I'm Losing My Edge... (LCD Soundsystem - LIVE)

For those of you who don't know, LCD Soundsystem is the best band you've probably heard of but don't spend enough time listening to.

And they are on their potentially last tour.

James Murphy has only released three albums under this moniker with his killer combo.

Yet he's also 40. And he's losing his edge.

Or if nothing else, he's probably just losing his energy.

Last night I saw LCD Soundsystem for the second time this year, and second time ever. It won't be the last time I see them either, but I think this second time will be the best. The first time I saw them was at Coachella about six weeks ago. If you follow Omnaural, you are familiar with my experience and reaction. Basically, it was not the ideal setting for the band, IMO.

Last night's show at the Metro was a different story. I'll start by pointing out that a disco ball is NOT effective at an outdoor setting. Where does the light go? It disappears. In a club though, it's like a crystal ball that instead of being a window to the future or a distant vision, it transforms the atmosphere, spraying light upon every body like some sort of magic fairy dust or rays of infusing energy (depending if you're a fan of fantasy or science). Then you consider the band member elements that are different. Mahoney comes out with eyes looking like he's been drinking all day (instead of just for a couple hours like normal), and strutting some old school white trim, super-tight, athletic shorts, as if the tightness of the fabric is necessary to help ensure his drumming is extra precise. Nancy comes out in a classy v-neck black top as opposed to the more common ratty white tee. Yet both are hot, but instead of the usual raw rock star hot she is refined rock star hot. The rest of the accompanying band have their typical killer appearances, from Tyler Pope with a collared shirt so mind-blowingly colorful I can't help but be reminded of !!! to Gavin Russom with his receding hairline, long scraggily hair, white ratty tee and derelict face that reminds me of some psycho hillbilly killer from a Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie clone. And finally James Murphy comes out, evidently allowed to shed his formal Coachella-donned white suit and resort to his more comfortable Fruit of the Loom white tee, which he never somehow seems to sweat through.

And this is all before the band has played a note. When they do begin though, their music is like invisible hands that act as puppeteer for the audience. While throughout the Holy Ghost set, people hardly moved despite the fact that this was probably the tightest set for a band's seventh live show that I've ever seen, as if everyone in the audience were bound against their will as captives of some sort who struggled against confinement to only slightly wriggle and vibrate in place, when LCD started, the Metro exploded. It was like a shaken up bottle of champagne finally decorked. This was one of the more enthusiastic Metro crowds I've seen.

However this was not a crowd that would be constantly pumped with raw power like when I saw Crystal Castles. LCD is far more refined. That, and their lyrics are almost always far more reflective, or rather self-aware, and at other times, purely heart-breaking with emotion. The opener, 'Us vs. Them' was a proper hybrid of burner and anthem. The follow-up was 'Drunk Girls', an idiotic song no doubt, but whose music video justifies the song and proffers a certain appreciation for certain types of idiocy. 'Yr City's a Sucker' was third, completing the triumvirate of introducing the set with representation from each of the band's three LPs.

The excitement ceased to be quite as obvious for the rest of the set, as each person celebrated their love for the band in their own way, from the dudes who danced by themselves to the dudes who danced in their heads by themselves. I oscillated back and forth, as I continued to top off my mixed drink with more liquor from my flask, and revelling in each song that would start off with such a similar basic disco drum intro, then evolve into a unique and beautiful pop/dance creation. After way too much Pow-ing, I finally got to hear about how everyone's favorite electro-rock DJs are playing at their place of residence, and then a beautiful and bloopily accompanied explanation of everything James Murphy desires.

Then came the one of my favorite songs ever. A song with such a build so simple yet powerful that it is only perfectly mirrored in the music video, and song so nostalgiac that it also ranks up there as one of the most unlikely tearjerkers of recent years for me. The levels of irony just stack up like a midwest diner pancakes as unlike usual, when I listen to the song alone, I didn't really wonder at all where my friends were that night.

The irony continued as I listened to 'I Can Change' and while I usually think about how the ways in which I am ready for some much-needed change in my life right now, I instead thought about how I think this song is due for a much-needed remix or at least re-approach to the live execution. My forgotten lusting for that 'one other song from the first album I HAD to hear live' was satiated with the short burst that is 'Tribulations'. The alcohol and fatigue started to catch up with me during 'Movement', of which I found myself doing little anymore. To round off the set, I got treated to 'Yeah', which is another great song bogged down by a frustratingly repetitive monosyllabic chorus.

The encore was a treat however, beginning with the closest thing to a ballad LCD Soundsystem has to offer. I can vividly remember so many instances of breaking down to 'Someone Great', and so many great people that I've appreciated more because of it, and so it was probably a good thing I was drunk and tired or else my weepiness would probably have surely killed my mood for the rest of the encore. This was followed by James Murphy's (and every man who cared about the scene) immortal anthem, 'Losing My Edge', which needs no comment. The fact that the encore ended with 'New York I Love You, But You're Bringing Me Down' was in every way predictable but in no way disappointing, since I missed out on this at Coachella due to LCD's set being cut short due to time constraints. The insertion of a short cover of Jay-Z's 'Empire State of Mind' was awkward but heartfelt, and made me feel that there's a part of each of us that is from New York, whether it's because of the roots of America's distant past or the influence of the city's culture throughout not only America but the world today.

Some day I may move to New York, if I get tired of Chicago before I run out of energy.

But for now and a at least a good amount of time in the near future, Chicago is my home.

I lived in South Bend longest, and Pittsburgh second longest, and while I have a love and an appreciation for both of those cities, I'll never live there again.

Family and old friends, your city's a sucker...

A-Trak - Dirty South Dance 2 [mixtape]

If A-Trak is anything like this at Movement this year, I'll be far from worrying about not having a pop DJ for techno relief as Girl Talk did so heavily in '08.

Spiderman, it's on.

As for the mix, check it out here.

Coachella 2010 - Day Three

With each passing day, Coachella becomes more and more a distant memory. Contents of conversations fade, and details of experiences evaporate into the past as we speed forward through time, trying to carry with us as much of the pleasure and shed as much of the pain as possible. And sadly, while although some of the most exciting moments in our lives rend deep impressions on our souls or ink dark tattoos on our minds' eyes, particularly action-packed experiences tend to rush by us, without giving us a chance to really relish in the moment and cherish a memory to keep with us on the journey ahead. Which seems why I tend to remember better some of the moments in life where I am not active but passive, not engaged but observant, not interacting but alone, soaking the environment through my pores and holding my breath so to speak with the atmosphere of experience, letting my body absorb the particles and my mind react to he forces of the moment, the spatial and temporal arrangement of dirt and junk littered on our iron rock pirouetting and spiralling about that blazing source of life tethering our mysterious flames together, where we find ourselves closely united through a mutual adoration for and celebration of that mystical source of wonder that is music.


