Coachella Hellz Yealla So Much To Tella Lets Spread On The Nutella Final Battle

Sorry it has taken me so long to finish this woolly mammoth recap of my Coachella days. But I figure the week anniversary of my final day in paradise would suffice. Plus I have the added pressure to top myself (with whipped cream) after dearest Uncle Grambo’s gracious comments about Part II’s review. At least my wicked Uncle Ernie had nothing to say. And without further Freddy Adu, you won’t shout as I fiddle about, fiddle about, fiddle about…

Sunday May 2nd

Me after day one

After day one, I was covered in hipster crud and the aforementioned funnel cake powdered sugar, burned by the sun (not the website mind you!), and apparently sleeping with my eyes open. When I woke up on Sunday morning, I didn’t have much time to reflect on the previous day’s events cause the sweet Al Greens haze had completely clouded my brain. I couldn’t even think about which pair of Calvin Klein’s to wear on my behind (and as Run DMC would say, “he aint no friend of mine.”). I was so lazy the night before that I slept in my own filth like Pigpen of Peanuts fame. The shower I took that morning felt like a baptism. I hadn’t seen so much black stuff come off my body since that time I wrestled a dwarf in a giant ashtray. OK, that didn’t happen, but sometimes I wish it did.

Raffi would have been a better choice than Beck

Anywho, since me and the liz-adies had no interest in the early bands and wanted to avoid the center of our solar system for as much of the day as possible, we went driving around the Palm Spring area. I can’t imagine living out there. It’s filled with old people, country clubs, and the occasional cluster of strip malls. On the other hand, it did have booty cheap smokes, umcredible weather, and the best scenic views this side of Pittsburgh. After driving around this town and letting the cops chase us around (I’ll never quote the Gin Blossoms again, I promise), we stopped off at Ruby’s Diner. The girls were itching for breakfast, but it was past noon and I told em to deal with it or I’d leave them out in the desert, deserted, with no dessert. Then I was informed by Megbot that she really didn’t want to wear jeans in 105+ weather, which I questioned in the first place, and that we had to go back to the Ghettotel 6 so she could change. After some riff and raff and tunes by children’s music phenom, Raffi, we were finally off to the shiz-ho.

Turns out the only band we really missed was Pretty Girls Make Graves (one of the coolest names for a band, unlike Death Cab For Cutie… wtf is a Death Cab and who the fuck is Cutie?). I think I’ll live cause they’ll be in NY sometime playing for chump change in a tiny venue. But enuff about NY, we’re living it up Cali-fradgie-listic-docious-booty-titty-caca style. The bands playing at the time of our arrival were not that stellar or even stellastar* (they played the day before and I avoided them like SARS). We decided to check out the dumb free shit that we didn’t have time to explore on the jam packed day before. They have these crazy rides made out of old bikes. One is merry-go-round, another is a lawn-mower-type-thang, and another was a two-man Ferris Wheel. Megbot and Curious George’s mum got to ride it and likened it to that feeling of the 1st drop on a roller coaster. I was so jazzed to ride the ride meself until the ride’s operator informed me that I needed to find someone who weighed 20 lbs lower or higher than me. Well since all the obese people were obvs in line for funnel cake, I was left standing there with my cock in my hand.

I’ll bet you fitty bucks that The Thrills play The OC’s prom next year

The first band we took a long peep at was Muse. I never knew much about them cept that all the NYChipsters go gaga for them like Sonny going coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, and 14 year olds going spew-spew for Hilary Muff. They sounded fab, but seeing them once was enuff for me. A-Muse-ing, but not my kind of Muse-ic. After dat, it was off to the smelly tent to see one of my new favoritish bands, The Thrills. Side note: why did they schedule superfly bands to play in a smelly tent? Get some of the crumb-bums off the two main stages (like Thursday and the (International (house of)) Noise Conspiracy) and replace them with the goodness that are the bands I think highly of. Enuff complaining cause The Thrills, they thrilled!!! They hail from Ireland (cept I kept telling people they were from Scotland), and sound like Brian Wilson, Grandaddy, and The Charlatans UK all rolled into one breezy-Cali funfest. These guys have a bright future and not just cause the have a “The” in their name. The big advantage to seeing los Thrills at Coachella is that their set time is limited, and since they only have one album, we pretty much got to hear all of it. They ran thru their oeuvre with the all the bases covered: “One Horse Town”, “Big Sur”, and what could pass as the theme song to The OC, “Santa Cruz (You’re Not That Far). Mmmmm, SoCal rock made by Irish people.

