This year's Coachella offered many questions: Would Kanye West be able to top himself once again? Would the Strokes' aloofness come off as cool or just aloof? What does Animal Collective's new music sound like? Will Lil B actually rap during his set or will he blabber on about motivational nonsense? Would the desert heat force Cold Cave out of their standard black duds? Could Odd Future trump their stage-diving SXSW massacre with something even more gleefully unhinged? Are Arcade Fire still their generation's festival rock act to beat? We answer all those burning queries-- and cover tons more including Death From Above 1979's reunion, Titus Andronicus, Cut Copy, the National, Bright Eyes, and Wiz Khalifa-- in our annual Coachella round-up:
Friday, April 15
The Rural Alberta Advantage [Outdoor Theatre; 1:15 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
Coachella tends to be a sweaty, hopped-up exhibition of the madness of crowds, but sometimes those crowds getit right: hardly anyone shows up at 1:15 in the afternoon. And for good reason, since the early part of any given day usually showcases overbearing DJs or hip-hop acts begging the crowd to "put your hands up!" every five minutes or major-label baby bands, well... pretty much doing the same thing.
The exuberant Canucks of Rural Alberta Advantage offered solutions. Their scrappy, ramshackle folk-rock means to be rabble-rousing in a manner befitting an outdoor festival, but there's also an intimacy to it all so that it doesn't feel awkward even if the crowd is a bit thin. Most importantly, there's something that just makes you want to root for them, whether it's frontman Nils Edenloff's resemblance to Chris Elliott circa "Get A Life", keyboardist Amy Cole's overall adorability, or Paul Banwatt's astounding drum performance (if this RAA gig falls through, he'll have his choice of speed metal gigs). Here's a band that makes small, relatable devastations feel universal and uplifting-- as Edenloff introduced "Tornado '87", a song about a twister that ran through Edmonton, one of the many Canadian bros in attendance shouted: "I LOVE TORNADOS!" That's making a connection. --Ian Cohen
!!! [Outdoor Theatre; 2:20 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
"Mr. Coachella called me up and said, 'We got a hundred other bands playing today-- you got to set it off for us,'" relayed !!!'s Nic Offer. When the temperature's already over 100 degrees, there's no real need to "warm up" the crowd, so the Brooklyn-via-Sacramento crew went about refashioning their hedonistic, nocturnal disco as a feel-good soundtrack to fun in the sun. And if not every heat-stroked burnout lying on their blanket was inspired to get into the groove, Offer was more than happy to do all the dancing for them, bounding into the audience, climbing up scaffolding, and showing off his go-to palms-down/shoulder-swivel move like he was his own dancing-baby screensaver. And with the closing one-two of "The Hammer" and "Heart of Hearts", Mr. Coachella could rest assured that his orders were carried out to a tee. --Stuart Berman
Cold Cave [Mojave; 3 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
Yes, Cold Cave still went all-black everything in 95-degree weather. They certainly cast an imposing image onstage, in turns gaunt, sneering, and aloof. But while their pulverizing new record Cherish The Light Years was meant for maximum exposure, all of the righteous indignation about its punishingly loud mix is rendered useless in this setting. They can still be every bit as confrontational as they are welcoming: synth player Dominick Fernow's interstitial circuit-board trickery recalled Cold Cave's no-fi noise days but, as impressive as that was, I'd trade a few of those minutes for Cherish highlights "The Great Pan Is Dead", "Catacombs", or "Villains of the Moon". But their Macho Cure thing provided a mid-day jolt for those in the audience who simultaneously liked the community but saw themselves as somewhat outside or even above it. "They say the meek shall inherit the Earth/ Oh, that seems like so much work," moaned Eisold on "Confetti", an apt summary of their elegant wastefulness. --Ian Cohen
Titus Andronicus [Outdoor Theatre; 3:30 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
One of the practical benefits of enormo-festivals like Coachella is that, in bringing together a band's niche audiences from around the world, it gives club-level acts a forum to be treated like the superstars their cult following imagines them to be. So a band like Titus Andronicus aren't just some alternate-universe, punk-rock E Street Band; for 40-minutes, they are the E Street Band, with the instantly familiar choruses of Monitor epics like "No Future Part III" and "Titus Andronicus Forever" sung in mass unison as if they had been receiving regular rotation on classic-rock radio for the past 35 years.
And yet for all the adulation his band was receiving, frontman Patrick Stickles took some time to dish out some of his own. "I don't use Twitter," he said, "but I really want to meet Lil B-- can someone please Tweet him and tell him Titus Andronicus want to meet him?" (Dude, just ask your guitarist.) But as the band powered its way through the mountainous peaks and deep valleys of "The Battle of Hampton Roads", Stickles' Twitterphobia made more sense-- screw 140 characters, this guy needs a good 14 minutes to get his point across. --Stuart Berman
Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All [Sahara; 4:30 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
As the crowd for jacked-tempo mash-up DJ Skrillex started leaving and OFWGKTA's DJ Syd tried to set up her equipment, the afternoon's first palpable sense of danger was in the air. Though there are no breaks between set times at the Sahara tent, this transition went on for fifteen minutes or so, and oddly enough, the audience seemed content to spend the whole time yelling "SWAG!", "Free Earl", and "Fuck Steve Harvey!" as Tyler, the Creator killed time by making fake announcements like, "Are you ready... for C-Murder!" But when they finally arrived, things sorta started to wane by the end of opener "Sandwitches". And OFWGKTA definitely took notice.