Saturday night was the night I drank the most and stayed up the latest, and I feared that my sleep would be the least productive. However I was actually able to sleep in a bit, and eventually dragged myself out of my tent to begin taking care of myself around 9:30am. Though obviously too late for a shower, a group of us decided to embark on a quest for a spicket. We found one on the other edge of our lot, and while some essentially did a full wash, I'm usually content with just mostly washing my head (subconsciously probably the part of my body I care about the most).


Back at our site, it was the making of being a typical morning. I forced Spiderman to eat again, because the last time I did he found himself very greatful. Your body needs energy, and a fueled metabolism fights a hangover better. While we pathetically tried to nurse ourselves back to tip-top shape, our attention was drawn to our hispanic neighbors, who must have decided that since it was the last day, they are pulling all the stops. Not only had their group expanded to be quite a large party this morning, but they were also quite energetic. They must have been trying to purge the rest of their alcohol stash, because they started passing around a bottle of rum, encouraging each participant with a chugging chant followed by a boisterous cheer when they finished taking down all they could. Apparently they had more than their party could drink, because they started approaching passers-by in attempts to recruit more help. Some tried to resist, but surprisingly almost everyone gave in to the peer pressure. I think everyone found it harder to resist when they saw how entertained the crowd was, as each new person that stopped for a drag encouraged even louder chanting and cheering. Plus when it would be a female that would pass by, they would not only offer the bottle but change the chant to "chichis para la banda", which I think is basically something in the style of Mardi Gras ;) Sadly, no chichis were to be seen, but Spiderman and I still got into the spirit and took a turn anyway.


Spiderman had actually decided to have a beer just before this and so between the two he already got his buzz right back. I continued pregaming as well, though I had to pack up my campsite because Spiderman and I both needed to load up the car before going into the fest so I could just hit the road after the night's headliner, Gorillaz. However we were getting a ride that night with Angel Raper, who was again driving to Coachella from LA, and hadn't yet arrived. Since my phone was dying, I needed a charge and so I went to the car to get some juice, where I think I unfortunately experienced my best buzz of the day sitting in a hot minivan by myself, staring at all the Jesus and Mary mementos and wondering when the last time I had a reverent, self-motivated thought about Christianity...


Soon after I got back to the camp we found out our chariot had arrived, and Spiderman and I said goodbye to our wonderful hosts and then trekked a couple lots over to where my friend parked. We loaded up the car, and then headed to the fest for the last time of the weekend, me with my beer in hand and Red Bull stealthily hidden in my back pocket (I didn't have my flasks, so I had to sneak something in).


This was also the latest day that we went in. Now that I have my schedule finally, I can see that it was around 3:30pm, because Angel Raper went to Deerhunter while Spidey and I went to go check out Glitch Mob at the Sahara. I was really feelin' them, though it wasn't really what 'glitch' was as I understand it. It was sort of smoother, like a slower jungle or trip-hop style. This would be the last I would see of Spiderman for a while though, and towards the end of their set I left to go try to find Angel Raper at the Matt & Kim set. When I got there, they were just finishing a song and started to banter about how excited they were to see Beyonce on Friday night and blah blah they like to talk and they are really high on life if you've never seen them before. Still, their energy proved even more infectious than when I saw them at Pitchfork last year, and even though I couldn't find my friend, I still had a good time bouncing along to some of their originals as well as some strange covers, including renditions of Better Off Alone, and We Will Rock You (?!?). I have to admit they were fun, but I'd rather be listening to fun music with a friend, so I left early to go over to catch the beginning of the set of a band who I've never seen and may not see again. Although I've only really listened to one album of Sunny Day Real Estate, and can only really recall one song that I particularly fell in love with, I had to take the chance to check out the sad pre-emo stalwarts. The crowd was pretty diffuse, so I just went to the right of the sound tent which is my friend and I's unofficial meeting place. Turned out fruitful because Angel Raper discovered me there just a couple songs in (apparently his phone wasn't getting texts).


We stayed for almost all of their solid set ("It's a beautiful day for sad songs"), and although I kind of wanted to stay to check out Jonsi, there was a break and so we decided to grab some food and then see some of Charlotte Gainsbourg. This time, instead of getting my usual falafel wrap, I settled for some lobster garlic fries since I wasn't that hungry yet anyway. In case you read too fast, I did say fries with GARLIC and LOBSTER. If this is common in California, then this is just another reason to get out to the west coast more often, because this shit was amazing.


We turned up for Charlotte with the most sophisticated crowd I saw all weekend. No glowsticks, but lots of guys in hats. Less bikinis and body paint and way more sun dresses. I'm guessing the average age of the crowd was at least five to ten years older as well. Gainsbourg's music was pleasant Feist-esque fair, and I enjoyed it but I would have rather checked it out at a smaller fest or a small club/lounge venue. Still it was refreshing and I found myself staying through the set even though I was and still am ever-curious for Jonsi since falling in love with Sigur Ros in grad school.


We split after this so AR could check out Spoon, who tend to bore me, while I decided to try to catch some of Miike Snow. I can't get enough of their electro dance pop LP from last year, and I was hoping the crowd and setlist would be better than the recent Metro show I saw. However, I couldn't get close enough in the tent for it to sound good, and so after struggling to get into a few tracks, I decided to go back to the tent Gainsbourg finished at to catch a little Sly Stone before Pavement. Unfortunately, the next forty-five minutes turned out to be a huge waste of time because for whatever reason, Sly Stone never came on before I had to go over for Pavement. All I did was end up wandering around to the merch and back, hoping he would go on, but all I got to hear was Phoenix rock out loudly from far away at the second stage, ceaselessly pulling in hordes of people from all corners of the fest. I saw a great Phoenix show at the Aragon this year, and since they sounded so good from afar I wasn't tempted to fight my way in with the masses. In retrospect, I should have gone to Sahara to check out Infected Mushroom for a bit, but that would have required swimming against the tidal wave of dance pop seekers.


So eventually I gave up on Sly and hit the main stage for the most anticipated classic indie rock show of the fest-- Pavement. It wasn't hard to find AR by the sound booth again, who was a longtime fan, but the crowd was again diffuse for these champions of pre-grunge alternative. I myself must admit I've never been able to fall in love with them, though I have spent some time familiarizing myself with their early stuff especially the debut. I did stay for most of the set to foster my appreciation for the band, but I got a text from Spiderman saying he wanted to meet me for Thom Yorke and so I decided to go find him by the fire tornado apparatus so we could hang together for that set.


Turns out Spidey was simply exhausted, because for the rest of the night, through Thom Yorke and then Gorillaz, he alternated between simply standing and sitting so he could rest and massage his feet. At least two girls approached him to see if he was ok, and it was understandably so for during Thom Yorke was the second time I saw a girl go down and need assistance.

