Coachella Live Blog: Presented by Pitchfork and Others
When I got the call from Pitchfork to cover Coachella on behalf of the venerable tastemaker blog, I was floored. Review the preeminent indie hipster festival AND get paid a tidy sum to write for my favorite e-rag? In the words of Bon Iver, “Scooooooooodilly beeeeeebop beeeoooooooooh.” A few other corporations helped pay for my trip, though I doubt you’ll be able to tell while reading. Let’s touch on the highlights (and a few lowlights) from my time in Cali.
THURSDAY
11am: The VIP experience begins in earnest during my First Class Flight presented by Goodyear®. Goodyear, why have a bad year, when good, is better™? Thank you, Goodyear®, for flying me on your blimp.
3pm: Immediately after landing at LAX, I’m whisked away to a dream world where the girls dress like Native Americans and the boys wear nothing but tank tops. That’s right folks, I took a wrong turn and ended up at a USC frat party.
6pm: On the road to Indio! There’s nothing better than the open road, the sun in your hair, and cold, refreshing bottle of Sriracha® brand red sauce. Sriracha: it’s not just ethnic, anymore™.
8pm: What about the tunes, maaaaaaaan? I actually don’t really like most of the bands playing this festival, because they’re total sellouts. If you get paid for your art, you’re a sellout. And I don’t really consider music art. And art fucking sucks anyway. California is pretty nice so far, though.
11pm: We made it to the camp ground. I fumble around for a while and attempt to pitch a tent in the dark, which sounds a lot like my damn wedding night! Turns out I suck at setting up tents so I make my friend do it while I screw around on my phone. The reception is terrible out here.
FRIDAY
10am: Too early for music. Wake me up in six hours.
4pm: You ever notice how “Indio” and “indie” are pretty similar? I bet that’s why they hold the festival here.
6pm: I lost most of my drugs on the way in to the campgrounds, but thankfully there’s still alcohol. I hit up the Heineken® You Can’t Import Good Taste™ tent, hoping to imbibe some Heineken® wares and maybe catch some music or whatever. Unfortunately, due to the bullshit liberals (I’m assuming) who run this state, you can’t drink outside of the designated beer garden areas. I demand a refund, and in my disgust I pick up a discarded banana peel and throw it toward the crowd at the main stage.
8pm: Catch my first set of the weekend, Radiohead. They didn’t even fucking play Creep. 1/10
10pm: EDM is our generation’s greatest contribution to music, which is why people hate millennials so much. In the Sahara Vevo® Technofuture Blog conTENT™, I’m surrounded by throngs of grinding 20 year olds as blaring electronic music pierces my eardrums. Still a better experience than listening to Ed Sheeran. 2/10
12am: Stumbling back to the campsite, I’m confronted with a haunting thought: What if I’m complicit in the erosion of meaningful human interaction? What if blogs like this, with their postmodern ironic musings and detached commentary, are actually hurting the discourse? Could social media really be that detrimental to society? Then I realized I was saying this shit out loud so I passed the bong and laid down for a bit.
SATURDAY
2pm: I consume a righteous dose of liquid LSD from an eye dropper I found in a porta potty. Hunter S. Thompson would be proud.
2:30pm: That was definitely not LSD.
3:00pm: I have two realizations as I watch my hand undulate with the pulsing sounds emanating from the dance tent: 1. If you take enough cat medicine you will get fucked up. 2. Hands are wild, man.
I have a third realization moments later: my taxes are due on Tuesday.
3:15pm: Does anyone know how to deduct “cat medicine” from your taxes?
4:00pm: After ensuring Uncle Sam gets his fair cut, I head to the Monsanto® Genetically Modified Rock Stage™. Rock music has been on a bit of a downswing, culturally, for the last fifteen years. Fortunately, Monsanto® has stepped up, big time. Using stolen strains of DNA from Fred Durst’s rotting corpse*, they’ve created dozens of hybrid rock bands that also function as crops to feed the starving attendees. A sort of Soylent Green for the MTV generation. And what are they calling this delightful abomination of music? Korn. 6/10
6pm: I talk to a few youngsters in the crowd. Well, I try to, but they were too busy Snapfacing their Mytubes! Jeez, you’d think the younger generation would learn some damn respect, and yell “Freebird!” during the concert instead of looking at their phones the whole time. EPIC BACON FAIL!
8pm Beyoncé: You may have seen this on other music blogs, but indulge my first hand perspective for a moment: Beyonce came out during Lady Gaga’s set and consumed Gaga in one bite. I guess she really is eating for three.
After the initial shock wore off, Beyonce started her own set, dressed in nothing but a hospital gown, Gaga detritus still strewn about the stage. That’s one hot mama! Speaking of, immediately after stepping onto stage, Bee proceeded to give birth to her twins. She held each child up, Lion King style, and the crowd was shocked to find that the twins she birthed were none other than Kelly Rowland and Michelle Williams, from Destiny’s Child. I guess that makes Beyoncé “destiny”. Anyway, they played “Bills, Bills, Bills” and it was pretty good. YAS KWEEN PLACENTA! 8/10
SUNDAY
1pm: Mercifully close to the end of the festival, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Ah shit, never mind. That’s just a cat medicine flashback.
3pm: Macauley Culkin really let himself go.
5pm: I’ve only seen four concerts so far and two of those were fake. I head over to the festival grounds and camp out next to the Kit Kat® Gimme a Break From the Sweltering Heat Stage™, where misters spray the crowd with a fine powder of crushed Kit Kat® bars. Refreshing! Unfortunately there was no music at this stage.
7pm: Time for Kendrick Lamar. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t most excited for King Kendrick’s set. I arrived early, and pushed my way to the front of the crowd. The pre-concert music was blaring Tupac, just perfect. Everything was setting up to be one of the best shows of my life. Unfortunately, right as Kendrick came out, I slipped and fell on a banana peel some IDIOT left by the main stage and knocked myself unconscious on the railing. When I woke up, the festival was over. 4/10
MONDAY
9am: My friends dragged my lifeless body back to the campground, then put me on top of the car, “Vacation”-style. I rode like that all the way back to LA.
Well, it was a short trip to Coachella, but I learned a lot, and I had a really good time. I hope you did too.
*Fred Durst is not actually dead. We do not regret the error.