Crowds are well-versed in their spectacle, but the crew's lurching beats and dense vocals don't always spark familiarity-- a functioning knowledge of OFWGKTA's discography takes a heck of a lot of homework. That said, recognizable Tumblr hits like the "4th Chamber"-sampling "Tang Golf", "Bastard", "French", and "Yonkers" were greeted with mosh pits and shout-alongs while the brave girlfriends who stuck around tended to just wince at predictably repellent teenage commentary like, "We wrote this one for the bitches." But even with the set cut short, it was still a treat to see Pharrell join them for the closing "Inside The Cloud", and watch these kids act in awe of a hero; for all the talk of Odd Future's more repulsive actions, it's every bit as exciting to see them show love. --Ian Cohen
Warpaint [Outdoor Theatre; 4:40 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
For a band who deal in such ominous, ethereal music, L.A. foursome Warpaint inspire a particularly feverish reaction from the Coachella crowd-- on top of instigating the afternoon's most frenzied camera phone activity, one eager fan is seen waving his vinyl copy of the band's 2010 debut LP, The Fool, impervious to the fact that the sun might melt his purchase. It helps that Warpaint project a far more forceful presence in concert than on record, placing greater emphasis on the locked-groove rhythms of bassist Jenny Lee Lindberg and drummer Stella Mozgawa, and the hypnotic harmonies of guitarists Therese Wayman and Emily Kokal (who earns a gold star for braving the heat in a long-sleeved, geisha-style top). In this setting, the sensuous slow-burn of "Composure" gets amplified into a Gossip-worthy disco-punk chant, and Wayman's sing-speak standout "Beetles" evinces more intense levels of desperation. But as their eerie "My Guy" rewrite "Billie Holiday" attests, Warpaint can still transfix even without the extra ballast. --Stuart Berman
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart [Mojave; 5:20 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite
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Their transformation into alt-rock titans on Belong is pretty damn convincing, but in the best way possible, the Pains of Being Pure at Heart seem like they'll always be the dudes reading NME in the periodicals section of their local library. They all but admitted that, if they weren't invited to Coachella this year, they probably would've bought tickets just to get a chance to see all of their favorites in one weekend-- not surprisingly, they were ultra-pumped about Suede.
But they've rightfully won over more than a few fans of their own, and their live set positively equalized their discography, giving a brawnier edge to songs like "Come Saturday" and "Everywhere With You", while reinforcing that newbies "Belong", "Heart in Your Heartbreak", and "My Terrible Friend" are every bit as killer without Flood's gold-plated production. Still, if they took a lot of cues from Smashing Pumpkins or U2, it was purely about sonics and not spectacle; they're almost maddeningly down-to-earth on stage, T-shirt-and-jeans guys with the occasional in-jokey stage banter as their only special effect. --Ian Cohen
Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti [Gobi; 5:45 p.m.]
Photo by Chris Tuite
You may have already heard about this one...
Tame Impala [Outdoor Theatre; 5:50 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
Tame Impala mastermind Kevin Parker knows how to do an outdoor festival proper-- shoes off, bandana on-- while his three-piece backing band's choice of vintage gear (Hofner basses, Vox amps) makes the acid flashback all the more vivid. And if Parker already looked well at home standing on an open-air stage, the fact that half of Australia seems to be in attendance-- complete with inflatable kangaroos-- could only make him feel more welcome. Amazingly, even as Tame Impala has expanded from Parker's home-recording project to a proper rock band, they lose none of the spectral quality and textural richness that made 2010's Innerspeaker such a headphone album. Opening with "Why Won't You Make Up Your Mind", the band front loaded their trippier material, but that allowed the later Krautrockin' boogie of "The Bold Arrow of Time" to rock all the more righteously. The Aussie alt-bros (Ault-bros?) in the audience responded in kind with the day's first crowd-surf. --Stuart Berman
Sleigh Bells [Mojave; 7:30 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
Not much has changed at a Sleigh Bells show over the past year-- Alexis Krauss commands everyone's attention with her hair-spinning head-banging, while Derek Miller cranks his guitar so far into the red the distortion becomes the band's phantom bass player. But there is one notable difference: the size and volume of the crowd roaring back at them. From the "Iron Man" intro of opener "Crown on the Ground", the Mojave audience went into instant apeshit mode, the pogo action extending well beyond the front-of-stage pit to the tent's outer perimeters. With a reaction like this, it's no wonder Sleigh Bells seem averse to changing up their sound and setlist, but hopefully the fact that the loudest cheers came for Treats' Funkadelic-copping respite track "Rill Rill" might encourage the duo to deviate from their atomic-- if monochromatic-- electro-metal a little more. --Stuart Berman
Cut Copy [Mojave; 8:35 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
Disclaimer: I've seen absolute legends play this festival-- dudes like Paul McCartney, Sly Stone, Prince, Roger Waters, Jay-Z-- and I wouldn't trade any of them for Cut Copy's Coachella 2008 set. It was a galvanizing amalgam of synth-pop, dance, and hard rock all with the flow of a DJ set and proved a lesson not lost on me after seeing Tame Impala this year as well: Australian bands get the livest crowds here.