But regardless, Thom Yorke's set was great. I've always loved The Eraser, which is almost four years old, and it was sweet to finally see it performed live. It was a little odd to see Flea of Red Hot Chili Pepper fame on bass, and I wasn't quite digging the live version of Skip Divided (though I'm not too disappointed because it's my least favorite track), but it was sweet to hear them play the album straight through in its entirety. Songs like Analyze, Black Swan, and Harrowdown Hill are as beloved to me as almost any Radiohead song, and Cymbal Rush was radically transformed to a mind-blowing climax live. I would have been satisfied with this, but after they finished the album, the band departed while Yorke stayed on stage to perform some solo stuff. First he did a new song on guitar that utilized live vocal and guitar looped playbacks, followed by an acoustic Airbag and then a piano Everything in its Right Place. If that wasn't enough, the band returned so that they could play some new "mad shit" as Thom put it. The most maddening was Thom's dancing though, and although the songs were upbeat and funky, they will hopefully never be put to record.


We started migrating to the main stage a little early since I didn't want to get stuck in the back for Gorillaz like we did for Tiesto. And it was a little awkward for me since Spiderman was still pretty much spent for the night, though he still agreed to stick by me while I eagerly awaited one of my more anticipated acts of the fest. I had heard Gorillaz described as a virtual band, and that they will basically substitute a huge video screen for the stage presence of musicians. This was fortunately only partially true. The stage was there, and they played an engrossing video to every song, but they also visibly had a stage band, which mainly consisted of Damon Albarn running around singing but also had a string orchestra as well as many others I couldn't quite discern from my distance. They started with a video of Snoop Dogg welcoming us to the world of the Plastic Beach, and moved to play a complete hodgepodge of tracks, which is basically what all their albums are like. Most of the crowd around me was digging it, and just looking around I was amazed not only by the energy people still had despite the late hour of the third day of this massive party, but also the diversity of the crowd that was getting into this music. I guess it shows how successful Gorillaz's weird alchemy of genre-mashing truly is. Although it was to be expected, they unfortunately played way too much new stuff, and the only classic I stayed long enough to hear was Clint Eastwood. I really dug Stylo though and the classic car chase video starring Bruce Willis, but I was really hoping to hear D.A.R.E. or Feel Good, Inc. Alas, we all agreed to cut out early to beat the rush, and so I missed the encore performance of Feel Good which apparently incorporated De La Soul who performed earlier that day.


Spidey and I found AR by our predetermined landmark way in the back, where he patiently waited and listened to Gorillaz from a distance, clearly not sold on their quirky conglomeration of sounds. Although we left early there was still a half hour wait in a car line to get out, and by the time we dropped of Spiderman at Palm Springs nearby, I was starting to crash. I had had energy all day, surprisingly even through the Gorillaz set, but at this point I was running on fumes. Still, I abide by being a good wingman and split a Red Bull with the driver so that we could distract ourselves with talk of music while we grabbed some tacos from a drive thru joint and finished the night with a two hour drive back to LA.

I can't remember what time it was when we finally got to AR's brother-in-law's loft in downtown LA, but it was somewhere around 4am. I took a shower because I knew I wouldn't find time to in the morning. We had to get up around 7am to drop off the rental car and then catch a bus to LAX so we could get our flights, which weren't the same but were deliberately booked to leave around the same time. This was good planning because I was a complete zombie at 7am, and I probably would have missed the second flight of the weekend if it wasn't for my friend. Fortunately though, I made boarding at 10:30am, and passed out for the entire flight home.



Phew! There you have it. Finally finished my inauguration of Omnaural with the final Coachella post exactly one month late!

Thanks for reading everyone and stay tuned for more *current* music posts... which will include links to actual music!

Coachella 2010 - Day Two

I've been meaning to write these blogs when I am at home, so I can be in an environment more suited to recall my experiences of Coachella-- through music, pictures on my camera, the pocket guide with full schedule-- yet I'm finding the most time I have to waste at my computer is by far at work, so I find this to be even more of a struggle than I expected. All I have is my little turd-pod Sansa to help me try to escape the slow death of this place where machines live and human spirit degenerates the body expands and atrophies and soon we are nothing but complete slaves to the machines, which are slaves to our needs to get our prescriptions filled, which are slaves to our carelessness for our bodies, which are slaves to our uninspiration to get up from our IT jobs, which are slaves to the machines..... fuck.

Day two I had decidedly the least bands I was interested in seeing. The headliner of the main stage wasn't even a band, it was Tiesto. Muse was the biggest band I was looking forward to, and they were the penultimate mainstage act. I was into Absolution back in college, and I'm just an general fan of their style, plus I've never seen them before. However, today they were competing for my love with Major Lazer, whose album gets me especially stoked, especially after having gone to Jamaica last spring, and most especially after seeing a Switch show at Smartbar. I think I may have been the craziest dancer that night, and I was eager to see the folks on the west coast bring it for these dancehall rave-nuts. I had concluded that it would either depend on my mood, or if I was feeling indecisive, as I almost always am, I would split my time. And unfortunately, I couldn't predict my mood based on the rest of the day, because many of the rest of the acts I was ambivalent about as well. So in this regard I suppose, I guess this was the best day out of any to have my day get fucked up and miss half the festival... which did happen.

But let me start from the beginning. Unlike Day one, this day I decided I would give in to the sun and let it coax me out of my tent as early as possible in order to secure a reasonable spot in line for the showers. Spiderman and I ventured out at around 7:30, which I thought would ensure us a short wait, but we found that there were already enough like-minded, bleary-eyed, stinky hipsters to push our wait to at least 45 minutes. Spiderman reminded me that I could take as long as I wanted once I got in there, but this baffles me. Why would I want to contribute to the problem? As always, people's primitive mindsets sadden me... The shower was really worth the wait, though, and we returned to camp considerably refreshed. (although I swear that by the time we returned to the festival a couple hours later, I sweated enough more to feel just as nasty again).

Which reminds me of the second worst aspect of the whole camping experience-- contact lenses. And unlike the hot morning sun, I'm hoping I can fix or at least somewhat alleviate this problem. Though I still quite didn't figure out what was the primary problem. Whether it was the powerful cleaning solution I only recently started using to give my contacts longer life, or whether I didn't wash enough dirt off my hands, or whether I didn't rinse enough soap off my hands, or whether my eyes were super sensitive due to the dry air/lack of sleep/dehydration, but for whatever combination of reasons, it was the most pain I've ever felt in my eyes before. And I even went the whole morning in glasses just to give my eyes a break, but I had to put them in before going to the festival because otherwise I couldn't wear sunglasses, and I decided the temporary intense pain was preferred to the constant nagging discomfort of squinting.

