The walk to the Coachella main gates basically felt like being locked against your will in a brightly lit sauna for an hour, three days in a row (on the way back each night, it was slightly cooler, but then add a bunch of dirt sticking to your sweat and some intense lumbar pain to that analogy).
But once we were there, it was glorious.
If you've ever been to a festival, you get the gist of how it was, but throw in like, waaaay more fashiony, skinny and obscenely attractive people than normal and that is what this particular one is like. So here are the highlights.
|Day 1 daytime highlights: Jimmy Cliff & Tim Armstrong, Yuck, Girls|
|Day 1 nighttime highlights: Pulp, M83, The Horrors|
(Side note: after Refused, Meg and I ran around the field screaming, flailing and
kicking bottles for a good 10 minutes. It was like reliving our long-gone youth, and
|Refused prove they are NOT fucking dead|
|Day 2 daytime highlights: Childish Gambino, Azealia Banks, the Buzzcocks, Jeff Mangum|
|Day 2 nighttime highlights: St. Vincent, Feist, Bon Iver, Radiohead|
|Day 3 daytime highlights: Real Estate, Wild Flag, The Weeknd|
|Day 3 nighttime highlights: Beirut, Girl Talk, At The Drive-In, Florence + The Machine|
At one point we saw a boy motorboating his barely-legal girlfriend right out in the open during First Aid Kit's set, which was funny but probably not bloggable? I dunno.
Anyway, that brings Indio to an end. The next morning we packed up and said goodbye to Angelune and Amy, who drove back to LAX, while the original four of us made our way to our hotel, which happened to be the one Janis Joplin died in. Neat! I had a nightmare.
And then we went to the LACMA! And more fish tacos! (Fish taco trip count: 240)
Of course, no trip to LA is complete without (yes, another Trader Joe's stop, but ALSO) taking a photo of High Voltage to horrify and bemuse your tattoo artist friends back home. Look away!
Labels: looking cool, playtime, travel