Sometimes you can get an idea of how nuts a performance is by what didn't get played. No "So Haunted". No "Blink and You'll Miss a Revolution". No "Where I'm Going". No guy in a gorilla suit playing the timbales. And yet, Cut Copy did nothing other than hit one peak after another: Their secret weapon is hitting a point three-quarters of the way through each song where they wind the crowd up to flip their shit-- the sax break in "Hearts on Fire", the "Blue Monday" reference of "Out There on the Ice", the climactic drum roll about five minutes into "Need You Now". It's a shame they weren't allowed an encore-- the 15-minute Zonoscope closer "Sun God" would have been a perfect cap to a king-making performance like this one. --Ian Cohen
Crystal Castles [Outdoor Theatre; 9:30 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
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The general reaction to Crystal Castles' Coachella set in 2009 involved confusion about the prevalence of strobe lighting and Alice Glass' spasmodic, shrieking tantrums. These days, that's what people come to see.
Their profile has increased manifold since, so with a live drummer in tow, they took up at the Outdoor Theatre against Black Keys and then Kings of Leon, two staunchly classicist bands that could hardly be more opposed to Crystal Castles' glitched-out sonic warfare. Even on a crutch with a busted left ankle, Glass was still plenty game, diving into the crowd, writhing on stage and generally looking like a screen shot from a Floria Sigismondi video within the assault of flashing lights. But this all made me wonder if they wouldn't benefit more from a tent show since a lot of this abrasive intensity gets diluted without a relatively captive audience; the thrill of recognition from the loops and Glass's physicality tended to dissipate if you weren't up front. There were times when Glass' microphone sounded like it wasn't even turned on. It may have been better off for both if Cut Copy and Crystal Castles switched stages. --Ian Cohen
Robyn [Mojave; 10:50 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
There's a good reason why thousands of people will willfully spend an hour in traffic, squeeze into a dust bowl parking lot, hike 20 minutes to the festival grounds, and spend hours roasting in the midday sun while B.O. overtakes pot smoke as the dominant scent. And that's to experience something like the moment when the opening synth pulse of Robyn's "Dancing on My Own" reverberates through the Mojave tent. Girlfriends get hoisted onto shoulders, the rapturous crowd drowns out the singer onstage with their own voices, and glow sticks suddenly seem like the greatest invention in the history of stuff. And we're just four songs into the set.
Most artists wouldn't be able to recover from such an early peak, but the Swedish siren and her four-piece band maintain the momentum by taking a DJ's approach to the setlist, eliminating mid-song pauses and bleeding one Body Talk knockout into another. When you've got a seamless closing trifecta like "Indestructible", "Hang With Me", and the glorious "With Every Heartbeat" at your disposal, it's easy to see why Robyn doesn't feel the need to perform her name-making '97 hit "Show Me Love"-- not because she doesn't feel connected to the song anymore, but because she no longer has to ask. --Stuart Berman-=-=-=-
Saturday, April 16
Cults [Gobi; 1:55 p.m.]
Photo by Chris Tuite*
It's hard to tell if the capacity crowd at Cults' early-afternoon tent show was the inevitable product of their buzz-band status or simply a convenient way to beat the 104-degree heat. (The ratio of engaged listeners to bodies passed out on the grass was about 1:1.) But even if you were unfamiliar with the New York duo-cum-quintet, their set felt as soothing as a trip to the mist tent. Cults belong to an increasingly crowded field of indie-pop bands mining 60s girl-group gold sounds, but onstage they present an intriguing mix of contrasts: for a band that authentically evoke the innocence of the pre-hippie era, Cults look more like a bunch of long-hairs from a psych-folk band, while the period details-- omnipresent reverb vocals, glockenspiels, "Be My Baby" bass-drum kicks-- are undercut by more modernist intrusions like distorted guitars and triggered loops. But, naturally, the band's greatest asset is singer Madeline Follin, not just her pixie-perfect voice, but her face, too-- during the sweeping ballad "You Know What I Mean" you could see all the repressed desire conveyed in the song well up in her cheeks. --Stuart Berman
Foals [Mojave; 3:15 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
For reasons that become less clear as time marches on, these guys used to be called "math-rock." For one thing, nearly all of their songs are in 4/4 time. But more pointedly, their instrumental attack has the muscle and physicality of rigorously trained athletes. Guitars planted way-high on their chests, the band rips away at choppy, gnarled funk chords, and wiry, dexterous runs, and it's a thrill to see this stuff pulled off live.
It can be a real treat to see bands that might headline fests in their home country play relatively intimate tent sets at Coachella, and judging from how opener "Blue Blood" was a full-on singalong while "Miami" and "Total Life Forever" inspired impressively precise dance moves, this was a Brit-heavy crowd specifically here to see Foals. Furthermore, the slow burn of single "Spanish Sahara" was met with a rapturous response-- turns out it was NME's 2010 Track of the Year. --Ian Cohen
The Radio Dept. [Gobi; 4:05 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
Bedroom-pop, dream-pop, Swedish indie, whatever: Radio Dept. records just flat-out sound lonely, both in creation in how they're liable to be consumed. Though I can't really blame him, lead singer Johan Duncanson probably never thought about how he might have to translate this stuff to an enormous outdoor festival crowd almost entirely unfamiliar with the vast amount of material he put out before his 2010 breakthrough, Clinging to a Scheme. So the unassuming and soft-spoken trio did their best to replicate their songs with the utmost fidelity to their studio versions. Which was a problem, because it was not unlike seeing a couple of normal-looking dudes putting some Radio Dept. records on shuffle while moving around as little as possible. It's not the worst thing to have a mid-day break, but this was uncomfortably inert and statuesque-- sometimes great songs require more than their creators can provide when they're out in the open. --Ian Cohen
Glasser [Gobi; 5:15 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
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Following Radio Dept. in the Gobi tent, Glasser offered a flipside to their predecessors. Their 2010 album Ring is also a very private and meticulous creation, but Glasser mastermind Cameron Mesirow went to great lengths to translate it to a big stage. Her band was decked out in half-jumpsuit, half-poncho uniforms reminiscent of the wardrobe in the Dirty Projectors' "Stillness Is The Move" video (didn't hurt that her left-handed, Strat-wielding guitarist bore a real resemblance to Dave Longstreth) while she rocked a full-body bridal veil that combined with her alternately airy and forceful vocals to achieve some sort of ultimate synaesthetic ethereality.