In any case, there's not much else to tell about the morning. I spent some time by myself while Spiderman charged his phone at a station and the rest of our party went off on a supply run (they took my phone to charge in their car), and so I took the opportunity to finish reading a short story in an issue of the New Yorker about a man who sought out this creepy Columbian male pornstar who did this weird "vibrating" thing that made him famous, but more importantly, was a regular actor in amateur films with the narrator's mother and aunt.

Our party's return was not only accompanied by a restock of alcohol and groceries but also with a huge carryout order from In-N-Out Burger! So for the second time this weekend I got to enjoy the Thousand Island and bacon-laden greasy fried burger and fries goodness. (Yes, they put all that on the fries too. How did this not migrate, nay, originate, in the midwest?) After adequate digestion, or the second time we got some beers for the walk and made our way to the festival in the heat of another sunny 85+ degree day.

This time I went straight to the Sahara tent as there was nothing I was particularly excited to see-- I was still coming to learn that this is the best strategy at Coachella when you are not sure what to do, but also because I decided I was preferring this weekend to have company rather than venture solo. I am quite comfortable and even at times prefer to wander alone, but this is easier at smaller fests like Pitchfork where not only is the atmosphere more laid back but it is also much easier to reunite with your friends again later.

Four of us went to Sahara, where we found some chill dubstep blaring to some slow-moving landscape images. The tent did have decent attendance already, and due to the pace of the music and images and the time of the day, most people weren't on their feet but were sitting or laying, enjoying the shade and the sounds. Either that, or you can just feel the bass better if you have more surface area in your body in contact with the ground ;)

I got bored of this and decided to wander off to check out Portugal-the-Man for a bit. Going from dubstep to jammy psych-experimental rock was not a smooth transition, and I found myself struggling to get into the set, and also already missing my company. I returned to the Sahara tent to find my friends on their feet and moving to the new DJ (who I can't recall because I don't have the damn schedule). I tried joining in on the dancing, but was finding it awkward as I felt uninspired. I felt like I needed alcohol or red bull, but thought it was too early to start the steady pouring of money into endless liquids, and found myself rather just wishing I had started my day talking to Samson again. Yet instead of going on an expedition to find him, I simply found myself watching a couple in front of me who had undoubtedly just met and were doing some pretty awkward flirting. The guy kept repeating this awful funky white-boy dance, which made the girl laugh, then give him shit, which he took as encouragement (something I wish I could do). Though I'm not exactly envious because she was wearing a cowboy hat, which is acceptable almost never but ESPECIALLY at Coachella. Actually, I think what made this couple so entertaining was the fact that they stood out so poorly from the rest of the hipster crowd (at Lollapalooza, they might be the majority, at Summerfest in Milwaukee, DEFINITELY).

At this point my buzz was definitely beginning to fade, and I decided to take a walk. I checked out some of the large art creations-- giant shrine made of garbage, rotating two-faced mirror with sections cut out so that two people could stand on opposite sides and see an image that oscillated between themselves and each other. I took a break to use a porta-potty only to leave and realize my wallet was gone. Now the toilets I was at were lined up in two rows and surrounded by a fence so that you could only get in and out of the area through two gateways. I had not even left the little complex when I discovered my back pocket empty, and I immediately rushed back to try to find it. I tried to find the toilet I thought I had used, but they are not exactly color-coded, and I was not sure enough to confront anyone who was coming out. I decided to ask some nearby people in line if they saw which one I came out of, hoping that if I knew for sure that I could get it back even if someone else found it. However, it seems nobody really wants to get a good look at who just dropped the freshest load in the place you are about to relieve yourself, and no one was any help. There wasn't many people in line and so I was able to dart into one to look for it, but found nothing. I thought of starting to ask around, but figured no one would simply 'fess up if they had taken it. I did make a point of looking around in case someone had it but was looking for someone who was looking around, but still nothing. I asked a nearby worker but got nothing out of that. The lines got even thinner and I was able to methodically go down the line and check each stall. Then I started to wonder if it hadn't fallen out on the floor and someone had taken it, but if it had fallen inside the toilet. I'll spare the details of these ventures, but the bottom line is that I still came up with nothing. I eventually went to a first aid tent next door which would have been the easiest place to turn it in, but they told me I should go to one of two Lost & Founds which were both OUTSIDE the festival. I walked around and asked a couple more people working and they gave me the same advice, leading me to conclude if someone did turn it in they didn't do so to anyone nearby. Which means I had to hope to find it in the Lost & Found. But since it was so far away, I figured there was no chance in it turning up yet. I figured it wouldn't end up there until that night or after the end of the festival if at all. At first I just worried about not having money, and having to replace the contents, but then I realized that if it never turned up, I had no idea how I would get home...

So I decided to go to an internet cafe tent which was nearby and fortunately didn't have much of a crowd (although there were WAY too many people checking their email/facebook), where I looked up phone numbers for my airline, my bank, and my credit card company. I also talked to someone who told me that if I call the police to file a report, that report might be enough to at least get me on board my flight in lieu of my ID. In any case, I saved the numbers, and decided I might as well check the Lost & Found before I started cancelling my cards and the like. Even before that, I went to look once more time (I'm OCD like that), and to tell Spiderman, before setting out on the longest walk ever to the Lost & Found.

And it wasn't the longest walk because it subjectively felt long. It was literally a much longer path than necessary because half the idiots working there pointed me in the wrong direction. See, the map that some of the workers had had more details, including the Lost & Found, so I couldn't follow my own map. Some of the workers didn't have the maps and pointed me in the wrong direction, while others simply didn't know where the fuck they were, yet still gave me confident advice on where to go. Above all, the worst part was that while the worker map said that there were TWO Lost & Founds, there was in fact only ONE. And of course, I first got lost looking for the one that didn't even exist, before finally getting redirected to the real one, which turned out was closer to the festival entrance than I initially was told. When I finally got there, all the girl needed to hear was my full name and the wallet magically appeared back in my hands. I immediately opened it up, and while all my cards were there, all my cash was gone. I thanked the girl with no tip from the no money that was in my wallet, and started heading back to the festival in a daze. I couldn't believe it turned up already. So basically someone jacked the cash in there (which was somewhere around $100), but then turned it in right away? It seemed unlikely that they would have walked all the way out of the festival in the middle of the day, but it also seemed unlikely that I didn't talk to any of the right people inside that they might have turned it into (who then I assumed relayed it back to Lost & Found). Unless they deliberately turned it in later or in a different area to avoid being caught by me. Or they may have stolen the cash but left the wallet somewhere. Maybe even in the porta-potty. But then if a second party found it, they didn't notice me looking around for it either. Or maybe were afraid I would accuse them of stealing the money if they returned an empty wallet to me. Either way, it's quite likely that whoever walked out of the porta-potty with it, walked RIGHT BY ME, since I went back for it within about 15 seconds of walking away from it. Kinda crazy.

