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Coachella Music and Arts Festival Review by charlie padow I'm not generally a fan of outdoor concert festivals. I used to love going to marathon hippie jam-fests back in my long-haired, pot-smoking days, but when I first considered going to the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival this year, the thought of spending an entire day packed like a sardine in a barricaded metal pit with thousands of drunken buffoons sounded about as appealing as ordering pubic lice on a salad. Regardless of the amazing line-ups the organizers have put together in previous years, I figured there was no way it would be worth it. But then the Pixies announced that they were reuniting and going on tour for the first time in over a decade. Coachella would be their only Southern California appearance. Shows in not-so-local neighboring locales were selling out faster than Penthouse magazines in a post-Taliban Afghanistan. So, I bought a ticket for Saturday, booked a cheap motel and prepared for the worst. I'm glad I took the plunge, because my fears were misguided. It was well worth every penny. In fact, it was one of the best days of live music I have ever experienced. The organizers of Coachella deserve some serious props. Five stages, more than 40 acts, and thousands of scantily clad indie-rock vixens: this monkey had gone to heaven. It was almost too much of a good thing. There was just too much to choose from that there was no way to see or hear it all. But it didn't matter. Even acting on sheer whim, you were bound to see enough good acts in one day to more than cover the 75 dollar price of admission. As for the attendees, it was a surprisingly mature, mellow and respectful crowd; Not at all the beer swillin', riot-prone frat boy morons that I had expected to find. It wasn't hampered by too much rampant commercialism either, although Adam Sandler's marketing people need to be shot. They plastered the entrance roads with ads for his new CD, not to mention flew an airplane overhead with a trailing ad too. Like 50,000 concert goers really give two shits about the Chanukah Song. The Empire Polo Fields also provided the ideal location for an all-day music fest. The fields were full of lush, comfortable grass to stretch out on. There was abundant shade available at indoor tents, a few beer gardens and plenty of other attractions for those that wanted a break. The heat was in full effect, but unless you were allergic to water, you were going to make it through the day. And the women. Oh, the myriad of sweet, gorgeous women. The one advantage to 100 degree weather is that most people don't wear much clothing and therefore, leave very little to the imagination. Walking through the crowds, I fell in love with a different gal every five seconds. It was intoxicating and maddening. So many future Mrs. Padows, I didn't even know where to start. Suffice it to say, I mostly stood around and drooled. I know, I really need to work on that. Most importantly, though, the Pixies did not disappoint. Watching one of the most influential bands of the past twenty five years perform live was an awe-inspiring experience. Opening with "Bone Machine," they played a dynamic and energetic set which shows us that even after a ten-year hiatus, these guys still know how to please an audience. Kim Deal's electrifying bass and sugary sweet back-up vocals provided a great counterpoint to Frank Black's manic, cryptic vocals and strumming guitar, while lead guitarist Joey Santiago's roaring guitar work and David Lovering's drum beats all faithfully recaptured the studio album magic that I've banging along on my steering wheel to on countless occasions during my car commute.  Fences even appeared to be mended for a band that had a notoriously unpleasant break-up (Black faxed the band to inform them of its dissolution). All four members appeared to be getting along and even looked like they were enjoying themselves. With the exception of a brief introductory greeting from Black, who bears a striking resemblance to Marlon Brando's Kurtz in Apocalypse Now these days, the Pixies didn't spend much time for small-talk with the crowd. For a relatively short set, they managed to rattle off in quick procession all of my favorites off of Surfer Rosa and Doolittle along with a few songs I'm not familiar with all at a breakneck speed. Not that there weren't moments of calm before the storm. When I heard the opening drum beat of "Wave of Mutilation," I not only got goose bumps, but had a transcendent moment that was more intense and emotional than almost any religious experience I've ever had. Other highlights of their performance included "Where is My Mind?," "Gigantic," along with several gems from Doolittle, including "Debaser," "Monkey Gone to Heaven," and "Here Comes Your Man." Equally satisfying was the set's inclusion of quirky college anthem "U-Mass." It's educational. Their hour-long set was over entirely too quickly. Luckily, Radiohead followed suit, in what I have since discovered was their only U.S. live appearance this year. I was also later informed that there was a strong possibility of Radiohead canceling because of lead singer Thom Yorke's throat problems, but to be honest, even if they had canceled and been replaced by a Gwar cover band, nothing could have tarnished the glow I felt after enjoying the Pixies set. Worst case scenario aside, seeing Radiohead live after the Pixies is sort of like winning the lottery twice in one day: one can never have too much of a good thing. Radiohead offers one of the most dynamic live performances out there these days, and they have managed to turn what has grown an increasingly avant-garde repertoire into a powerful emotional concert experience. Opening with "Hail to the Thief" tracks "There There," and "2+2=5," the band covered older material such as "Paranoid Android," "Exit Music (for a film)," and "Karma Police" from OK Computer, and "My Iron Lung," "Street Spirit," and "Planet Telex" from The Bends. There was not a dull moment in the set.  