So, even by Coachella standards, it was unusual to see so many shirtless bros locked into the sinister lurch of "Apply". But, for all of Mesirow's bewitching movements and lovely vocals, it seems like there's one Coachella tent that's intent on making everyone who plays it sound like ass. On Saturday, that was the Gobi. The muddy live mix didn't hamper Glasser as much as some other acts, but as with Beach House and Grizzly Bear in years past, this group is more churchly than fit for a tent revival. --Ian Cohen
Broken Social Scene [Coachella; 6:05 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
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The sundown set is a special time at Coachella-- the point in the day where the heatstroke starts to subside and the second wind starts to build. And, with their deep arsenal of hazy-headed indie-rock anthems, Broken Social Scene are the ideal band to effect that transition. The Toronto ensemble's set was constructed on a gradual upward arc, beginning with the hazy, slow-motion rumble of "World Sick" and ending with the triumphant, brass-blasted blow-out of "Meet Me in the Basement". "Economy" is not a word you normally associate with the sprawl (sonic and personnel-wise) of Broken Social Scene-- even in this relatively stripped-down touring formation of the band, the bodies onstage still number in the double digits (and that's not counting the stage crasher who appeared to sing back-ups on "Texico Bitches"). But when faced with a truncated 40-minute limit (the byproduct of delays associated with the preceding Erykah Badu set), they're no less adept at making the most of their time. --Stuart Berman
Lil B [Oasis Dome; 6:40 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
After a SXSW performance that leaned heavily on his adventures in New Age ambience, our own Tom Breihan called Lil B an "energy vacuum." And his Okayplayer-courting mixtape Illusions of Grandeur had me worried that the Based God wasn't going to be fun anymore. Safe to say he learned his lesson: performing in some contraption called the Oasis Dome-- which ironically looked like a Rainforest Café-- this was total crowd-pleasing shit for a crowd dying to have their Based God worship acknowledged: "Wonton Soup", "Ellen DeGeneres", "I'm Jesus", teenagers wielding ladles, spatulas and tongs, cuddling couples doing their own cooking dances.
It was probably the closest thing I'll ever see to an Ol' Dirty Bastard solo performance-- id completely unleashed (likely at the cost of actual musical value). There was the extracurricular boasting: "Where's the napkins? I'm the best!" He announced his new album will be called I'm Gay and then went on a half-sensical monologue about how he's not gay and was actually looking to get laid that night. He advised that if anyone in the crowd was to have unprotected sex, "don't get tested." He rapped over Air France's "June Evening". And then a crowd-surfing Tyler, The Creator-- who got kicked out of Coachella earlier that day after spraying a security guard with a water gun-- was brought on stage with the rest of Odd Future to perform "I'm a Pretty Bitch". I won't pretend like Lil B changed anyone's mind about anything at Coachella, but you were not going to get that type of performance from anyone else this weekend. --Ian Cohen
Bright Eyes [Coachella; 7:20 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
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Conor Oberst has been putting his skewed, highly personal take on the American songbook for so long that he's got something of his own now. If The People's Key is truly his last record as Bright Eyes, it's pretty stunning to see how much ground he's covered in the past decade and a half, evolving from the raw, poisonous caterwauler of his earliest recordings to political-minded populism to cryptic mystic. And, thankfully, Oberst isn't one to forget his roots: it was great to see his band still come off like a bunch of Omaha buddies jamming out together. As his set winded down, he unearthed oldies "Lover I Don't Have To Love" (his finest sing-along) and "The Calendar Hung Itself", and both found Oberst playing with his lyrics and vocal affectations, discovering new emotive power in songs written by a very different version of himself. It's a bummer that Bright Eyes records don't have the same fourth-wall busting jolt of the past, but when the highlights are placed side-wise like they were tonight, it definitely put me in a mood for rediscovery. --Ian Cohen
The Kills [Outdoor Theatre; 7:50 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
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The Kills are a two piece band but their stage set-up features three vocal mics-- one on stage left for frontwoman Alison Mosshart, one on stage right for her guitarist foil Jamie Hince, and one in the middle for the two to fight over. For such a simple stage plot, it makes for some high drama; a Kills concert becomes an increasingly anxious waiting game of when the two are going to face off in the middle. They wasted no time with a terrifically tense "No Wow", and when the two finally meet up during a smouldering "Kissy Kissy", Hince raises his guitar neck to Mosshart's face like he wants to impale it through her skull. But as their new release Blood Pressures suggests, the Kills are also keen to experiment with new modes of presentation, with mixed results-- while the three hired-hand backing singers enhance the Congos-cribbed chorus hook of "Satellite", they also prove to be a too-smooth accoutrement to the simmering menace of "DNA." But piano ballad "The Last Goodbye" yields a surprisingly affecting moment; though its late-set appearance threatens to bring momentum to a halt, the mounting wave of applause that succeeds it produces a rare and visibly humbled smile from behind Mosshart's greasy black bangs. --Stuart Berman
Wire [Gobi; 8:40 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
