wildly in the desert evening’s breeze. As the band’s trademark white light shone upwards, he belted out Bela Lugosi’s Dead. Absolutely brilliant. Following tradition, Murphy posed throughout the whole set with his trademark arm-raising and spent some time climbing to the stage’s platform allowing the audience to wallow in the live sounds of God In An Alcove, She’s In Parties, Passion Of Lovers and ending the magnificent performance with Rosegarden Funeral of Sores and Stigmata Martyr and left us with a delicious quote from the gothic master, “You can say now that you were there!” before disappearing into the dark night.
Regaining some composure I scampered back over to the Mojave to try to catch some of Bloc Party’s set. Seemingly, all those under 30 had decided to leave Bauhaus to the oldies and hence I found the tent bursting at its seams with there being no apparent way to get through the crowd, which allowed for some time to rest before Fantômas.
Having only seen the band once before, I was prepared for the onslaught of peculiarity that seems to be aligned with anything Mike Patton is involved with these days. With powerhouse drummer Dave Lombardo and bassist Trevor Dunn keeping the timing and rhythm tight, Patton yelped, whispered and hollered his born-again Christian, speaking-in-tongues nonsensical lyrics whilst guitarist, Buzz Osbourne shredded and wailed. Patton was also responsible for the quote of the festival, “I’d rather be backstage over there butt fucking Gwyneth Paltrow”. Akin to knowing you’ve witnessed something outstanding, tonight’s set was a fantastic way to end the day at a festival, especially one in the Californian desert.
On the way back to the bar to meet up with the rest of my Aussie Posse, where I could’ve spent much more time spotting the major, minor and porno movie stars, as well as the has-been and will-be musos – not forgetting playing the “Spot The Plastic Surgery And/Or Boob Job Game”. On the way over, I caught the end of Coldplay’s set, who were busy showcasing tracks of their new album X&Y and included the predictable crowd pleasers off Parachutes and A Rush Of Blood To The Head. The crowd lapped up the band’s professionalism, and singer Chris Martin’s seemingly genuine and grateful on-stage banter.
There were two industry parties being held on-site but as much as I’m known to be able to sniff even a whiff of these type of shenanigans, after running around in circles for a while to no avail, we decided to forsake the LA glamour for rest and recreation back at the resort. Normally with festivals, I’m reliant on the knowledge that there will be some kind of public transport available to get me home (or in this case, to my hotel room and pool) so I can wash off the day’s dust. So it was a bit of a shock to have the sudden realisation that we were stuck in the middle of nowhere in the early hours of the morning, in a field in Californian desert where everybody drives. Looking at several fields’ worth of people leaving in their cars – and creating huge traffic jams in the process – our options were either to walking the 10 kilometres or so back to the resort, or to try to catch a lift with somebody from the Artist Services area. Let’s just say it took us over an hour to be successful. A dark angel, Roberto – who had spent the whole day since 6.30am driving artists to and fro – must’ve realised the looks of desperation on our faces and drove us out of his way to the resort. Thanks Roberto!
The second day of the festival saw us jumping in the Dodge van to battle the traffic, the numerous carparks chocker-block with kids filling up on booze and the intimidating main entry, where my plastic pen was confiscated (it’d make a great weapon… not!), my torso, head and shoes metal detected, my ticket and VIP wristband verified by a barcode scanner and every section of my bag searched by a scary bouncer.
First stop was the Mojave tent for Kasabian. I’ve only just become familiar with the band and although they’re quite prog rock, they wear their British influences on their sleeves – the Stone Roses, Happy Mondays and much more are to be found within their music. As per usual, there tent was packed with a load of people eager to hear the band, so after a couple of songs spent staring at people’s backs, I decided to check out the art exhibitions scattered throughout the fields. One large space was reserved for about 100 wheelie bins painted by various artists and could be purchased by punters. Can you imagine arriving home with a painted wheelie bin in your boot? No, neither can I. But hell, if things like this make people think more about recycling, it can’t be a bad thing.
Other installations of note were a massive Tesla coil (similar to the one at this year’s Big Day Out) performed its exciting electricity between all bands after dusk; The Drum Orb, a circular percussive instrument encouraging punters to bang on the metal to create a raucous aural display. Return Of The Dragon Fly sprayed a fine mist of water and made the desert sunset an even more spectacular experience.