How Goldenvoice does it’s band research

It was feeding time once again. I can’t go too long without junk food or I’ll start twitching. I was all set to have like 17 frozen chocolate covered banananananas, but sadly they were already sold out of em!! Note to Goldenvoice (the peeps behind the concert): next year overstock on the frozen c.c.b.’s cause the Thigh Master demands it. I settled for my second funnel cake in as many days and a pina colada smoothie… so Nathan Lane-ish, but c’mon, I’m hanging out with two fly liz-adies. After the munch a bunches, it was off to see Belle & Seboring. On the way over, I heard a familiar tune echoing out of one of the smelly tents (no, not the one Beck left a musical diarrhea in). I couldn’t place it at first, but then realized it was the Cooper Temple Clause playing “Promises Promises”, which is included on the soundtrack to my most belovedededed video game of the moment, EA Sports’ FIFA Soccer 2004. Come to think of it, many of the artists who lended a tune to the game were also at Coachella (Radiohead, Junior Senior, and Paul Van Dyk). So if you want to get a jumpstart on the bands for Coachella 2005, wait till FIFA 2005 is released this fall. Annie ways, back to Belle, Bovs, and Sebastian. I caught them at 2002’s Coachella and was as unimpressed then as I was on this day. Their sound is tight like Kate Beckinsale in Transylvanian leather, but the music doesn’t do shit for me. I need fast, hard, and loud. Think White Stripes, not Yeah Yeah Hellz-No. Peeped a lil Sparta, and that’s about all I want to comment on that topic.

Who wouldn’t buy a phone from dat ass?

Around this time, my T-Mobile phone actually started functioning. My faith in Catherine-Zeta-Jones-Douglas-MacArthur and her phone pimping abilities were restored. I finally got a text message thru to the Zeus of the blogosphere, Uncle Grambo. We picked a place to meet right before Air was to take center stage. Good thing I was stalking Doc Grambo online for months leading up to this day and found some pictures of him (which hang in my locker), cause otherwise I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of the crowd o’ hipsterinos. With the liz-adies in tow, I approached the man and simply asked, “Mark?” He replied with, “Mike?” Phew, that was a close one. He turned to a fair-haired gent standing next to him and said, “Peabs, it’s the Thigh Master.” Woooh. This was too much for me. Mees gots to meet the gregarious Grambo AND the passion of the Peabs (+ guest appearances by Dirty and their babes) in a span of 43 seconds?!?!? God blesseth that Al Gore invention, the internet. A week ago we were email pen pals and today we’re humping each other’s legs! We broke into simple chit chat, praising each other’s cocks and blogs, discussing Lohan’s thighs, and then me got all geeky on both of em an asked for a picture of the three of us. (Curious George’s mum has the photos, so when I get em, you’ll see em.) I muss say, I never heard the words “obvs”, “bovs”, and “schmobvs” used so much in conversation since The Uncle Grambo & Peabs’ Kwanzaa Spectacular that aired on QVC last winter. With my drooling subsiding, it was time to stop humping each other’s respective legs, go our separate ways, and catch some Air. Not the shit you breathe, but the breastest band of the past 6 years. So I missed Dizzee Rascal’s tent song and dance, but big whoomp there it is, I got to meet the Detroit Rock City crew. So best!

Air, the greatest French thing since the LeCar

The Thigh Master and Megbot AIRed it out in mid-April, but I was ready for an encore. I couldn’t have pictured a better setting to see Air: al fresco, al dente, the sun was setting behind the purple mountains, and my swamp-ass was finally beginning to cool down. The lights went up and the French duo worked their magic. For those who had never heard of them, they would walk away from this night as Air fanatics. Sorta like when Pak-Man walked out of Mean Girls and wanted to lick LL’s toes (more on that in the full LL MG review to be posted sometime this year). They started off with some slow stuff like “Run”, but quickly picked up the pace with rousing renditions of “Sexy Boy” and “Kelly Watch the Stars”. Side note part IIXXCCML: who was the genius who allotted only 50 minutes of AIRtime? They should have played for 6 straight hours. Their sweet sounds make me want to be French. They make me want to get in my LeCar with my LeBag and le bang Ludivine Sagnier. Anyjew, Air didn’t play their new breast song ever, “Cherry Blossom Girl” and apparently still have no love for playing tunes off their Kid A-esque masterpiece, 10,000Hz Legend. Even with Beck in town, they didn’t attempt to play “Vagabond”. But after Beck’s pepto-A-Bismol Saturday performance, he would have ruined everything (think USA in Iraq). After they announced that they had only one song remaining, I wasn’t too worried cause they picked one of their longest and one of the most soothing songs to end their set, “Femme d’Argent”. Good info: if you’re ever in a bar and you want to maximize your jukebox monies, play the longest songs you know and can tolerate. “Femme d’Argent” is a perfect choice and “Born Slippery” by Underworld off the Trainspotting soundtrack aint no slouch either. Post script: go buy all of Air’s albums, NOW.

We then took an extended bathroom break, which was conveniently located next to the stage where BRMC (BlackDildoMotorcycleClub) were performing. I don’t think the outdoor confines were suited for the roaring noise that is BRMC’s music. Plus I’ve sorta been there done that with them. On their first album they asked “Whatever Happened To My Rock’N’Roll?” Well, they say if it aint baroque, then don’t fix it. But after hearing their second album, which sounded a lot like their first, I had to ask the question, whatever happened to branching out musically (see Moby’s 18 and the Strokes’ latest)?