This year's Coachella features two veterans of first-wave, class-of-77 punk: ex-Clash guitarist Mick Jones (here with Big Audio Dynamite) and Wire. They were scheduled to play at the same time, and this splitting of the geezer crowd may be part of reason the Gobi tent is barely half full by the time Wire take the stage. Then again, Wire are arguably the unlikeliest booking on the entire Coachella bill-- the band's caustic, intricate art-punk isn't exactly prime fodder for festival frivolity, and they staunchly refuse to indulge in the obvious, greatest-hits-stacked set lists that veteran acts often rely on to appease the masses. But for the die-hards on hand, Wire's set craftily harmonizes the band's new Red Barked Tree with strategically selected complementary tracks from 1979's 154 ("Map Ref. 41 N 93 W)", "Two People in a Room") and 1988's A Bell Is a Cup ("Kidney Bongos," "Boiling Boy"). Even if Red Barked Tree comedown track "Down to This" was an odd choice of closer, Wire are still the consummate model of aging gracefully-- and as bassist Graham Lewis illustrates, there's nothing more punk than wearing your reading glasses around your neck onstage, even if you never have to use them. --Stuart Berman
Animal Collective [Coachella; 9:45 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
Yes, Merriweather Post Pavilion cracked the Billboard Top 20. But there's still something strange about Animal Collective playing a prime late-night, main stage set at one of America's biggest musical festivals, especially given the band's long-standing reputation for using their live shows to test out new material rather than lean on the back catalogue. But with their set preceded by a dramatic demonstration of Coachella's massive grid-cube stage-lighting display-- soundtracked by an AnCo-commissioned score/drone by Black Dice-- you could be forgiven for thinking that Animal Collective may have finally have warmed up to the idea of putting on a Daft Punk-sized, crowd-pleasing spectacle.
Yeah right-- once the lighting rig parted to reveal the band onstage, it was business as unusual. They heralded the reemergence of on-again/off-again member Deakin by letting him sing the opening song, which was the first of several new tracks unveiled, many of which were of a piece with the swampy dub sonics of Panda Bear's new Tomboy. (The womb-like insularity of the music was reflected in the big-screen visuals, which eschewed the festival-standard closed-circuit performance close-up shots in favor of obscuring, psychedelic splotch effects.)
"We came to bring the weird to this thing," Avey Tare announced a few songs in, fully aware that the band would soon be driving away large portions of the crowd back to the beer garden to wait for Arcade Fire. For Animal Collective purists, the set was a remarkable display of the band's uncompromising, adventurous spirit in the face of the conformist pressures endemic to a mega-festival setting; for others-- including Lord of the Rings hobbits Dominic Monaghan and Billy Boyd, lying bored on the grass next to me-- Win Butler's arrival couldn't come fast enough. But, chances are, in two years time, they'll probably be wishing Animal Collective were playing these songs on their 2013 tour. --Stuart Berman
Suede [Mojave; 10:40 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
Coachella is where reunited acts go to confirm they're a real band again. And while the return of Britpop instigators Suede after eight years may not match the hype of previous alt-rock renaissances (Pavement, the Pixies), they're the only band here that matters for the fervent fans filling up half of the Mojave tent. Coming Up track "She" was a somewhat sluggish choice of opener, but with the following "Trash", frontman Brett Anderson was right back in his element, jumping up and down, standing Christ-like at the foot of the stage, and deferring vocal duties to the crowd for the chorus. The set pulled equally from the band's 90s albums-- from debut-album signatures "Animal Nitrate" and "The Drowners" to Head Music's "Can't Get Enough"-- and while one wonders if there's a purpose to this reunion beyond simple nostalgia, this much is certain: Anderson dearly misses being a pop star, and if the chiseled lines on his face mean he no longer resembles the fey androgyne that once graced covers of the weeklies, he undoubtedly still has the passion and presence the job requires. --Stuart Berman
Arcade Fire [Coachella; 11:20 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
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"If you told me in 2002 we'd be headlining Coachella with Animal Collective playing before us, I would've said you were full of shit." Frankly, Win Butler-- I think you're full of shit. What I love about Arcade Fire is how every single thing they've done since the beginning has made it seem like headlining huge festivals was the only conceivable result. And their third Coachella performance (they used to be in smaller type on the poster than the Faint!) was a straight-up fulfillment of prophecy: a "Coming Soon: Arcade Fire" movie marquee hung over the stage, and it might as well have been there since 2002.
Photo by Natalie Kardos*
They played with the confidence that can only come from spending your entire career imagining that every show is a Coachella-headlining gig. And there was a palpable sense of relief that Arcade Fire were strictly playing "the hits"-- I don't think I need to tell you that "Month of May", "Crown of Love", and "No Cars Go" were epic. Butler called a run of "Intervention" and "Neighborhood #2 (Laika)" the "peaceful" section.
But headliners usually maintain a sense of mystery about what will make their particular set an "event," which was strange from a band as forthright as Arcade Fire. A big black box was raised over them halfway through the two-hour set, and the buzz was already circulated about what the Creators Project (Vice and Intel) had in store. Well, it was balloons. OK, it was more than that-- the giant orbs all changed colors almost in sync during a monstrous "Wake Up", and it was pretty fucking awesome. Oh, and they did a four-song encore ending with "Sprawl II", quite possibly the only thing that could've proved even more uplifting to the thousands of people who were about to spend hours trying to get out of the parking lot. --Ian Cohen-=-=-=-
Sunday, April 17
Twin Shadow [Mojave; 1:10 p.m.]
