Coa-hella!

by Jennifer Perkin

Badly organised and bloody hot. Bring on the Rage

"Thanks to a monumental fuck up on Coachella’s behalf we and hundreds of others like us have to wait five hours in the merciless sun while the bands we came to see play out their sets on the other side of the fence"

Day One
It’s Coachella and we’re excited. This is the big one after all – USA's answer to Glastonbury – and the fringe of palm trees against a mountainous backdrop won't let you forget that you are a long long way from home. Nor does the oppressive 40-odd degree desert heat. Okay, so maybe the alcohol restrictions in the campsite (the festival functions like Reading, the stages fenced off from the campers) make for a relatively subdued opening night (though security is hardly difficult to crack) and being woken in a sweltering tent at sunrise isn’t the funnest morning routine, but we’re here now and raring to go. It’s 2pm so we should be able to swing by the box office, pick up the tickets and be inside in time to catch the end of the Noisettes set, starting in half an hour or so.

Hahaha. Try 7pm. That's right - thanks to a monumental fuck up on Coachella’s behalf we and hundreds of others like us have to wait five hours in the merciless sun while the bands we came to see play out their sets on the other side of the fence. We go from excitement, to bewilderment, to frustration, to anger, which kicks in around the time I hear Perry Farrell’s new outfit Satellite Party playing ‘Stop’ just over the fence at gone 4pm). Finally, defeat and - by the time we get in to catch the last song of the Arctic Monkeys set - complete exhaustion. And there I was naively thinking that the numerous clashes on the exceedingly good line-up were going to be my main concern of the day.

Trying desperately to shake the feeling that I've been royally screwed (so much money! So many kilometres!), I gather my reserves of energy and excitement for Jesus & Mary Chain – probably not the best ‘cheer up’ band. Regardless, they’re pretty damn good, and the ubiquitous Scarlett Johansson even makes a special appearance to look pretty and sing a few backup words on ‘Just Like Honey’, presumably due to its use in Lost In Translation (we are just a couple of hours from LA after all).

Next I attempt a runaround – a few blissfully mashed up songs of Mike Patton’s Peeping Tom, a quick and well-earned beer, then it’s back to the main stage for an intense set from Interpol featuring some new songs which sound good, if a bit samey. This leaves us with only the time to catch the tail end of what was no doubt a stellar set from Faithless.
 
Entering the arena at nightfall, without having a chance to familiarise myself in daylight, makes for a disorienting experience - particularly given the barrage of light and sound. By Bjork time I am so thoroughly wrung out that I can barely stand, but the queen of quirk more than holds her own and successfully squeezes out every last drop of enthusiasm. She plays most of the hits – minus, surprisingly, ‘It’s Oh So Quiet’ – but best of all is the incredible closer, new song ‘Declare Independence’. It’s rare that a song you hear for the first time can make such an instant impact and sear itself onto your brain, but this one does, and it is almost enough to make me forget about the five… freakin'... HOURS…

Day Two
A new day. Over-cautious this time, we’re the first people let in the gate, a good couple of hours before the first act. Thank god for the KROQ tent, offering couches, beds, shade and air conditioned bliss. Pop Levi is first up, and surprises by being less wanky and more rocking than appearances would suggest – albeit in a very retro and relatively forgettable way.

Then it’s The Frames on the second stage for me, and here’s the thing: the sound overlap between the stages is such that you can hear the band playing on the main stage perfectly clearly even when you’re standing in front of the second stage. It’s annoying when you’re wandering around the grounds and your poor ears are afflicted with clashing sounds, but absolutely excruciating when you’re hearing a band’s more intimate moments get drowned out by the audio bleed. The Frames hold up well against Fountains of Wayne (“Is that Wheatus?”) and force-of-life singer Glen Hansard is as unpredictably verbose and raw. The Frames have a refreshingly honest rapport with the crowd; that of a band who are secure in their niche and have no desire to be anything but what they are: a good Irish rock group with a gorgeous violin section and moments of real brilliance.

Regina Spektor is another pleasant surprise. I'm not really sure whether she's been on my musical perfiphery lately for good or bad reasons, but she turns out to be entirely charming and engaging live. That voice - seemingly effortless, and those songs - so completely quirky yet just melodic enough to stick. The lady is resplendent and lovely in the searing heat and the crowd sings happily along to the hits, but it’s the epic, partly Russian, ‘Après Moi’ that is truly a tour de force.
 
