Mad Dogs and Englishmen Go Out In The Desert Sun

The festival season 2011 has arrived and for the first time, being in California, I had the chance to go to Coachella, the festival that kicks off the annual circuit. I'm an enormous lover of festivals after all, what's not to like? Thousands of like minded people in a field somewhere, cut off from the usual grind, walking from stage to stage hoping for a good spot to see favourite acts or discovering new ones. There's also beer, lots of beer.

The Coachella Ferris Wheel

In all honesty, I had some reservations about Coachella since, having done Glastonbury many times and it is my heaven on Earth, I was worried the yanks' effort would not match up. It is not for me to say which is better, though every bone in my English body shouts that Glastonbury. If this is true though, Coachella comes a close second. Both festivals are in beautiful, yet quite different settings. Glastonbury sits in the rolling hills of the south west of England, Coachella an artificially created, heavily irrigated yet stunning oasis in the middle of the desert in Indio, California. I doubt you would ever find WaterAid sponsoring the latter.

Yet Coachella's desert setting gives it a significant edge over Glastonbury, the chances of rain are minuscule and my maiden year saw temperatures sore to 105f which, in real money, is 40.5c. To quote Peter Kay, "I like it warm but I don't like it that warm".  This being America, it is not obligatory to stay onsite in a tent. Given the heat this is an amazing relief. The forty minute trek back to the tent at Glasto, substituted with a forty minute disco bus ride back to our luxury condo in Palm Springs. A condo complete with swimming pool, BBQ with a built in fridge, ensuite bedrooms with multi-headed rain shower and 50" jumbotron TVs, multi-room surround sound and praise be, air-conditioning. I'm a festival purist so these luxuries seemed frivolous and not in keeping with what's needed to make a good festival.  I changed my mind within thirty seconds of walking through the door. In fact by day three of the festival I was championing the idea of sacking off the festival completely and spending the day by the pool. Fortunately I was out voted  and the final day ended up being the best.

A refreshing dip

Strangely for a festival alcohol can only be consumed within the designated beer gardens. This and Coachella's many rules helpfully spelt out in the leaflets, display pack, 2012 calendar and other surplus guff sent out with the entry wristbands, meant that again I was concerned for just how festivally this festival could be. It sounded more like a school sports day with music. In reality not drinking in the desert Sun is actually a good idea and I soon overcame my grumpiness on the matter for each day I was able to get up to start the whole process again relatively hangover free and, most importantly, 100% devoid of heatstroke. In fact not one member of New New Hackney, the now customary festival group's name, had even a light tinge of sunburn. Given the searing heat and Mars like scorching Sun, the diligence in applying sunscreen by all has to be applauded and my sincere thanks goes out to the ladies of the group who made it all happen.

 Coachella Stage at 12pm day 1

As with all festivals it takes the first day to find a stride and settle in but by the time The Chemical Brothers took to the Coachella Stage for the visually stunning and bounce inducing headline slot everyone had found their pace. Unlike Glastonbury which is held on a working dairy farm, Coachella is on the flat, Empire Polo Fields.  The Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury is built in a natural bowl so I had mounting concerns over how good a view could be had. I am always the person who ends up standing behind the tallest person with the largest, fattest head in the crowd and anyone who's been to any gig will know just how much of a buzz kill a lunar noggin can be. I did have to contend with some massive heeeds and even one pillock inconsiderately wearing an Indian headdress, but in general, I managed to have unobstructed views of all the acts I wanted to see. The sound on each stage at Coachella is so good that even at the back, every beat, ever soaring note, every warble and every unplanned screech is crystal clear.

Mumford and Sons Day 2

For most acts the back did just fine and allowed plenty of room for dancing like a fitting cobra. For Mumford and Sons though, the back would not do. There was a real buzz over Dave Mumford, Steve Mumford, Geoff Mumford and Wayne Mumford or whatever their real names are. By far the most popular act, at least in my hoe-downing-worshipping mind, it seemed like everyone planned to make their way over for a do si do and a singalong. After all, that's what festivals are all about.