Photo by Chris Tuite*
One of the drawbacks of Coachella booking relatively green indie rock acts is that the excitement of seeing them play in front of their biggest crowds to date can be diminished by the fear that they're just not ready for this sort of thing. I would've guessed Twin Shadow would've fit right in with this line of thinking: they're still very much a new band and the distinguishing characteristic of their debut LP Forget is a fragile and eerie disembodiment.
But, um, forget all that (no pun intended). Twin Shadow is a hell of a rock band. Frontman George Lewis Jr.'s powerful vocal range is easy enough to recognize on record and, if you listened real hard, the guitar heroics also made themselves known, but in a full-band setting, the BPMs get cranked, the riffs become more forceful and Lewis becomes not just a frontman but a showman, too. Opener "Shooting Holes" gets revved up into near dance-punk, "Castles in the Snow" added a surprisingly ill key change and ripping guitar solo, and "Slow" was introduced with a hymnal suspense a la "Purple Rain". This is the sort of thing that makes showing up early worth it. --Ian Cohen
Delorean [Gobi; 2:00 p.m.]
Photo by Natalie Kardos*
It makes plenty of sense that beach balls were in full effect for Barcelona dance-rock quartet Delorean's set. Their LP is called Subiza, after all, and this was a great way to get those rave-y vibes without having to subject yourself to the frightening 24-hour-party-people madness of the Waterworld-like Coachella monstrosity known as Do Lab. But it's all fun and games until you get hit in the face with one of these things-- and the sneak attack turned out to be a weird metaphor for a set that was brought down by unfortunate snags.
It's hard enough for a typical power trio to have their sound and equipment completely on-point with the fifteen minutes allotted between sets, but then you've got bands like Delorean with enough power adapters and surge protectors to stock your office's entire IT department. Add to that the overall sound issues the Gobi tent was suffering from all weekend and that's how you end up with singer Ekhi Lopetegin's preferred swath of vocal reverb reaching a Jim James-level of echo, and album highlight "Real Love" suffering through a minute-long false start. They never sounded completely locked-in even as the snafus subsided, but a still-rapturous "Seasun" was a reminder of how far this one-time emo-pop band has come. --Ian Cohen
CSS [Mojave; 3:30 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
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The most common phrase heard from the stages of Coachella: "Drink some water." CSS vixen LoveFoxxx's first words to the Mojave-tent crowd: "Let's get dehydrated!" But such bad advice is to be expected from someone who looks like a severely corrupted Betty Boop, crowd surfs as often as most singers clear their throat, and whose songs are usually about doing what feels good as opposed to what feels right. It's been three years-- i.e., an eternity-- since the naughty Sao Paolo new wavers released their last album, but they're greeted with a packed venue who still want to party like it's 2005. CSS respond in kind by interspersing shout-along first-album faves with new material from the forthcoming La Liberacion that nudges them out of their disco-punk hot zone toward more funky tropical pop, with no discernible dip in energy. It's not hard to familiarize a crowd with your new stuff when the chorus hooks amount to "I love you/ I love you too," but CSS are keenly aware of their own quick-hit, disposable nature-- after all, LoveFoxxx was proudly wearing a cut-off tee emblazoned with the word "trash." --Stuart Berman
Wiz Khalifa [Coachella; 3:45 p.m.]
Photo by Chris Tuite*
For all the talk about how marijuana does a number on your ambition, my past couple of years at Coachella have taught me that appealing to weed smokers is quite possibly the smartest thing a rapper can do in order to secure brand loyalty. Wiz may be from Pittsburgh, but jerseys of San Francisco Giants Cy Young winner (and off-season toker) Tim Lincecum were trending hard in his crowd-- and I don't think it was because the Pirates lack anyone remotely recognizable outside the 412.
Most of the audience seemed fully aware that they weren't going to hear "Black & Yellow" until the last song, but with a minimal stage setup and no real intention of trying to be more than just a guy whose moment is right now, Wiz ran through a very impressive survey of his mixtapes and new album Rolling Papers, which already appears to have a hardcore contingent that has completely memorized it. Granted, that album lacks the low-key charm of his earlier material, but Wiz's blatant instructions for all those holding to "spark that good... RIGHT NOW" were meant for festivals. Sublime-cover-band types liked it, at least. --Ian Cohen
HEALTH [Mojave; 4:45 p.m.]
Photo by Natalie Kardos*
Skin cancer or HEALTH? That was the question pondered by the many sun-dazed Coachellans seeking refuge in the Mojave tent shade, but unwilling to endure the tribal onslaught of noise-punk's most prolific Tweeters. Likewise, HEALTH seemingly designed their performance to weed out passersby and reward the front-of-stage faithful with an early-set batch of debut-album thrashers before delving further into their more heady, song-oriented material. The flow of the set essentially mirrored HEALTH's own intriguing evolution from spastic, contorto-punk provocateurs into a dream-pop outfit equally enamored with rippling shoegaze guitars and bright R&B synths. And if singer Jake Duzsik's airy melodies were sometimes too washed-out to fully connect, you could at least stare at the big screens and marvel at his resemblance to E from "Entourage". --Stuart Berman
Best Coast [Outdoor Theatre; 6:05 p.m.]
