Being a critic in the audience of a DJ set invokes a sort of Heisenberg uncertainty principle of enjoyment: the more energy spent assessing, scribbling in your notepad, playing name that tune or name that sample, the less pleasure you can extract from the techno you’re hearing. Knowing ahead of time that you have to come up with clever shit to say about an experience precludes any authenticity in that experience. Usually.
So, full disclosure, I popped some stuff, smoked some stuff and chugged some stuff before the Drop the Lime set. But I wasn't fucked up enough to completely annihilate my critical acumen. Just fucked up enough to stop worrying about remembering everything. My barely legible notes from Drop the Lime (Luca Venezia to the NYC department of motor vehicles) say it all: "DROPPING THE MOTHER-F BEAT! BASEMENT JAXX? PERFECT CROWD FUCKING JUMPINGG…" I'm not sure what I meant with the Basement Jaxx mention, but I included it anyway for journalistic integrity.
Photo credit: Andy Vermeulen
It was a beautiful, thumparific, stank-laden sweatfest. I probably burned 8,000 calories during DTL's 45-odd minutes. I can't tell you much more than that, but I highly recommend catching him if you get a chance.
One shady afternoon nap later, I caught a mellow comedown performance from TV on the Radio, curated by a bearded, conversational Tunde Adebimpe, who put us through more classically rock-y versions of older classics like "Staring at the Sun" and newer nuggets like "Dancing Choose." Worth noting: as a typical horn-section hater, TVOTR's warm, stabby sax action surprised me as a highlight.
Up next on the main stage was Thievery Corporation. Say what you will, D.C.-based DJ duo of Rob Garza and Eric Hilton have done much for mainstreaming (and streamlining) lounge/trance/world-music schlock into a marketable product. What was once a sound only for unwashed pilgrims to Goa can now be purchased in Starbucks. Discuss. Anyway, I sort of loathe this type of thing, but I was curious to see how it worked live. And I was stunned to learn that those sitar loops, dancehall emcee snippets and bongo beats are... not actually samples. Yeah, dude. Playing live, Thievery Corporation drags a living, breathing cadre of sitar players, afro-centric vocalists, percussionists and so on to evoke their brand of freaky blue-cocktail/elephant ride/Shiva-worship Buddha Bar crapola. I sat through as much as I could.
Photo credit: Andy Vermeulen
On the flip side of the third-world inflected music, I caught the end of Maya Arulpragasam's set, which was super insanely wicked bomb tight. M.I.A. is obviously doing some kind of sneaky trick on all of us, a time-released Trojan horse of cultural subversion that involves a stage full of tecktonic dancers, a mock-presidential podium, a Yo! MTV Raps-meets-Somali-pirate chic and screaming "Peace!" over the "Paper Planes" gunshots. I'm not sure exactly what Maya's up to, but I'm onto her and into it.
From there it was an unexpectedly dance-y suite from indietronic heirs apparent Junior Boys. Frontman Jeremy Greenspan had already moved away from the whisper-soft miserablism of Last Exit on sophomore effort So This Is Goodbye, but this year's Begone Dull Care really, um, made his dull care get gone for good. The new cheer of the Boys Junior shows up live, too, with Greenspan affecting an easy grin and packing his best sexy-sassy Prince moan.
Photo credit: Andy Vermeulen
In their short set, the Boys trotted out up-tempo versions of "Double Shadow" and "Birthday," but nowhere was the new party-centric thesis more evident than in the crowd-pleasing bootyshake of "Bits & Pieces," when Greenspan wailed "Practice is over" across a screaming bass blast. Damn straight.
The day ended with an unsatisfying attempt to see MSTRKRFT. Turned out to be a way popular idea, with the Sahara tent filled to double capacity with the same assholes that practically decapitated me at Crystal Castles. I stood there like a flamingo in an automatic carwash until I was bruised and soaked in a dozen other people's sweat and then bailed, having heard only like five squelches, a bone-crunching drum break and a bunch of whistles and sirens. Sigh.
The worst screw-up of all was only discovered the next day, when I realized that playing outside the main area in a smaller DJ dome at the same time that night was dubstep doyen Kode9 and L.A. hero Flying Lotus and nobody told me. Fail.
Read the RA review: Coachella 2009 - Day 1
Read the RA review: Coachella 2009 - Day 3
Published /
Wed, 22 Apr 2009
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