You can keep your moody plinky-plonk synth and wailing "I've had a bad day" "look how obscure I am" lyrics. Give me catchy hooks,  musical crescendos and a decent brass section any day. In fact add a banjo, waistcoasts and take of your shoes then you have Mumford and Sons. Having been quite literally in awe of the band last year and their legendary Glasto appearance they were not to be missed. They did not disappoint. In fact they were even forgiven the cardinal sin of playing *gasp* new material. For those that don't know, festivals are not the place to experiment with new sounds.  It took nearly a year to be able to watch or listen to Mumford and Sons without a tear in my eye, so great was their Glasto set in 2010 and I think, Coachella has put my right back to the beginning. By this rate I shall need therapy to get over my smiling whimsy.

Many good times were had in the Sahara Tent, the focus of dance music, not least because the tent had by far the best sound I have ever heard at a festival. Eavis take note. The tent also had spectacular lighting rigs hanging from the entire ceiling, mesmerising the crowd and really came into their own for Eric Morillo and the fantastically cheesy but so much fun Axwell and Steve Angello. Should anyone need lessons on how to throw your heart in the air, let me know. 

 

One day like this a year will see me right

Right next door to the Sahara, the Mojave. Do you see a naming convention here? In the Mojave, Elbow played a forty minute set that brought more tears to proud Englishman's eyes. Guy Garvey charmed the crowd with his typically English self-deprecation and jovial reference to the sound bleeding from the Sahara, "Can someone ask them to turn it down a bit please?" he teased. "One  Day Like This" was of course the closing song everyone was waiting for. It earned me another shout out from Guy, as I furiously waved my five foot Union Jack and, with every effort, tried to drown out the dance tent with my singing. Flags and festivals, the perfect match despite yet another Coachella rule banning their use.

Sunset as Coachella 2011 reaches its end

Leaving the condo on the final day was tough but proved well worth the effort. After some time spent in the beer garden warming up while cooling down we made it over to see Duran Duran play the equivalent of Glasto's "Oldies Slot".  It's more than a little disconcerting to be able to remember when the oldies originally charted.

I'd spent some months unsubtly persuading people DD would be worth watching and they were more than worth the effort. After an afternoon of beer, some 80s classics everyone knew the words to was perfect. Even the unwatchably annoying Simon Le Bon was on squirm inducing top form and being in the desert, "Rio...dancing in the sand" hit the spot more than anything else could have done. All the classics were wheeled out and being an English band, it was another chance for me to get out the flag and watch it flutter pleasingly in the evening breeze. Sadly it did have a habit of slapping some of my friends in the face from time to time and for that, I apologise.

The only unnerving moment in their set, an oddly considered cover of Lady Gaga's "Poker Face". Mr Le Bon, I am still unsure whether this was what you consider cool these days, what you think the kids want to hear or whether your tongue was firmly in your cheek, but please know I remain mentally scarred. Still, it got everyone talking and as always the oldies show the young'uns how it's done. Kings Of Leon, take note. Humour and lack of pomposity is much preferred in a performance.

The last live act for me was The Strokes and what can I say? Just superb. I want to be Julian Casablancas. Effortlessly cool, musically brilliant and exuding personality, stage presence and humour. From here, not wanting to ruin my fun I made a hasty exit from Kanye West as he preened himself on a 50ft cherry picker, admiring himself in the giant screens like a self-obsessed budgie and finished off Coachella back in the Sahara, throwing hearts in the air listening to Axwell play Daft Punk, Temper Trap and the song of the festival, "We're gonna saaayyve, the wooorld, toniiiight".

The gang,  New Hackney

As I left Coachella for the last time, I wondered why I like festivals so much. There are the moments that are never to be repeated, the unexpected cover, the crowd singalong, the new tune that captures the mood so perfectly, the image of the crowd, the band,  the lights, all set against beautiful scenery that stay with you forever. Yet most of all, most importantly, festivals are about the people you're with. The times you share together, the smiles on your friends faces and the decadent, soul enriching pleasure taken and shared in enjoying special times. It's about you folks. So I say thank you. Thank you again for making it all so special. Until the next time New Hackney, I raise my hands in the air to you, heart shaped, of course.