The Nightwatchman, AKA the acoustic solo incarnation of Tom Morello, unsurprisingly packs out the smallest tent and though I love the man and his sentiments dearly, we already have a Billy Bragg, thanks. Instead we head to Kings of Leon, who have just released the album of their career and one of the best of the year, cut quite the figure on the backdrop-less mainstage. There's nothing like a sharply dressed rock band howling the sun down amongst the palm trees and the groupie types in the audience eat it up.

Grown men are weeping when Arcade Fire belt out ‘Keep the Car Running’ and the band are equally passionate – Regina, classic drama student type, is a joy to watch. Highlights include ‘My Body Is a Cage’, ‘Rebellion (Lies)’ and ‘Black Mirror’. The band give it their all in a headline-worthy performance, and even if the zealous praise heaped upon them is inexplicable to some, there are likely very few who would have walked away disappointed; to live up to such immense hype is commendable.

Blonde Redhead prove to be far more majestic and entrancing on stage then on record (which is saying a lot because on record they’re great), and by comparison the Red Hot Chili Peppers seem even cruder than usual. The Black Keys fumble their opening song ’10 AM Automatic’ but soon gain momentum and soon have the whole tent grooving to their garage blues – so much so that it’s painful to tear myself away for The Good, The Bad And The Queen. The band are dolled up in their Sunday finest and perform a classy, subdued set that unfortunately suffers badly from mainstage Tiesto noise pollution – something Damon is clearly none too pleased about ("That's a very loud ice-cream van over there").

Day 3
What better way to start the day than with Lupe Fiasco, sharp-dressing, crowd-working rapper of ‘Kick, Push’ fame? It’s smiles all round as we trek to Tapes’n’Tapes, who play a good enough set if not as exciting as their latest record might suggest. The exact reverse is true for Grizzly Bear who prove magnetic and beautiful in the midday heat.

The second half of Explosions In The Sky's set is as epic and grand on the main stage as one would expect, but they are really more suited to a twilight slot. Acoustic guitar instrumental duo Rodrigo Y Gabriela fill up the small Gobi tent with keen fans who get right into their fast and furious takes on classics like ‘Stairway to Heaven’ and Metallica’s ‘Orion’. It’s the old busker classic ‘Wish You Were Here’ that provides one of the most moving moments of the festival, as the crowd fill in the vocal in unison in mass karaoke. In the next tent over, Konono N°1 from the Congo make a distinctive, hypnotic sound which suckers in the passers by so by the end of their awesome set the half full tent is filled with dancers.

Then it's time for another major fuckup from the wonderful organisers of Coachella – why, oh why, would you schedule a reunion show of Crowded House a mere three hours before the comeback of Rage Against The Machine on the very same stage? It's less than a minute into their first song, ‘Don't Dream It's Over’, before some charmer throws a bottle at Neil Finn’s head, knocking his mike out and shocking the hell out of him. I watch through my fingers as Finn tries to rouse the crowd into filling in the words to no avail; a truly cringeworthy moment which sets the tone for a set of classics and two new tracks that are met with complete indifference, if not active hostility. It's definitely the low-light of the festival, but by no means the fault of the band.

Another lowlight occurs straight after on the second stage, where Air show up 40 minutes late, just as people are streaming away. They're on stage for only a lackluster four songs and then off again, no explanation given. By that time no one has the energy to care anyhow, with the imminent arrival of Rage Against the Machine.
 
When the band that many have come to the Californian desert to see launch into ‘Testify’, the excitement is palpable but the sound, unfortunately, is not. Tom Morello’s guitars are buried and the overall levels are nowhere near loud enough. Though the balance is sorted after a couple of tracks, the volume is never blasted as it rightly should be.

Even so, the sheer thrill of seeing one of the world’s most dearly missed bands ripping through a best-of set takes priority of any qualms. The band are tight as hell - as though they were never gone. It is Zack who provides the flame – seems he’s spent the last seven years getting angrier and it makes for one hell of an intense performance. You can feel the quivering rage, yes rage, in his voice and each song feels like a statement, the lyrics as poignant as they’ll ever be.

The only time Zack strays from the lyric sheet is in the breakdown of ‘Wake Up’ where he makes an impassioned speech, through gritted teeth, calling for the Bush administration to be tried, hung and shot as war criminals. And he fucking means it. Then, just as it starts to sink in that RATM are actually playing, right in front of us, they are gone. Just one question remains. Who the fuck was watching the Lemonheads over on the second stage?

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