J.J. Jenkins
jjjenkins.md@gmail.com
At the end, the faces of festival-goers were caked with explosions of dirt and green paint as they reveled in the conclusion of their three days in the desert. Those mementos were all that remained from their time at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival when the music ended on Sunday night.
Along with the dirt and the paint, their faces sported looks of disbelief.
The dirt came from a massive sandstorm that moved through the Polo Grounds on the final day. The paint came from the netherworld that is the front of the main stage audience. The looks of disbelief, from a weekend jam-packed with music and the knowledge that it would be another 362 days before they could do it all again.
But as we cruised down the California coast on the way to the campgrounds, our weekend was a blank canvas waiting to be colored in. So it was only fitting that The Neighbourhood, a band known for releasing videos in stark black and white, would be the first act our group of 12 would see. The dark-pop group out of Newbury Park, Calif., embodied the fun of the afternoon sets at Coachella.
Organizers do their homework when scoping out little-known groups with huge potential, and fans get to see them up close before the rest of the world, hopefully, catches on. Though the Neighbourhood claimed the stage for just 20 minutes, teasing the audience with five songs, it was enough to whet my appetite for their first full-length album, “I Love You.”
Though the lineup was originally criticized for being light on big-name headliners, Friday’s midday sets showed that Coachella had done a fantastic job bringing in future hitmakers. Stars and Metric took over the main stage as the sun finally began its slow descent into the purple hills before I headed back to the tented venues for British indie rockers Alt J. The quartet’s album, “An Awesome Wave,” is light-hearted and catchy but anchored by Joe Newman’s wavering, almost robotic vocals — which I thought would be lost when performed live. Instead, the group pumped up the drums and keyboard, filling the tent with its complex beats that sucked in passersby.
Alt J would have won the day if it hadn’t been for Karen O of Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Dressed in a metallic suit jacket and matching pants, she carried the audience from the band’s current rocked-up sound — as seen on “Sacrilege” — to its bluesy “Gold Lion” past.
The day’s rock ‘n’ roll beginning transitioned into two of the more anticipated hip-hop and rap acts at night. Though Jurassic 5 and Earl Sweatshirt are hardly in the same category, both were impressive in their own rights. Reuniting after six years apart was no simple feat, but Jurassic 5 put together the most well-rehearsed showing of the weekend before handing the proverbial mic off to the garment-monikered Odd Future member.
Now, I didn’t predict that I would witness my first assault and battery at Coachella, but squeezing my way to the front section of Earl’s closing set didn’t decrease my odds. Within minutes of coming onstage, mosh pits broke out all over the crowd. The adrenaline-fueled idiot circles are pointless in their own right, but as my friend and I ushered out three of the most terrified girls I’ve ever seen, I turned to my left to witness a hulk-like figure rear back with his right fist and pop another kid right in the mouth. Blood splattered as he dropped to the grass like a lead anchor.
All 140 pounds of me wanted to tackle the attacker right there and drag him to the police — well, except for the three pounds of gray matter in my skull that desired to remain intact for the time being.
Fortunately, the crowd swallowed the man up and I survived to see Day Two.
Though I was admittedly less excited for the lineup on Saturday, The Wombats, another British rock group, stepped up to the plate and stole Coachella’s heart. The rockers looked no more than 20 years old and their faces portrayed just how surreal it was to play at the festival of festivals. It didn’t stop them from burning through surefire radio hits such as “Jump into the Fog.” If they don’t become the next Arctic Monkeys, I’ll eat a wombat … and an arctic monkey for that matter.
But as the sun sank closer to the famed Ferris wheel, I posted up in my favorite spot — The Outdoor Stage — to watch the sky transition from a pale blue to purple, scattered with pink clouds. Portugal. The Man would kick off the night shift here. I don’t even remember standing during this band’s set — floating would be a better word. And, no, I wasn’t smoking the ganja.
Thankfully I wasn’t, because Phoenix took the crowd to new heights all on its own.
Even R. Kelly’s surprising appearance for “Ignition (Remix),” which many thought was a distraction for an eventual Daft Punk collaboration, hit the right notes and sent the audience into a frenzy. Thomas Mars’ unique vocals supplemented synthetic beats that provided new texture to songs that everyone knew by heart.
If there were any doubts about the band’s ability to claim headliner status before its 11-song tour de force, they drifted off with the fog that enveloped the stage. I’ve never wanted a set to end less after Mars surfed through the crowd, wrapped in his own microphone cord, and disappeared offstage.
Less than 24 hours later, the rolling fog gave way to flying dirt that cut at my face like sandpaper.
I had only the echoes of Red Hot Chili Peppers in my eardrums to soothe me.
And a look of disbelief.