Mid-April is still a time of uncertainty with regards to outdoor music in the UK and it would certainly take the most foolhardy of organisers to proposition a festival during this time. For those in southern California however, the promise of springtime sun is all but guaranteed and what better way to commence the year’s carnival activity than in the desert of the prosperous State’s, Riverside District.
On the sun-soaked, corporation-fuelled face of it, Coachella is much like any other festival us Brits are accustomed to. Upon further inspection however it is something very different, failing in some parts where we manage to excel, exceeding in many others where it is us that let the punters down. Even this early in the year, the Californian weather is blisteringly hot, comfortably reaching the mid 30’s during the day. The festival has only this year introduced a new system whereby a $12 plastic bottle entitles you to an endless supply of mineral water throughout the full three days, pulling away from previous years where an individual would fully expect to spend $20 per day on keeping themselves alive.
With regards to food, the festival truly excels beyond anything Britain has to offer. The catering area is a constant supply of anything your stomach could crave without having to delve furthermore into your overdraft. Organic stalls lead into bakeries while the health concious roam around with huge bottles of avocado and grapefruit juice that looks so disgusting it simply has to be good for you. Burrito stalls appear the most popular while the freshly squeezed lemonade with their mountains of ice are overwhelmingly refreshing in the sizzling heat. A wonderful selection becomes the slightly obscure as you reach the farmers market area where you can find bags of carrots, spring onions and potatoes, which in truth offer little in terms of functionality given the occasion, but plenty in aesthetic value.
So in respect to the camping grounds and all that goes with it, it is certainly USA 1-0 Britain. The toilets are cleaner, the staff are more welcoming, there are no tracksuit-bearing children lying in a pool of their own vomit and even aside from the dazzling weather and awesome cuisine, you felt like you were being looked after, not an irritating burden as can sometimes be the case at home.
The short walk between camp site and arena is painless, and apart from during peak hours – usually around 2pm-4pm, there is no waiting around save for a quick pat down from security. On top of the efficient organisation it is also worthy of note that the dirt paths that would have long become mudbaths by the Sunday night, remain dry and effortless under foot.
So halfway through the cross Atlantic joust and it is old Britannia that has already lost three teeth and a finger, while a merciless Uncle Sam looks on with a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon. But in a country such as ours that cannot guarantee nor rarely supplies cloudless skies, we have no alternative but to make up the difference with something else, and this something is spirit.
The Californian crowd is as tame as a puppy. Whether it be the electro beat of Wolfgang Gartner, the Americana howl of Old Crow Medicine Show or the bellowing screams of our own Florence and the Machine, there was something missing that can be found in abundance back home.
The bill itself did not perhaps offer music as mouthwatering as some of our own festivals this summer. Volcanic ash preventing Frightened Rabbit from making the show was a huge disappointment for many, while upcoming Californian act Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros arguably outshone the evening headliners, Muse and DJ Tiesto.
The Sunday began with violist Owen Pallet, who having worked with Arcade Fire, Grizzly Bear, Beirut, Holy Fuck, The Last of the Shadow Puppets and The Pet Shops Boys proved to be as credible as any of his aforementioned collaborators. Sigur Ros vocalist Jonsi gave a lesson in how to do a solo project with a sensational performance while Thom Yorke proved there is no place for his wails and moans outside the divinely untouchable confines of Radiohead.
So as the weekend came to an end it was smiles all round and good fun had been had by all. The hangovers may have not been as intense, the memories of the campsite toilets didn’t make you queasy, and your favourite jeans might not have been ruined by knee deep mud on Saturday morning. But if it’s three days of exploring the boundaries of your own youthful spirit you are looking for, then feel no need to leave your own back yard.