Photo by Natalie Kardos*
As someone who admittedly finds plenty to scrutinize about the lyrics, compositional simplicity, and relationship politics of Best Coast's Crazy for You, I'll say this much: in this sort of setting, you feel like a real buzzkill trying to take umbrage at the rhyming of "friend" and "end," "crazy" and "lazy," etc. The strength and sweetness of Bethany Cosentino's vocals really become apparent when given the chance to expand in the open air. Even more surprising was the harder, way-more-distorted edge attached to her songs. Could it have been an acknowledgement that they'd have to keep up with Death From Above 1979's set to their immediate right? Maybe not, but whether you wanted to longingly pine over the boy who never calls or eviscerate yourself over the girl that left, Coachella once again was all about giving you options. --Ian Cohen
Death From Above 1979 [Coachella; 6:10 p.m.]
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Photo by Chris Tuite*
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This was supposed to be DFA's first concert in five years; instead, the suddenly reunited Toronto dance-metal duo snuck in a gate-crashing SXSW showcase last month that threatened to make Coachella feel like an anticlimax. But even if there was a noticeable lack of riot police and horse-punching, there was no denying the "event" vibe surrounding this show. With the Coachella stage's cube-like lighting façade parted open, bassist/keyboardist Jesse F. Keeler (in all black) and drummer/screamer Sebastien Grainger (in all white) resembled two cons who'd been set free after five years of solitary confinement. But aside from the massive stage banner cheekily acknowledging their break-up-- illustrated with a tombstone reading "Death From Above 1979, 2001-2006"-- it was like they had never left.
Save for some bizarre between-song samples of Michael Jackson's "Wanna Be Starting Something" and Iggy Pop's famous speech about the definition of punk rock, the set stuck exactly to the band's circa-2005 playbook: a relentless shuffle-mode mix of 2002's Heads Up EP and 2004's You're a Woman, I'm a Machine, marked by Grainger leaving his kit to lead the clap-along breakdown in the penultimate "Romantic Rights" and climaxing with the extended (and supremely arse-kicking) outro jam on the closing "Do It!" But this time around, there's the added exhilaration of seeing thousands of kids losing their shit to this band for the first time. Just like their album title says, Death From Above 1979 truly is a machine-- even if it's been collecting dust in the garage for a half decade, just plug 'er in and she works like a charm. --Stuart Berman
Duran Duran [Coachella, 7:25 p.m.]
__Photo by Natalie Kardos
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"The Reflex". "Is There Something I Should Know". "Union of the Snake". "Save a Prayer". "Wild Boys". All massive hit singles for Duran Duran; none of which were played at Coachella. But the fact that you'd be hard-pressed to find any disappointed customers speaks to the sheer depth of their catalogue. Sure, Duran Duran were at Coachella to promote their 2010 LP All You Need Is Now, but the smattering of complementary new songs were mere speed bumps in an otherwise ceaseless hit parade spanning 1982's "Planet Earth" to 1993 comeback ballad "Ordinary World"; by the time we hit "Rio" even the VIP section was singing along. But even when indulging our 80s nostalgia, the band pulled out some new tricks, like the late-set tribute to John Barry comprising an instrumental medley of his famed Bond themes (and a Simon LeBon wardrobe change into a white tux) that lead into a stripped-down, orchestral version of "A View to a Kill". More contrived, however, was a closing rendition of "Girls on Film" that grafted on a tract of Gaga's "Poker Face", but I suppose the song does require an update for a generation that only knows camera phones. --Stuart Berman
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The National [Outdoor Theatre; 7:25]__
Photo by Chris Tuite*
As critical as some of the National's lyrics can be regarding the upwardly mobile, there's always something of a sympathetic tone to them as well. And it's easy to see why: the National themselves are consummate professionals at this point, and their addition of a horn section isn't a nice surprise so much as an expectation, an earned indulgence.
And, as consummate professionals, you can always rely on the National to deliver, even if this set is like most that followed Boxer, namely one that's immensely satisfying but doesn't quite crackle with the same desperate intensity of the days when they were a band that were fighting for their livelihoods with every show. Even as previously restrained songs "Squalor Victoria" and "Slow Show" are rendered loud and nervy, it's telling that the unhinged "Abel" gets introduced as "an old song." And while "Mr. November" always felt like it would be their no-matter-what closer, it's been supplanted rather smoothly by "Terrible Love", which had Justin Vernon playing among the turbulent chorus of guitars. I'd never turn down a twilight set from these guys, but after their second straight Coachella performance on the Outdoor Theatre (you never really appreciate how much smaller it is than the main Coachella stage until you see it up close), I'm dying to see them on the biggest stage possible. --Ian Cohen
Chromeo [Outdoor Theatre; 8:35 p.m.]
Photo by Chris Tuite*
Though some of their allotted set time had a bit of overlap with that of Duran Duran as well as the Strokes, Chromeo had itself a pretty enviable task at hand: keep the crowd moving so they'd be suitably amped for Kanye's big finale. And boy are they perfect for this role. You can ask if they really "mean it" all you want, but truth is, nobody's mining the vein of Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis's pop-locking chart pop like these guys, and hearing thousands of people lose their shit at the introduction to "Tenderoni" is as good of a way as any to get out of a self-imposed, self-serious indie rock mindset. Fitting then that Vampire Weekend's Ezra Koenig was brought in for a guest vocal and a sax solo (!) on the closing "I Could Be Wrong"-- in the face of questions about irony and affectation, some just ask, "Why would you lie about anything at all?" --Ian Cohen
The Strokes [Coachella, 8:50 p.m.]
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Photo by Natalie Kardos*
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If the Strokes are becoming the American Oasis-- a beloved rock institution who can still trade on the immense goodwill generated by their first two albums-- then this late-night slot at Coachella would be akin to their Knebworth moment, where, despite mixed receptions to the recent Angles, they can still reap the glory of triggering the sort of indie rock enthusiasm 10 years ago that makes a festival like this possible.
