
When it comes to adventures in music, you can do a lot worse than Coachella - a kaleidoscope of bands and fans spanning all manner of genres and scenes. Rhapsody sent its rock editor, Justin Farrar, out to the desert to get his take on the whole big mess. Dig his wrap-ups in this space from the past three days.
As
Stephanie Benson, my intrepid editor here at Rhapsody, pointed out while covering Coachella last year, Sunday is all about haggard faces and genuine exhaustion. Driving in for the fest's final day (and by the way, check out
Moritz von Oswald Trio's
Horizontal Structures album—it's the perfect desert soundtrack), I pass a Mobile station just as a rainbow-infused chillwaver oh-so-slowly crawls out of her car, grabbing ahold of the gas nozzle and letting out one of the more extreme yawns in the history of human fatigue. It encapsulates the day perfectly.
Important to keep in mind: This exhaustion doesn't require good-times boozing, necessarily—the chief instigator isn't beer and liquor, but that blazing ball of radiation in the sky. Not to riff like your mother, but don't take the sun lightly out here in the desert. It will, without mercy, destroy you. Also, sunscreen: Apply it liberally and with regularity.
Now that I'm on the grounds for the day, I'm busy knocking back not one, but two açaí smoothies. That's because I have some tremendous sounds to take in, from hardcore badasses
OFF! to the mighty
Lighting Bolt. Then there's a trio of dubstep DJs—
Joy Orbison,
Kode9 and
Ramadanman—over at the Oasis stage, which I haven't been back to since Friday. After all that, it will be time to get suburban and check in with the
Strokes, before concluding with who else but the one and only
Kanye West.
Time to kick OFF!