The Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival began in 1999 and since then has carried popular acts such as Bjórk, Jane’s Addiction and Weezer. Located just outside of Palm Springs on the Empire Polo Field in Indio, Calif., this two-day festival draws music fans from all parts of the globe. This year’s festival was May 1 and 2, and the lineup included bands such as Radiohead, The Cure, The Flaming Lips and AIR.
The first act this reviewer saw at Coachella was the Swedish electro-clash rockers The Sounds. As unprofound as their catchy Pat Benatar-esque synth-pop may be, there is no denying its power to move your butt. As long as you were dancing hard enough to ignore frontwoman Maja Ivarsson’s awkward and somewhat nauseating stage antics, you were fine.
Ivarsson assaulted the audience with countless peeks at her little boy-style undies. Between Ivarsson’s doughy appearance and her stiff, sluggish prancing, the naughty display was about as erotic as walking in on your parents. Still, the music was a good way to kick-start the day, and Ivarsson’s gratuitous misuse of English profanity was funny enough to be redeeming.
Another main stage act was Hieroglyphics, a truly independent and truly exceptional hip-hop crew comprised of Del the Funky Homosapien, Casual, Pep Love, Domino and the group Souls of Mischief. The only disappointing thing about this show was the crowd’sreaction. A flawless and energetic performance featuring Del’s songs “If you must” and “Clint Eastwood” managed to get the crowd moving a little bit, but all the sun-fatigued and dehydrated audience could muster by that point was bobbing heads and tired enthusiasm.
I returned to the main stage 20 minutes before The Pixies came on. But even my early arrival didn’t guarantee a good spot — the closest I was able to stand was within a football field’s distance from the performers. Still, by the time Frank Black began to bray the first lines of “Bone Machine,” the crowd looked as if it stretched a half-mile back from the stage. Fans got a little out of hand as they attempted to acquire a position closer to the stage. At one point, an ambitious and unscrupulous audience member shoved me into a female onlooker, who in turn punched me in the face three times.
Dusk began to set in as Radiohead opened with “The Gloaming.” The dark reds of the desert sunset provided the perfect backdrop as vocalist Thom Yorke sung out the words, “This is now the witching hour” in his eerie drawl. Rumor had it Radiohead would cancel its show because Yorke was suffering from a severe throat infection. However, they played anyway, and Yorke’s voice was nearly flawless, only faltering on the high part of their first hit, “Creep.” The set list was a near-perfect blend of hits and lesser-known gems. By the time they finished “Street Spirit,” I didn’t even need the encore.
When !!! (pronounced “chik chik chik”) started playing, I lost control and began moving back and forth as if hypnotized by the group’s
signature brand of disco-punk. The gyrations eventually spread to my legs, my arms and my head, and I suddenly found myself dancing feverishly in near 109 degree weather. The audience was either in the midst of seizures or dancing just as hard as I was by the time the band reached its final song, “Intensify.”
Legend-in-the-making Sage Francis performed with a CD player as his only accompaniment. Dressed like some break-dancing druid, he delivered a barrage of eccentric and introspective hip-hop. As usual, he placed an original twist on every song, improvising and reinventing as he went along. During the show he pelted the audience with broccoli, broke a chair, removed his pants and sodomized a George W. Bush doll. As usual, he took control and walked offstage as if nothing happened.
If Radiohead was the overall highlight of the festival, then The Flaming Lips were the highlight of the second day. Even though set-up time cut into their set by about 15 minutes, the show was amazing. It began with lead singer Wayne Coyne being passed around by the crowd in a huge plastic bubble. The stage was packed tight with people in furry little animal suits and dancing suns, fake blood was everywhere and a good time was had by all. The only disappointment of the Lips’ performance was Coyne’s attempts at being political. He rehashed the same anti-Bush rhetoric everyone had been saying all day, but he took a lot longer than most to say the exact same thing.
I don’t know what it was, but I have to admit that The Cure was a disappointment. Maybe I was tired. Maybe The Flaming Lips performance overshadowed The Cure. Or maybe Robert Smith just looked too creepy. The point is, I was expecting a lot more than what was delivered. I guess I wanted more from them than songs performed exactly the same way they have always been played. Maybe some kind of stage antics, maybe some personality. When I go to see a band live, it’s because I want to get something I can’t get from listening to their album, and quite frankly, The Cure did not deliver. But come on — it’s still The Cure.
While life as we know it was not changed drastically by the festival, or nothing of real significance was accomplished, I don’t think that was the point of the festival. Like action films and California gubernatorial elections, some things just don’t need to be meaningful. Sometimes, they just need to be fun.