Anyway, by the time I got back into the festival, I had wasted almost three hours. At this point, the xx were about to start at the second outdoor stage. I had never seen them before, but wasn't necessarily making it a priority to see live, especially at a high energy festival like Coachella. However, I was particularly low energy and introspective at this point, so I figured their music would suit my mood as I still tried to relax. As I took a seat a fair distance from the stage, I was happy to notice that Samson was with a few young guys sitting next to me. I asked if I could talk to him, explaining my ordeal I just went through, and they were happy to oblige. Soon enough the xx started, and they were much more enjoyable than I expected. Attribute it to Samson, to the emotions from the recent incident, to the feelings surrounding some personal issues that found themselves surfacing with the tenderness of the songs, or to the mysterious way that the minimalist dark pop music easily expanded into the space of the wide open Coachella Valley, but it was a simultaneously poignant yet transcendent experience. To make the experience even more strange, a guy in front of me while looking around, noticed something that caught his attention to my 8 0'clock. He got his buddy's attention and pointed above the horizon, which made several people around me turn and look. When I finally followed suit, I noticed something alarming at the main stage: high atop the stage apparatus (I don't know what these things are called), at the juncture in the scaffolding where the vertical units on either sides of the stage met the horizontal pieces forming the roof, two small flames were burning and billowing puffs of black smoke into the air. These flames, obviously large enough to see, immediately suggested a problem. And although they seemed to be growing slowly, they did not spread. It was hard to decide whether it was part of the show or not. On one hand, it seemed too coincidental that there were two fires that broke out on opposite sides of the scaffolding at the same time. Yet if there was some systematic accident, maybe the symmetry could be explained. I definitely think the flames got bigger, but as slowly as they grew, eventually they slowly died out, which suggested even further that it was a systematic accident, since it seemed whatever fuel was ignited simply ran out. I never did look for videos of this on Youtube, but there were definitely a lot of people around me not only ignoring the xx for several minutes but also documenting the evidence for future study. I could not bring myself to do the same, for all I could think about was what could have happened had the entire scaffolding become engulfed.

Not long after that, I decided I had had enough emotion for one afternoon, and tried to reunite with Spiderman. Angel Raper wasn't attending the festival this day, and I had no one else's phone numbers. I found Spidey near a food tent behind the Sahara tent right between acts. I tried to convince him to come with me to see Dirty Projectors, but agreed I'd hang around to listen to a bit of Bassnectar who was about to begin at the Sahara. What I was to find out, was that the loss of my wallet and the recent stage fire was not to be the last of my fearful experiences today.

When Bassnectar began, even though I was far outside the tent, I was afraid that the ground was going to open up. The bass was so intense that I thought there was going to be an earthquake right there under the Sahara tent. My eyes were wide with fear behind my sunglasses, but when I turned to Spiderman, his eyes were wide with ecstasy, and he threw in his earplugs, motioned to the tent and shouted, "Let's go inside!" I felt like I moved not by my own volition, but by some sort of new physics where the intensity of sound waves had the attractive force of gravity.

You see, the speakers in the Sahara tent don't point away from the stage. They were not pointed back in our direction. They surround the inside of the tent and point inward. So not only would it increase steadily in volume as I got closer to the tent, but it would be magnitudes louder once I crossed the threshold of the tent as the sound suddenly would become more direct. And the sound was far more intense in the low frequencies, meaning although it wasn't noticeably as harsh on the ears, it was invariably more shocking as the vibrations pulsed through every other organ in your body.

Though once I got inside, I couldn't have been happier. The immediate sensation of the sound took a backseat to the complex but orderly and completely accessible manipulations in sound, tempo, and effect the DJ would incur to the set, as well as the riotously exuberant yet smoothly sensual dancing that grew incrementally in every body with each change in the music. And above all, I was really digging the overall style because it was so deeply indebted to hip-hop, which can often be hard-hitting yet so smooth and soulful at the same time.

Needless to say, when Spiderman cracked open a glowstick for himself and offered me one, I immediately followed suit. Of course, at first I was not at all sure what to do. Spiderman actually gave us a quick review of the basics of glowsticking that morning, yet between the whirlwind of emotions of the afternoon and the common rigidness I always felt after talking to Samson, even the basics seemed tough. However, eventually focusing on the music helped loosen me up and I began to just develop my own idea of what to do with my bright neon green stick, and although I assuredly looked absurd, for the first time today, I started to have the time of my life.

Sober glowsticking was what characterized the rest of my evening. That and watching the ravers, which were pretty entertaining. I had seen before people dancing with glowsticks, sucking on pacifiers, and just all around acting goofy while obviously rolling but this was a new level. There were these people with gloves that had a different colored glowing bulb on each fingertip, and they would sit someone down (ideally if they were rolling pretty hard), and perform an interpretive dance of their hands to the music which created a psychedelic light show right in front of the face of the lucky spectator. The first guy I saw do this was right near me during the Bassnectar set, and when he saw me rocking out with my single green glowstick, he pointed to me and motioned, but I declined, feeling I was decidedly not nearly in the proper state to truly enjoy the experience.

By the time Bassnectar was done, I had unregrettably missed Dirty Projectors, and Hot Chip was already playing. Both Spiderman and I needed a break at this point, so although we went over to check it out, I grabbed a falafel pita wrap with spicy sauce on the way (my only festival food for the second day in a row), and enjoyed at least half of their set from a distance. I was pleasantly surprised with their set, as it was more like a DJ set with minimal breaks in the beat and thankfully no ballads. I will definitely be giving them more of my attention at Lollapalooza, but for me at Coachella, the best part of my night was just getting started.

After Hot Chip, we ventured back to Sahara for the beginning of David Guetta's set. At this point, I really wanted to start drinking, but with the loss of my cash that I had budgeted for the rest of the weekend, I decided to try to get drunk on the music and the atmosphere instead. And besides the part about eventually just burning out, I think that I did. Guetta was a lot more fun than I expected, probably because I had been becoming more accustomed to pop music dance parties friends recently, and because the crowd was just going apeshit for him. I gave my sister a call since I couldn't call her during Jay-Z like I had promised (phone had died). All I heard on her end was the music of the Backer bar, where she was already partying in South Bend, IN, which was three hours later on in the evening. I was having so much fun dancing at Guetta, but I couldn't miss Major Lazer who had started up shortly after at the tent next door, and eventually Spiderman and I mustered enough willpower to rush over to check out the global dancehall phenomenon. I don't think there was quite as much energy, but the crowd was a bit more diverse which was nice, and we caught Pon De Floor which was all I needed to hear. Granted, it's much more fun to dance to with a chick (since 'pon de floor' refers to the popular craze of dancing in ridiculous sex positions), but it just made me even more excited to know that they'll be headlining the last day of Pitchfork.

