Day Three at Coachella Music Festival couldn't possibly stand up to Day Two, mostly because we couldn't really stand up any longer by midday Sunday. But we soldiered on for the people, taping our ankles and dusting off our mesh shirts for a solid, if not inspiring finale to a weekend that, in all honesty, should probably just be a weekend. Make the jump for last of our music coverage of Coachella and stay tuned for more photos of our happy weekend in Indio.
Explosions in the Sky exist to play this venue, an enormous stage in front of a sprawling open field surrounded by desert mountains. Kind of ideal once we backed away from the stage just far enough so that the others didn't bleed in to their set.
We checked out Soulwax at the big, ravey Sahara tent for a minute but if you don't have a taste for neon pacifiers, the Sahara on Coach Sunday is not the greatest place in the world. Still, we gotta hand it to Soulwax dudes for knowing how to dress for the heat.
We were super excited to see Konono No. 1 the second we saw them on the schedule. Their Congotronics is crazy on the hi-fi, but you really need to see them in person to appreciate what's happening. This is the singer dude who was wearing the best t-shirt we saw all weekend.
And this is the woman who sings and dances throughout backed up by the two old fellas who, along with the dude above, play amplified likembes and stand around looking disinterested while the three percussionists hammer out massive, shuffling rhythms. Super awesome. Make sure to check them on tour.
We snuck over to the Mojave Tent for the hot hot sex three song finale of CSS. Lovefoxxx wore a purple body suit. Apparently the real Paris Hilton was there...snoozy larusa...we were more interesting in meeting our old friend, Good Times. It was a pleasure as always.
Usually hugundo in England bands are super salty when they come to America, but the Klaxons instead were super stoked to be playing and their ripping jams totally knocked us on our gooch. We don't need no sirens, let the motherfucker burn! Unfortunately, our camera decided it was nap time.
We bought a "hemp necklace" from this dude and next you know he's onstage! Crazy!
In retrospect, Lily was a nice likkle cooldown before the brodeo at nightfall. We're a little bummed we didn't spend more time at her set.
Especially since our pre-festival sleeper Manu Chao fucked us up by launching into identical Sublime-style punk excursions for three minutes at the end of every one of his usually chillaxified reggaeish jams. Oh well!
After an introduction from Factory Records creator Tony Wilson, salty (and pickled) Shaun Ryder took the stage for the reformation of the Happy Mondays (without Bez, who was stuck in the UK because of visa issues). Something about the sound was ticking Ryder off, there was a general sense of disorganization that seemed to put everything in danger of collapse, and some British guys next to us were calling Ryder an addict and telling him to sort himself out. Just like we always imagined a Happy Mondays show.
On the way back for the mainstage Rage we dipped in to see Ratatat. Dudes were fucking killing it and the kids were going nuts and singing along, even though all the songs are instrumentals: Bwaa-nuh-nuh/ nuh-nuh/ nuh-nuh-nuuuh
Our camera was now raging against its memory card, but we managed to get a couple more.
Rage. Truly. One thing about the last couple Coachellas that makes us want to pack up early is the closing set on the main stage being given to reunion acts that tend to draw their own dedicated audience. Last year was Tool, and this year Rage Against the Machine brought out an army of aggro dudes looking to kick sand on people, to the point where the audio guys actually dull and turn down the sound so people don't rip each others heads off.
We definitely had fun, but a word of advice (that won't be taken we're sure) is forget Friday and refocus the scheduling. Otherwise, thanks for putting up with us, Indio, California. We'll see you next year. Maybe.