Coachella: Day 2

While Air played

After some quality pool time, we packed up our lotions, I got my bandana and we were off. A tangent trip to kill time at the mall ended up with lunch at Marie Callenders. It was standard fare, and we didn’t even save room for pie.

Swat my knuckles now, as I would’ve gladly traded the chicken with grease sauce for Banana Cream pie. The mall was sad, like most malls. I tried to get a souvenir hat at the Lids shop, but who was I kiddin, these are all the same hats we have available at home.

Speaking of hats, trucker caps, the “vomit strainers” as the BearsGoneWild like to call em, you know, the ones with the mesh backs. They’re still all the rage. Tons o’ folks at Coachella were sporting ’em and in that instance, with all the dirt, grime and smell of sweat and bad weed, it worked.

Tangent on hats. My friend Dave was in Florida recently and remarked that everywhere was selling those way-too-pricey Von Dutch hats. He amused me by saying that if he knew that these were on the fashion radar, it’s over.

The traffic seemed worse getting there Sunday. We sat for hours creeping along ever so slowly. I found that I have a special ability to pee in bottles while in a moving car.

The lineup was less intense today. I managed to run around ala chicken sans head and absorb: Belle and Sebastian, AIR, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Bright Eyes, Mogwai, Prefuse 73, Sage Francis, and the beginning of The Cure’s set.

Seeing bands at a festival, a hot one at that, is sorta tough to judge. Some folks seem better suited for cooler or smaller venues. Air, for instance, doesn’t feel right without air-conditioning, a disco floor with smoke machines and making out.

Bright Eyes surprised me after many times joking about how awful they are.

Sage Francis was entertaining, but philosophical rapping doesn’t jive with bad jokes (Is it sexist to tell a woman her hair smells beautiful? (pause) What if you’re a midget). This blows every shred of cred, even without echo.

Skipping Flaming Lips in favor of new sounds, BRMC was having sound issues, but the bassist wins the award for Best Hair in Extreme Heat. I should have looked backstage, I bet Robert Smith handed him a baton.

I have decided to rename Mogwai. The shall henceforth be known as – Gitaro.

Belle and Sebastian are just as sweet as apple pie.

I never got into The Cure. Funny how some things don’t change.

Coachella is a frickin’ amazing festival of new and old sounds.

I’ll admit it. I came for the Pixies. Everything else was gravy. And what delicious gravy it was.