Again Spiderman and I had to muster the strength to drag ourselves away again since we both wanted to catch some of Muse who were blasting away and affirming their stance as the best surviving arena rock band. It was disappointing that I had missed at least half of their set, but I was disappointed in the scheduling conflict rather than my choice in the matter. I was satisfied enough to not only hear Knights of Cydonia, but also Stockholm Syndrome in their encore, which fueled a combination glowsticking/headbanging dance out of me that I'm sure was as embarrassing for others as it was completely fulfilling for me.

After Muse we found ourselves in the final countdown of the evening. After the break, Tiesto would take the stage, and undoubtedly the majority of the festival-goers would be present. However, I've never been smitten by trance, and Spiderman and I were both excited at the prospect of catching the last-minute announced twenty minute set by Die Antwoord which was to take place in the Sahara at the beginning of Tiesto. So we decided to check that out and then come back to the main stage later. It was a tradeoff, because although Die Antwoord was absolutely ludicrous, I found myself spent by the time we got to Tiesto. My exhaustion which set in on our walk back over, combined with the fact that we settled for a position pretty far back, made it hard to get caught up in the biggest dance party of the weekend. While Spiderman completely reveled in one of the first DJs who got him into electronic music, I found myself putting my glowstick in my pocket and simply standing and watching the dancers, light show and video onscreen, drained of energy to the point of completely passivity. Not to say I didn't enjoy Tiesto, but really trance isn't the sort of thing I'd ideally just sit and listen to.

After he finished, we headed back to camp, and decided since it was our last night camping, we had to stay up and party. Sunday night I was catching a ride to LA, where I'd stay until I had to eventually fly out late Monday morning, while Spiderman needed a ride to the Palm Springs airport where he was to fly out very early Monday. So we busted out the beer, the vodka, the food, the glowsticks, everything but a bonfire (sadly not allowed), and partied with what little energy we all had left. Since it was particularly windy, I had to pull my tent stakes out into the walking path between sites, and people kept tripping over the invisible line, which inspired us to make a pretty fun drinking game out of it. It is also entertaining to recall that although I didn't get drunk enough to even forget anything let alone get sick, two people in our party both got sick-- one made it to the trash can beyond our site, the other, not so much... Despite the fact that my friends were still up, and one of the huge party tents nearby had just gotten out a blow-up doll for their late-night party, I reluctantly decided yet again to take some semblance of care of myself and retired to my tent where I quickly passed out some time past 4am.

Coachella 2010 - Day One

Day one of Coachella officially began with me waking up in a hot-as-hell tent, sunlight beating down on my tent wall, silhouetting quickly moving figures whipping by, chasing a small round shadow bouncing close to the ground. In my hung-over stupor, it took me a minute to realize that my hispanic neighbors decided to start their morning with a friendly game of soccer. Most mornings, like most of my white brethren, I prefer coffee. But days like this morning when I am hung over and dehydrated, I'll take a gatorade.

I laid in my tent for a little while longer, attempting to catch a few more winks but only able to hear the sounds of the game right outside my tent and to feel the air temperature climb steadily in my tent as the sun ascended slowly in the sky directly in front of my hiding eyes. You see, the best part and worst part about Coachella is the camping. The best aspect of this being the retreat-like experience it makes for. The worst, being that you cannot rest enough. My friend Spiderman was helpful enough to warn me that sleeping in would be nigh impossible in any semi-normal state. I thought it unwise to get faced and/or pull an all-nighter the first night, and so I went to bed with just a buzz around 2am. However, this meant I was in a sensitive enough state to be called to battle with the sun as soon as it rose at around 7am.

I refused to give in right away, but was finally chased out by the heat of my tent around 8:15am. I immediately gained an appreciation for our campsite. While the air outside was not as hot as the air in my tent, the sunlight itself was more direct. Out of the frying pan... But this is where it paid off to be with the veterans. Our large square canopy provided the perfect sanctuary for a haven of protection from our planet's unwavering source of life.

Spiderman was the only one awake. He had gotten up with the sun to beat the crowd to the showers. I myself decided to check out the situation. Befriending fellow dirty sudseekers along the way, we were shocked to discover a line at the shower trailers almost a block long, with reports that the wait was at least an hour and a half.

I'll keep my dirt and BO, thanks.

The rest of the morning was pretty chill. We hung out at the campsite, eating bagels with peanut butter, fruit, and granola bars, pretty much my standard meal of the weekend. Our hispanic hosts arose eventually and introduced us to their other friends who arrived in the middle of the night after my friend and I went to bed. It's only the morning of the first day, and already everyone is exhausted...

Late in the morning Spiderman and I decided we were ready to really begin our day, and we grabbed beers and headed out to the car camping lots in search of some work friend of his. After a lot of wandering we found his friend and her two sisters. Samson was also at their 'tailgate', and it was nice to talk to him while we exchanged our plans for the day with the three sisters. We all exchanged numbers since our interests somewhat lined up, but it turned out that would be the last we saw of them that weekend.

Still, I was grateful to talk to Sam again, and we stopped by home base once more, rendezvousing with our friends and grabbing beers before heading into the festival around 1pm.

The security at the fest wasn't completely lax but wasn't hardcore either. I didn't even bring my flasks to Cali, but I immediately regretted so, because it would be trivial to get them in via my back pockets. Not only would it have been nice to save money, it just would have been practical at the festival. See, like Lollapalooza and most normal festivals, beer must be purchased with a wristband. However, unlike other fests, here you had to remain inside a beer garden (i.e. compound) with your drinks.

I basically decided not to drink at all until the evening. I used this strat the first time I went to Lolla, being afraid of getting carried away and missing/forgetting the headlining bands later or worse. Besides, after talking to Samson I usually don't feel the need to anyway.

So the first thing I did in the festival was take a shower-- that is, walk through the mist station at the Dolab, which was this theatre/stage that featured, above all, repeat performances by a ridiculous dance/stunt troop. More on this later...

Already Spiderman and I decided to split. He had his mind made up that he would be staying at the Sahara tent all day, and even knew exactly where in the tent he would be hanging out. The Sahara is the biggest of the three tents at the fest, and is in the furthest corner because it is pretty much all DJs/electronic music and LOUD AS FUCK. Spiderman being the huge DJ fan that he is and all-around hardcore partier, was content to spend most of his time there. I'm such a fan of so many styles of music, I had to spend more of the weekend bouncing around and catching as many acts as I could. So while he immediately gravitated toward his true home for the weekend, I started my weekend of music with P.O.S. at one of the small tents. I've always enjoyed this guy's last album, which amped me when I would jog last summer, but live his emceeing skills really shone. No lip-syncing, no tripping over rhymes, no mumbling, just sick, sharp, bangin rhymes. The vocals are backed up with rock-heavy instrumentation. The instrumental style ranges from punk to modern "99-problems" style rock-hop. But I couldn't have been more pleased with the emceeing, and P.O.S. (most commonly expanded to Pissed Off Stef, Stefon being the emcee) actually wielded the axe for at least one song as well.