I don’t think Wayne Coyne got a lot of attention as a child

Then it was time for some Flaming Lip service. I saw them open for Beck twice, before he was so f-in Beck, and lemme tell you, los Lips put on one phenomenal live show. The music sounds perfect, there’s people dancing in plushie outfits, and Wayne Coyne lets the crowd know how much he loves himself. After a delayed beginning, Wayne came out and explained to the crowd that he was up to something special and hence the delay. But none of us were ready for what happened next. They opened with the crowd pleasing “Race For the Prize”, as Mr. Coyne inserted himself into a giant plastic bubble (sorta like John Travolta or Jake Gyllenhaal) and walked into the crowd. That was so f-in mint. But then Coyne-head talked and talked and talked us away from the stage. We’d had enuff. Seems like we didn’t miss much either as they only played a total of 5 or so songs. I’ll catch em at Lollapaloser, where such hijinks will be toned down.

Corn dogs: one of the four food groups of a fat person

My stomach said no, but my brain said corn dogs!! It’s Coachella, so anything goes. Ask yourself this, when was the last time you had a good ole corn dog? I bet it’s been ages, right? Well the next time you see a corn dog stand at the beach, and amusement park, or after watching an egomaniac climb into a giant bubble, stop and order yerself up one of nature’s finest treats. Aaaaaaaaah. If only the Atkins diet consisted of funnel cakes and corn dogs!

Next on the nights docket was Basement Jaxx. The only time I saw them was their free Central Park show a few years back and I had to listen to them outside of the venue. So I pleaded to the liz-adies that we had to watch their entire set. Plus the four seconds of Mogwai that we saw wasn’t enuff to keep us at the smelly tent. Sure the Jaxx are just two guys, but when they travel, they bring the whole gang with em: a band, a soul diva, and dancing monkeys (not real ones, just men in monkey suits… no, not dress suits, but actual monkey suits.). Unlike some bands I know, the Jaxx dipped into each of their albums to keep the hipsters toe tapping from the first song to the last one. And as predicted by the Thigh Master himself, the Jaxx imported Dizzee Rascal for a magnificent live version of their collaboration, “Lucky Star”. The crowd was thin that we moseyed on up to the front of the stage. It was “Where’s Your Head At?” time. So f-in manic. Even more manic than The Bangles’ “Manic Monday”. Everyone was jumping up and down and all around. Then I asked myself, where was my head at, cause we could have been standing right by the stage for all of the Jaxx’s set.

Huey can’t handle the loudness that is LeTigre

Thanks for reading this far folks! I’ll buy you one White Castle burger the next time I see you if you did. So in the best interest of my beauty sleep and your interest in this article, here’s a qwik attempt to wrap up the rest of the night’s proceedings. I aint a The Cure fan and after listening to their soft-goth melodies, I still aint a The Cure fan. It was expected boringness, unlike Beck who should be umcredible every time out. We den moved on over to see Le Tigre with much anticipation. Couldn’t get too glen close to the stage cause as Huey Lewis said in Back to the Future, “I’m afraid you’re just too darn loud.” I mean, we could have been 2 miles away from the stage and STILL heard them crystal clearly. Next time I see them, I hope the sound is crystal light. They rocked though. Screaming chicks with thumping beats, a deadly duo. I hope their adventures in major labeldom lead them to stardom. With time winding down we rushed over to the dance tent/ecstasy den to catch Paul Van Dyk. Then off to see Ash in the smelly tent. I felt bad cause there was only about 50 people there and I don’t even think that’s an exaggerated head count. For their final song and my final Coachella song, they played the eggsalad, “Burn Baby Burn”. The show was basically over, cept for The Cure kept boring the legions of fans. So on and so forth, we rushed back to LA Monday morn and I was NY bound (Big Fish and Megbot were the in-flight entertainment). The new cab fare hike went into affect the day I came back and my ride back to Upper Siberia, Manhattan cost $49, not including tip. Death to cab fare hikes, cutie!!

First Annual Thighs Wide Shut Coachella Awards

Best Day:

Day 2

Best Performance:

Basement Jaxx

Biased Second Best Performance:

Air

So F-in Beck:

Beck

Gawd Bless The Early 90’s:

The Pixies

Mostest Boringingest:

any band that plays slow or fluffy music

(Cure, Beck, Belle & Seboring)

Worst Scheduling of Amazing Bands Back To Back To Back:

Day Two from 7:30 ‘til midnight

My New Favorite Band:

The Black Keys

How Many “The” Bands:

8

Are They The Same Band?:

stellastar* and Whitestarr

Pissed I Missed:

Pretty Girls Make Graves, Danger Mouse, more

of Junior Senior, and comrade Shady Harrison

Best Junk Food:

(three way tie! would have been 4, but I didn’t go churro crazy this year)

funnel cakes, corn dogs, and frozen chocolate covered banananananas

Worst Thang About Coachella:

missing LL rock on SNL

Who Should Be There In 2005:

everyone I missed in 2003 (Ladytron, Primal Scream, White Stripes, Polyphonic Spree) + The Raveonettes, Franz Ferdinand, OutKast, Supergrass, The The (the ultimate “The” named band), Neil Diamond,

and of course, Lindsay Lohan

See you in 2005 bizatches. The churros are on me.