Opening with Room on Fire's ace closer "I Can't Win" proves to be a good omen for a set that's heavy on fan-favorite album cuts ("NYC Cops", "Under Control", "You Only Live Once"), and the Angles tracks with the best shot of standing alongside them ("Under Cover of Darkness", "Taken for a Fool", "Gratisfaction"). Meanwhile, the mechanized rhythms of "You're So Right" and "Games" make you wonder why they bother dicking around with drum machines when they've got a redoubtable timekeeper like Fab Moretti on hand. But considering Julian's jovial mood ("Was it hot here this weekend? I wouldn"t know-- I just flew in on my diamond-encrusted jet"), the LED backdrop that makes them look like they're starring in their own video game, and the one-two finale of "Last Nite" and "Take It Or Leave It", the Strokes' questionable synth-pop whims are easily forgotten amidst a show this elating. --Stuart Berman
PJ Harvey [Outdoor; 9:45 p.m.]*
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"PJ Harvey is the real Sunday night headliner." So reads a fan-made sign captured on the big screen by the Coachella closed-circuit camera crew, leading to resounding cheers-- even if the booming beats wafting in from Kanye West's nearby set suggests otherwise. Of course, PJ isn't even going to try to compete with that; her current tour in support of Let England Shake sees her and her three-piece band (including long-time cohort John Parish and ex-Bad Seed Mick Harvey) taking a rootsy tack, with Harvey immersing herself in the role of prairie princess in feathers and a white gown, clutching an autoharp.
The new album's goth-folk elegies find Harvey singing in a higher, more delicate register, so there's less of an opportunity for her to slip into ravenous-diva mode and physically command the stage as she has in previous incarnations. Instead, we simply have a great singer singing great songs-- still not a bad deal. But gradually, she starts to loosen up and slip in tracks from her mid-90s masterworks To Bring You My Love and Is This Desire?, and when she straps on the electric guitar and lays into the swamp-metal groove of "Meet Ze Monsta", it feels like the performance is about to go off in a major way. Alas, the encroaching curfew brings the set to a dead-stop-- but with nighttime winds picking up in intensity, the aftershock of Harvey's big black monsoon was certainly felt. --Stuart Berman
Kanye West [Coachella; 10:30 p.m.]
Photo by Chris Tuite*
In 2010, Jay-Z became the first solo rapper to headline a night of Coachella, so naturally, a year later, Kanye would be asked to close out the thing. Might sound like an obvious-enough choice considering My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy was the record of 2010, but if you need to be reminded that Kanye's persecution complex isn't totally unwarranted, you could either check the commentary spawned from the initial Coachella announcement or witness the burger stands that boasted competing tip jars for "Team Taylor" and "Team Kanye".
Having just come off a record where no expense or artistic impulse was spared, the mind boggled at the seemingly limitless possibilities for spectacle here: collaborators Rihanna, Katy Perry, and Kid Cudi had all been spotted on the Coachella grounds earlier in the weekend. What was Jay-Z up to? It's not like the Nets had anything important going on. Would Daft Punk join him for "Stronger"? King Crimson for "POWER"? Were these really unrealistic expectations?
After the first couple of minutes, hardly. What looked like dozens of leotard-clad ballerina/angels gyrated in near-unison while that one line embodying all of Dark Fantasy's excess boomed: "Can we get much higher?" How about a moving platform 30 feet above the festival crowd upon which Kanye rapped, "I used to fantasize about this back in Chicago." (Really? This?!)
Of course, "POWER" was about as massive as you'd expect, and as soon as "Jesus Walks" hit, it felt like even a guest spot from the messiah himself wouldn't be out of the question. But as Yeezy threw the Roc up to introduce "Diamonds From Sierra Leone", there was soon a weird whiplash in hearing him do a verse from the original-- no remix, no Jay-Z. And then "Monster" hit and the realization set in that Rick Ross' intro was pre-recorded, and no one even tried to start a rumor that Nicki Minaj was in the house. It continued down that path: no Chris Martin for "Homecoming", no Jamie Foxx on "Gold Digger", none of the dozens of guest vocalists on "All of the Lights". Was Kanye's VIP section no different than Coachella's, i.e., high rollers merely there to sip overpriced liquor drinks and half-heartedly watch the actual music?
Photo by Natalie Kardos*__
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As the set went on, the theatrics of the first 10 minutes or so felt like distant memories as Kanye looked awfully lonely up there, forgetting large parts of his verses from "Good Life" and diving into a momentum-killing, three-song mini-suite from 808s & Heartbreak: even if Kanye explained that he was just releasing the pain of loss and artistic struggle pent up inside him, the grizzled vocals of "Love Lockdown" were still pretty tough to endure.
But all that soon passed as the loosely-structured, 23-song set made its way back to the hits. Eventually, Pusha T made it out for his verse on "Runaway", though he was the only guest vocalist other than Bon Iver's Justin Vernon, with whom Kanye did an extended harmonized coda for "Monster". But rather than being a toast for the douchebags, assholes, et al., Kanye's performance was ultimately a tribute to his mother, who he memorialized throughout the set, particular during the 808s material-- which is why it wasn't "Through the Wire" or "Flashing Lights" or "Touch The Sky" that closed things out. It was the Late Registration deep cut "Hey Mama"-- hardly a #1 smash, and all the more meaningful for it.