There was some time before I planned to catch Sleigh Bells, which is also where I hoped to unite with fellow blogger Angel Raper, who was driving in from L.A. for the day to catch his favorite acts. Meanwhile I decided to find Spiderman at the Sahara. The vibe was starting to pick up there already even though it was the middle of the day. Not the kind of energy yet that Day Zero had, but still an overall enthusiasm to be there and zeal for music and life was what I learned was ever-present in the air in the best tent at the fest.

I can't recall who was playing when I first got there, but after that unmemorable set finished, I was treated to the most bizarre act of the entire festival. Known simply as DJ Lance Rock, this exuberant skinny black dude donned an outfit that was a hybrid of a bright orange jumpsuit and a marching band drum major uniform. His music seemed prerecorded (if anything, DJed by someone offstage), because he simply sang and danced all of the songs in the set... which could have been pulled from any morning children's television show. Songs with chorus topics such as "Wash Your Hands", "Shake the Sillies Out", "The Name Game", and my personal favorite, "Party in My Tummy", made you feel unbelievably retarded, but if you didn't get into the party and dance along with the hokey-pokey like instructions, you'd be the only one not "hopping" and "skipping in circles"... (Note: I finally did the research and so I just learned that this DJ is the host of a legit popular kids' show called Yo Gabba Gabba, which has actually hosted appropriate noteworthy musical guests such as MGMT and of Montreal).

After this I left to go to an equally unique and only slightly less juvenile set by Sleigh Bells. It turned out Angel Raper got stuck in a huge wait to get into the festival and missed this intense act, which paralleled the feel of Crystal Castles but with a little more raw noise a la HEALTH and less video game/80s synth electronica. After this I went back to Sahara to catch the end of Perry Farrell's set, who embarrassingly was rocking out onstage to some sort of remix of the Entourage theme (yes, Perry, you are cooler than "Johnny Drama", but not by much at the moment...). During the break I moved up to find Spiderman and we got the closest spot I would enjoy in the Sahara tent all weekend (maybe 10 feet from the front rail), for the dirty electro/techno young DJ Proxy. He started out slow, but the visuals already foreshadowed the subtle aggression and ruthlessness in his music with black and red imagery of tanks, missiles, and machinery, bringing to mind impressions of war but especially with the color scheme, the USSR in particular. Turns out I wasn't the only one sensing the aggression, as quite nearby I witnessed the first mosh-pit at an electro show that I probably will ever see. We were so close that we were even IN FRONT of the solo crowdsurfer, who also might be the only one I'll see at a DJ show (barring Girl Talk, which is another realm entirely, of course).

I really dug the set though, which I stayed to hear more of than I was planning, since there was an overlap with Yeasayer at the tent next-door. When I did decide to cut over there, there was a sizeable crowd that made it difficult to even get inside the smaller tent, which sadly diminshed the sound and experience overall. Nevertheless, I got to hear Madder Red, my favorite track on the new album, as well as solid numbers Ambling Alp and O.N.E. Angel Raper finally made it to the festival towards the end of the Yeasayer set after waiting in the car line for two hours and the front gate line for one (so glad I camped), and from then on we pretty much hung together for the first day.

The rest of the day was mostly bands. Saw Passion Pit from a modest distance who sounded great on the smaller open stage. My third time seeing them, and third time still not giving them as much attention as I give most acts (first time was Lolla where I wasn't familiar and walked out due to the extremely annoying and bewildering excitement from the packed crowd of high-schoolers/high-schooler wannabes, second time was a free show at Logan Square Auditorium where I was first more interested in partying, and then later in hunting down a dude that spilled my drink at first and then bumped me again later... who I somehow lost after he ducked into the bathroom... seriously, I was about to get ugly). We then returned yet again to the Sahara to catch a good chunk of Aeroplane's set, who rocked a lot of DFA-style disco-ey poppy remixes.

The rest of the night was then spent finally at the main stage. First we caught all of LCD Soundsystem, who I was pretty excited to see since I have never seen them before and I had just previewed the new album just two day prior. I forgot how long some of the tracks were and how slow-burning some of them were. And maybe I was used to the continuity of the DJs at Sahara, but I was ultimately not as thrilled as I expected for the set. Still, maybe I simply had false hopes. After all, thrilling isn't probably the foremost concern of James Murphy. Don't get me wrong, he's excited to be performing, but as he says so himself, he wants every band member to be in control. This helps make the live tracks tight, but somehow I wanted more energy. From the band and the crowd, who were thinning out to check out Benny Benassi or some other less ironic witty NYer whose ultimate goal seems to be to perfectly marry typewriter rhythms with clever and coolly delivered lyrics to equally honor disco enthusiasts and aging hipsters alike. It was an enjoyable but short set. It was great to hear Losing My Edge and All My Friends, but there was so many more old songs I wanted to hear and less of James Murphy being sentimental and playing the lesser and longer of the new tracks. I had much anticipation for a long set full of classics and a more hyped up crowd, but maybe these expectations were misplaced. But instead I got the feeling that not only will I hear almost all of these songs again at Pitchfork and possibly the Metro this summer, but that those shows might even be longer and more exciting since they will be headlining. In retrospect, I kind of wish I had gone to see some of Benassi to get my "satisfaction"...

After LCD there were no more options in the night. I've heard the hype behind Deadmau5, the last headliner for the Sahara tent, but as much as I would have liked to see him, there was no way I was going to miss any of Jay-Z. There was a pretty long break before HOVA too, but I decided having a couple drinks and a decent spot would be more satisfying than booking it across the fest and back just to catch a little bit more of Sahara action. So after pounding a few straight rums in the Beer Garden, Angel Raper and I posted up near the sound tent for my most anticipated entertainment of the weekend.

It was a long wait (including a 10 minute digital clock countdown), but when J finally rose to the stage through a hole in the floor, it was on. From the full backing band which had everything from rock and rhythm to a horn section, to the NY skyline backdrop that doubled as a screen to host different patterns and images for each song, the stage was a spectacle itself as much as a musical medium. Jay played everything from 'Izzo' to '99 Problems' to 'Empire State of Mind' (which still tugs on my emotions when I hear that stupidly simple but hopeful chorus), and weaved his set together like a perfect mixtape. Not like old hip hop albums with dumb skits or common big-egoed rockstar performances with BS banter, the only non-musical breaks and were short and groomed to act as vocal segues ("You guys are at about a 10, and I like that. But I need you to turn it up not to 11... no, no. I need you all to turn it up to 99". Cue '99 problems' and pandemonium). If it were anybody but Jay-Z, it would have been poor salty overkill, but because it was Jay-Z, it was great salty overkill.