In the past, Radiohead has been compared to Pink Floyd, and one way in which the comparison is particularly apt is in the artistic staging and lighting productions of their live performances. A pair of vertical video screens hung on both sides of the stage that displayed split-screen images of band members performing on the stage. Yorke took advantage of this medium to maximum effect, particularly with his close-up knowing winks to the audience during their rendition of "You and Whose Army?" Equally visually compelling is their stage background, which displayed a continual light spectacle that fit the mood of each piece and on more than one occasion undoubtedly provoked a psychedelic flashback for a myriad of ex-hippie audience members like myself. Other highlights from their set included "National Anthem," "Myxomatosis," "Idioteque," "Sit Up, Stand Down," and crowd-pleaser "Creep," which Yorke dedicated to the Pixies, citing the seminal band, along with REM, as the two biggest influences on him back in his college years. Although there were entirely too many acts to possibly catch everything good, I saw a number of other worthwhile acts as well. Hawthorne-based Latino quartet Dios offered up an interesting hybrid of surf rock, psychedelic noodling and emo pop. I was once handed their demo CD after a Beulah concert at the Troubador a few years ago and it's pretty damn catchy. However, the large outdoor concert venue didn't suit their lack of a stage presence or slacker-rock style quite as well as a more intimate club might have. Nonetheless, they are an intriguing band that I predict will hit serious mainstream commercial status shortly. Another unique offering was The Evens, which consisted of Fugazi frontman Ian MacKaye on acoustic guitar and lead vocals, and Amy Farina on drums and back-up vocals. Again, the venue was less than ideal, with their experimental fusion of folk and punk often being drowned out by a nearby DJ tent's thumping bass. The songs were short and often ended without traditional climax, as though the plug to the stereo was being pulled out mid-play. Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea came out for a brief cameo to toot a trumpet on one track, although he played about five notes before bowing off stage. In another instance, MacKaye tried his best to get the crowd to a sing-along by teaching the audience the lyrics before launching into one song that was anti-police, anti-authoritarian in nature. It kind of reminded me of being at Hebrew school song sessions with the cantor. The one truly disappointing act of the day was a stale set by ...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead. Their tepid performance lacked the intensity and vision of their last album Source Tags & Codes with their lead singer insecurely admitting that they hadn't performed live in several months. It certainly showed. Playing mostly new material off their yet-to-be released new album, the band had no focus or presence. Even with loud, rocking riffs and a double dose of drum sets, their set was uninspired, sloppy and at times, downright uncoordinated. As MacKaye had mentioned earlier during his set, louder isn't always better. It made me wish I had caught Hieroglyphics, the Oakland-based hip-hop crew featuring Del, instead. Unfortunately, by the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. I made an attempt to check out Beck, a last-minute addition to the line-up who played a mostly acoustic and improvised set in one of the smaller tents in the middle of the day. However, by the time I got there, it was filled to capacity. Having seen him on more than occasion in the past, I opted for something else that would provide a shadey respite from the 100 degree weather. From what I've read about the claustrophobic crowd, I'm glad I skipped it. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as I was able to catch the last half of Junior Senior's delightful dance-rock set. The Danish group had even the most fatigued of concert goers shaking their booty in the tent. At one point, vocalist Fred Schneider of the B-52's joined them for a series of light-hearted, good-natured disco-tinged tunes. Song highlights included a cover of the Beatles' "Twist and Shout" that turned into a cover of Salt N' Pepa's "Push It," and then back into the Beatles, and "THC," an infectious groove that was dedicated to Portland Trailblazers point guard Damon Stoudamire, who has had numerous run-ins with the law over the cannabis saliva. Waiting for the Pixies to start, I also caught the second half of Texas-based Sparta, which is comprised of several former members of the now-defunct hard-rock act At the Drive-In. Their set sounded remarkably like early Jane's Addiction, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. They also offered a bit of political commentary in-between songs and professed profound props to the Pixies, who most of the crowd was most likely waiting to see. I was pleasantly surprised by their brand of rock that was mainstream without being formulaic. They seemed right at home with energy and a commanding presence that some smaller bands couldn't contain in such a large, outdoor venue. They were just as intriguing, and certainly more accessible, than The Mars Volta, a more avant-garde and schizophrenic offspring of former At The Drive-In bandmates. Other bands that I did not get to see on Saturday included Kraftwerk, Stereolab, Death Cab for Cutie, and many, many more. However, I did stick around after Radiohead, in a futile attempt to bypass traffic. The late night bill that I caught included an extremely short set by Kool Keith, which included some interesting freestyling and a silly song about groupies that was prefaced by Keith informing us he had "about a hundred bitches" waiting back at the hotel for him. After twenty minutes, he said the organizers were making him get off stage, but I wonder if he was simply using it as excuse to get an early start on his bitch love.  The last act I saw before facing the dreadful traffic was MF Doom, who looked like one of the Fat Boys in a cheesy Dr. Doom mask. He kept having technical difficulties, and I started thinking that hip-hop was getting the shaft by promoters. However, none of this really mattered, as I was delirious and tired.
The one bummer to the evening was the fact that it took us three full hours to get out of the parking lot. Luckily, we were able to continue the legacy of endless good musical offerings in the form of my buddy's i-pod, which was placed on random. It made me realize that Coachella is sort of the like the ultimate live MP3 random playlist. In both cases, there's a wealth and breadth of wonderful music, that even if you leave your musical selection to the random gods of chance, you're bound to get plenty of great music. |
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