The 110-degree hot hot desert heat, the need to go to the bathroom, nor the hunger stopped us at Coachella. To put it simply, it was f-ing amazing, de puta madre, or in buen puertorriqueño (or Mexican), bien cabrón. Thousands of hippies, hipsters, starfuckers and all of those in between gathered at the Empire Polo Field in Indio California the last weekend of April for three days of music, art, falafels, frozen lemonades and non-stop adrenaline. After meeting up in LAX on Thursday, getting our very fancy Pontiac y un ratito de shopping en Wasteland, Claudia and I headed down to Indio (I was so excited to get there that we got lost in the I-10 and ended up in a very cheap liquor store, only 35 miles in the wrong direction) for the Filter magazine party where we got trashed, super borrachos, pedos, como se diga gracias a todo el Red Bull y Vodka del mundo, plus, starfuckery of the day: met Paul Banks (we know, we know).
On Friday, after un desayuno super nutritivo cortesía de Denny’s, yuuuumiiii! (para el hangover) Llegamos al Coachella y nos montamos en the kinetic-powered merry -go-round, where in exhcange of a ride you have to pedal back, and singing along to Of Montreal and Amy Winehouse, Claudia went to see Rufus Wainwright, while I, fresa al fin, rushed to the next tent to catch Julieta Venega’s fifty-minute set, in which she played most of her new album Limón y Sal, plus some old favorites like “Andar Conmigo” and “Lento” at the packed Gobi tent filled with new and old fans. The night ended with Interpol as we were crushed at the barricades on the main stage, but it was totally worth it, plus, explosions of neon colors, la medusa en la cabeza y todas las banderas courtesy of God, I mean, Björk.
Before going back to the Venue on Saturday we headed down to the Jane Magazine House party to bask in the California banality, sitting pool-side while mingling with Of Montreal’s lead singer, Kevin Barnes (we’re in love). We gushed, we’re fans, we don’t care. Duty called, so it was back to the Polo Field for a bit of Regina Spektor, Peter Bjorn and John, and !!!. The night ended with Blonde Redhead and the Rapture which got all of us dirty hipsters sweating our dirty skinny jeans, short shorts and tube socks away as we danced, sang and jumped like lunatics while they performed most of their new album “Pieces Of The People We Love”. Needless to say, the next day I was at the mini Virgin Megastore (a very dangerous place…) buying both of their albums.
Sunday arrived and the depression began. We didn’t want to leave the festival…why can’t everyday be Coachella? Claudia put on her cat ears and blue leggings while I wore my red short shorts and headed down for the last day of the Festival where we caught Mika’s where we danced like teeny boppers y luego fuimos a ver Tapes ’n Tapes, divertidísimos, música para fumar e ir a la playa. En lo que esperabamos por el meet and greet de Air, vimos dos minutos de Rodrigo y Gabriela and their guitars. Then it was time for the biggest starfuckery of it all…AIR…a Claudia le dijerón que era cute y Jean-Benoît me dió dreamy eyes y me preguntó si vivía en LA. Me caso, pero el bouncer kicked us out! Estúpido… The night ended with a very short set of Air thanks to Paris Hilton (que se ve mejor en el DVD), un poquito de Manu Chao y los Teddybears which were super fun.
Claudia and I were Coachella virgins and we can’t wait for 2008 for another good helping of starfuckery, music, and having our pictures taken compulsively…Perhaps we’ll see you then.