I lost Angel Raper towards the end of the set, who ended up ducking out early to beat the rush, and so after the set I decided to wander around a bit as the festival was not completely done for the night. I found myself drawn to the Dolab, where the aforementioned dance/stunt troop were doing their routine for the last time that night. What I stumbled upon seemed like a highly choreographed rendition of a feast/orgy from ancient Rome or even Sodom or Gomorrorha. Men and women in tattered clothes and wild make-up alternated from Thriller like dance steps to pon-de-floor style raunchy 'dancing', to simply feeling each other up and spanking each other on stage. Meanwhile, three scantily clad devotchkas would swing in a circle from a triangle of rope swings right above the heads of the crowd, only to be followed up by a shirtless ripped acrobat who not only could do rope tricks but also did them with a female companion who wielded some sort of flaming instruments. Furthermore, I was distracted nearby by some hippie dude and chicks who were so inspired that they were instigating their own forbidden dances right in front of me ("The show is not on stage, the show is right here!" the hippie dude exclaimed). I was sort of just in a trance at this point, but I have to admit, it was all kind of hot. If only I had had the kind of help that the hippies (hopefully) probably had to loosen them up...

The night ended pretty chill, for it was a long day and I was pretty tired. I made my way back to the campsite soon after the Dolab performance as everything else was pretty much wrapped up. Had a couple drinks with the rest of our camp, most of who 'raved' about the Benassi/Deadmau5 sets, and retired again comparatively early in order to get some much needed rest.

Coachella 2010 - Day Zero

A month late is better than never. I've always wanted to start a blog, and thanks to continued inspiration by fellow blogger, Angel Raper, over at Market Snodsbury, I vowed to birth something into existence. With the excursion to my very first Coachella, I thought it an appropriately powerful occasion to breathe life into my creation. However, I clearly did not ride out the tidal wave of excitement from that experience to immediately launch into a frenzy of inspired documentation and musing. While I can't affirm that I wasn't slowed down by the post-Coachella hangover or my typical laziness, I was also going through a complicated personal situation. However, today seems as good a day as any to put an end to my procrastination and so I finally bestow upon the world the sloppy product of my misenfranchised consciousness.

So without further ado, let's talk about Coachella.

The enormous west coast hipster retreat of a music festival marked my first return to California since my inaugural visit in 2000 when I was eminently escorted by my high school band organization around on a tour bus throughout the Los Angeles region, from Hollywood to Pasadena to Disneyland. This detached bus tour was a giant group vacation, tethered together by the Tournament of Roses Parade, which I was esteemed enough to lead my band of 300+ brothers and sisters through (as drum major, I got to walk in front of the band and carry the banner; equivalent to a flag boy in an army battalion...).

ANYWAY, on my second voyage to the west coast, I felt assuredly cooler. Yet by the second day, I still felt decidedly like a tourist. But I don't think this is necessarily because I didn't fit in. I'd posit that I blended in pretty well (although I may not be hip enough, I'm probably pretentious enough). Yet I still felt like a tourist because in many ways that is simply my personality. Especially when I am faced with a new environment or experience, it is most common for me to first observe and then act. And it is not like I have never been to a festival before, but anyone who has been to Coachella and Lollapalooza (my only large festival attendances) can attest that they are very different. Also, part of it too may be the small number of people I knew going into the festival. I traveled to The Golden State with one sidekick, and met up with only one more. And although I believe small numbers suits my festival style more, I can't help wonder what an experience with a larger band of unlike-minded partiers would be like.

But this digression and reflection should come later. Let me begin telling you the who what where and when and put off the why how and what-the-fuck until later. (I may as well throw in the caveat now that this is my first foray into journalism since my cathartic confessional ramblings in my Xanga during my frustrating college years. Apologies in advance.)

I started off my transcontinental journey and sub-Burning Man experience with potential disaster: I missed my departing flight. My travel buddy was flying the same flight, but we traveled to the airport separately, and my carelessness let me get raped by the Chicago morning commuter traffic so hard that I could do nothing but lay at the gate for the next flight, sobbing in the fetal position and worrying that I may not reach western enlightenment this summer. Fortunately, I made the next flight 1.5 hrs later and landed only 1 hr after my friend, and was able to catch our ride out to the annual hipster mecca with only slight delay.

The two of us rode through South Central and out of LA with hearts ablaze in the middle section of an aged but durable domestic minivan, driven by the friendliest Latino couple I have ever met. One glance at the stocked back of the van quickly educated me of their preparedness, and I learned that at least one of them have attended the fest since 2002 (only two years after its inception in 2000). We stopped once to pick up supplies at a tan Walmart (they get much more sun than their pasty brethren in the midwest), then once more to fuel up at In-N-Out Burger ("Those are good burgers--" "Shut the fuck up, Donny." Couldn't help myself...).

After what I assumed to be my last heavy meal for the long weekend, we arrived in the dusty Coachella Valley. This year the festival offered car-camping, where you camp right alongside your car, but I learned later that hiking to a separate site is not only the more traditional but really the more rewarding way to go. We had to pass through an inspection tent on our way to the site, where all our bags were essentially ransacked, but once through there, we were through the toughest security of the weekend. We were free to walk to and from our car afterwards, and we could even technically bring beer (cans only) but no liquor. Of course, the easiest solution is to replace some of the water bottles with some "little water" (see Russian translation). Boom. Vodka-to-go!

We set up camp when the sun was setting. We had two ~15'x25' spots, and we were able to set up two larger tents and about five smaller ones surrounding a large square canopy that turned out to be our salvation every hot sunny morning. I had already been drinking on the ride over, and so by the time we were set up, the sun was down and I was ready to party. My friend and I headed over to a tent by another field where the party was already started. DJ was spinning for a packed crowd under the narrow tent, shadowed by a looser groovin' crowd out on the lawn. We pushed ourselves into the tent and started dancing away, letting all the long-term buildup of excitement for the weekend finally transform itself from potential to kinetic energy. Whether it was this excitement or the alcohol or just everything about the moment, but this was the moment of the weekend I most didn't feel like a tourist. I felt at home.

The rest of the evening was just taking in the atmosphere. Dancing, watching other people dance, walking around to check out some of the initial festival events-- old coachella merch sale, rollerskating rink, lit up swingsets-- and unfortunately forcing myself to retreat to my huge tent early in the night while most of my neighbors partied on so that I could conserve energy for the weekend. At least I got to fall asleep listening to the last few tracks of Kid A coming from a neighbor's sound system.

"Everything is in its right place...."