I am one of those horrible people that, like Kanye West, actually believes Kanye West is the second coming. And for anyone who has ever disagreed with me I’d like to make the following post-Coachella statement: ‘HA HA HA HA I TOLD YOU SO!’ Aside from the mind-blowing, firework addled, ballet meets hip-hop extravaganza closing performance that was Kanye West’s ode to his late mother, Coachella was possibly one of the most excessively amazing experiences of my life.
With highlight performances by Arcade Fire, Yelle, The National, Chromeo, Health, Damian Marley, Death From Above 1979 and did I mention Kanye West? the weekend was a delightful overstimulation of the senses. The Aussie contingent was also strong with Cut Copy blowing the roof off their tent to thousands of fans screaming the lyrics and jumping up and down without stopping for a second—quite a proud moment for anyone who ever caught the band in their earlier days at Melbourne indie nights like click-click and Shake Some Action.
Sun, music, booze, and bodies—it was hard to know where to focus attention at times. But between the throbbing beats, the sweating, the McLovin cameo, the ass shaking and the beer swilling, I managed to take some time to appreciate those people that managed to get festival fashion down pat. From denim shirt turbans to leopard print crop tops to safari-style playsuits, Coachella folk kept it comfortable and cute while still showing off plenty of skin in a bid for kisses from the Californian desert sun.