Back to the main stage and Gang Of Four’s roadies were setting up for their performance. Being a long-time fan of the politically and musically influential band, I must say their set was somewhat disappointing, Opening with Return the Gift and continuing with What We All Want. Perhaps if the string of gigs the band have planned were last on the American itinerary, they would’ve sounded like they’ve spent more than a couple of hours getting back on form. Many of today’s high profile bands (Franz Ferdinand, Hot Hot Heat, Kaiser Chiefs, the Bravery, Bloc Party, Dogs Die in Hot Cars, the Futureheads are amongst those who namecheck the band as an influence) yet they may be musically aligned but politically there’s no relation.
New Order were up next and I must admit, the lure of further Converse sneakers allowed me to miss the first half of the set, which after speaking with others, didn’t mean I missed much. Last time the band played in Sydney, it was a remarkable set, but this time it seemed like they were tired and old. Still, hearing classic tracks such as Atmosphere, Bizarre Love Triangle, Crystal, Love Will Tear Us Apart (which Sumner dedicated to fellow bandmate in Joy Division, Ian Curtis) always manages to bring a smile to people’s faces. The band concluded with Blue Monday.
Undoubtedly, there will be a clash at some stage during a festival and here I was placed in a quandary, see someone new with an album which was an office favourite in Pinback or catch industrial legends Nine Inch Nails with their new material and line-up. Of course, Nine Inch Nails won out, and I don’t regret the decision one little bit. The band, were, throughout my twenties, part of the soundtrack of my emotional life. From when I first had Pretty Hate Machine blasting from my headphones whilst trekking the historical cities I had only read about in books or heard about from my European relatives (and discovering turgid, dingy goth clubs). Trent Reznor’s angst seemingly fitting whilst I battled and detangled myself from my first long-term relationship and the safety of my loving family so many kilometres away. Broken and The Downward Spiral continued my more downs than ups upon return and settling back into life in Australia after three years absence.
The band tonight opened with The Wretched off The Fragile and saw the newly sober and clean Reznor (with his shock of dark hair, pale skin, grin and – surprise, surprise – a buffed torso) coaxed the willing audience to take note. And take note they did, the tight and obviously well-rehearsed band featuring drummer Jerome Dillon, keyboardist Alessandro Cortini, A Perfect Circle bassist Jeordie White and Icarus Line guitarist Aaron North ran through a multitude of songs off the four old albums and showcased four tracks off the new album With Teeth. The set included a great solo performance of Hurt, before the full band launched into March Of The Pigs, Wish, Suck, Terrible Lie, Closer, Burn (off the Natural Born Killers soundtrack) before drawing to a close with the classic Head Like A Hole.
Dragging Clinton (one of the competition winners) back over to the Mojave tent for a fitting end to the festival: The Locust. Another band signed to the innovative label, Ipecac, the band features four fellas dressed in sperm-like dark suits who proceeded to squelch, drum, thrum, scream and squeal through their instruments. Certainly one of the loudest and more eccentric bands I had the fortune to experience, I’m definitely keen to hear more of The Locust. Add to that watching punter reactions to the band was also very amusing. Shock and awe in the Californian desert, indeed.
Trundling back to the VIP area to meet up with the Australians so we can depart, rappers, Black Star were heard finishing their ho-hum set. Most of the punters had gone, returning to Los Angeles (or thereabouts) where tomorrow was another day of work or study. Again, we found ourselves walking through fields and fields of parking – we’d temporarily lost the van – before we were able to drive through the darkness, back to the hotel for post-festival beverages and banishment of the desert dust.
Coachella was an extraordinary opportunity and a fantastic experience. The photos simply don’t do such a well-organised and cleverly planned event justice. With over 90,000 punters attending over two days, the sometimes prevalent mishaps I seem to experience – not enough toilets, unhealthy food, huge drink queues and overcrowding – seemed to be missing. I think it could be beneficial for some of our festival promoters to take a look-see the way Coachella is organised. There was a distinct lack of rowdy, drunken and careless behaviour, and without wanting to sound like an old fart, I couldn’t help wondering if this could be attributed to the lack of public transport, the crazy cost of alcohol and the heightened legal age.
You become accustomed to experiencing festivals with your beloved, your good friends and the familiar group of punters – and I found myself quite a few times wishing for these people to be around me, experiencing this fabulous event. Here’s hoping that local promoters get their act together and bring some of the great acts I experienced down here!
