Liana Riley
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The grass was mossy green with the occasional patch of uprooted earth, dug up by the heels of the crowd’s Birkenstocks. I swayed to Death Cab For Cutie’s “Cath” as the guy next to me looked as if he was seconds away from vomiting within a five-inch radius of our group.
This was the magic of Outside Lands.
Last year, I was intent on becoming a part of the herd that attends the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival, an outing most Cal Poly students are jumping on the bandwagon for these days. I had seen the pictures, read the reviews and heard the stories. Unfortunately, I was part of the festival-rush surplus and didn’t make the cut.
I scanned Stubhub for a fortnight, seeking out my golden ticket. I then found myself shopping for festival garb that could double as torture devices from the Spanish Inquisition. That was when I decided to cut ties.
I opted for an Outside Lands ticket instead and had the time of my life. I people watched, almost got thrown up on and, though I had some reservations about the aforementioned festival culture, bobbed my head along with thousands of festivalgoers.
I am hoping to attend Lightning in a Bottle this year, but I am curious if its “Leave it Better, Leave it Beautiful” initiative is as genuine as the event’s promoters claim. And, of course, I aspire to crowd surf at Burning Man in the future as a cool parent with a fanny pack and some edibles in tow.
The music industry is now gravitating toward a mass production of these weekend festivals because they are wildly lucrative, and I, like many other college students, have become absorbed with this culture.
Without question, festivals have changed the way we experience live music.
Woodstock in 1969 — the festival trailblazer — was an expedition meant to spread peace and unity through a shared live music experience.
Music festivals have since garnered the power of reviving and reuniting groups; Outkast and No Doubt serve as examples of big acts coming back to life. They can score icons like Paul McCartney, Bruce Springsteen or Elton John. They excel at putting new acts in the limelight (St. Vincent, anyone?).
The two-weekend strategy Coachella has adopted suits it well, placing it at the top of the music festival hierarchy. What began as a two-day jaunt in the desert in 2001 — Ben Harper, Beck and Weezer performed — is now a $60 million enterprise.
Today, Coachella is host to a gross amount of cultural appropriation.
Hamsa and yin-yang t-shirts are viewed as stylish trends instead of religious symbols. People are commonly seen wearing indigenous headdresses as a fashion accessory rather than to pay homage to Native American culture.
Urban Outfitters now has a Coachella-themed line. And it seems flower crowns are as necessary as a bottle of water.
I’ve heard complaints that festivals have peaked, but this is a misconception. Instead, they have plateaued. They are becoming saturated, artificial forms of their past selves with no sign of stopping. It seems the atmosphere has become a hotbed of sponsors hoping to cash out and companies attempting to exploit a captive audience.
If we disposed of the inflated ticket prices, excessive sponsors and obsession with offensive fashion trends, there would be genuine substance — a raw and authentic passion for live music.
I know I am being idealistic — part of sustaining these annual festivals is turning a profit, which means exploiting people’s love of music and their need for cultural prestige.
If only festival organizers could still maintain these successful ventures without this sort of profiteering.
These organizers have overextended and alienated their original audiences by booking acts like Kanye West and Drake, both of which would never have made it on the bill initially.
I am hopeful that this drug-infused and overexposed scene will die down in the future and return to its roots.
I envision a surreal experience intent on providing accessible live music, curated to a diverse audience with a mutual passion for the music. This sounds rather naive and a bit 60s-hippy of me, but it’s a vision I feel is worth working toward.
In the meantime, you can find me purchasing some Flash Tattoos and colorfully beaded bracelets; I’ll be somewhere nodding along to Kendrick this summer, trying to not get thrown up on.