Coachella 2013: Day One

From the neon scream of Las Vegas to the desert oasis of Palm Springs, we drove through a sunburnt pallet of colours and textures, watching many various life forms pass us by. Excitement swirled through my stomach, the final remnants of my hangover dripped away. A decade of envy has created expectations that perhaps will never be met over the next three days, but with a bill bursting with superstars, solid newcomers and legends of the craft, Coachella 2013 will certainly give it a hard and fast shake.

Our crew is staying ten miles out of town, which equals lengthy walks and shuttles, however, the action poolside is fantastic. Still, it isn't a shade on the festival glory that greets us upon our arrival in the early afternoon. Blue skies and sunshine, mountain ranges wrapping around us and palm trees standing proud at every conceivable angle - it is utterly sexy and buff. The polo grounds have been transformed into a lush musical utopia for the young and old; the fashion levels high, the temperatures higher. There is an offensive amount of shit eating grins getting thrown around; people seem blown away to be part of the magic and walking amongst it all it's easy to understand why. We cruise past the art installations. A giant snail slowly makes its way through the throngs. Beers can't be taken around which makes pure looseness an unobtainable goal early, but there's seriously too many quality jams to give an ounce of a shit.

Stars sound great on the Coachella main stage as we walk past, but there's no time to stop; when Johnny Marr is laying out licks the least you can do is get over and listen. The former Smiths guitarist is in dominant form; solo tracks such as Upstarts are delivered with panache while his vocal turn on There Is A Light That Never Goes Out is just as emotive as the Mozfather. There's barely time to breathe, though. Canadians Metric are sending their feel-good brand of indie out into the afternoon air, fellow Canucks Japandroids are tearing the Gobi stage a new one in their matching black and whites, while Alt-J have drawn a massive crowd to the Mojave tent right next door, the weed fumes thick and pungent as synth and bass lines combine with the somewhat alien vocals of frontman Joe Newman to get heads nodding in unison.

Passion Pit and the big ol' sunshine

The drinking area nestled between the Coachella Stage and the Outdoor Theatre then becomes base camp for the next five hours, not through laziness or alcohol dependency (though it didn't hinder the party train), but simply because there are class acts being wheeled out end-to-end. Iceland's Of Monsters and Men are just as popular over this side of the Pacific as they are in Oz, the humble gang seeming genuinely overjoyed with the huge response their set gets, while Passion Pit sound fantastic, with tracks like Sleepyhead and Take A Walk knocked out of the park. Modest Mouse are a disappointment; the setlist is self-indulgent and critical tracks like Ocean Breathes Salty lack punch. Thankfully, Karen O and her Yeah Yeah Yeahs comrades are on hand immediately after to reenergise the sweaty, sun burnt and pizza smeared masses. It's a totally different band to the one that delivered a flat performance at this year's Gold Coast Big Day Out. Sacrilege sounds way more exciting than radio would have you believe while Gold Lion and Heads Will Roll put the crowd into a spin.

Its dark and the whole drinking scene has descended into a bit of a shitshow; people are strewn across the grass in a variety of different folds. I barely miss stepping on someones arm and no one is the wiser. Band of Horses are a fucking great band at the worst of times, but with a skinful they are genuinely life-affirming. They smash through a set that is without fault, performance wise and with regards to track selection. Frontman Ben Bridwell and drummer Creighton Barrett couldn't stop smiling. Towards the end of BOH's set I hear "Girls who are boys/Who like boys to be girls" and it can only mean one thing. People seem pretty stoked that Blur are onstage, and although I'm convinced Damon Albarn has stolen my girlfriend's jacket the performance is a polish affair by consummate - be it slightly more portly - professionals. Coffee and TV is a revelation.

Jurassic 5 are still the microphone fiends that owned the early-to-mid noughties, but we skim past the hipping and the hopping to watch Foals bring the Gobi tent to its knees. They are powerful, they are committed, they get legs moving and heads banging. Yannis Philippakis is ripping guitar solos from atop the crowd barely ten minutes into the set. As we drag our drained bodies out we see The Stone Roses in the distance; the crowd is tiny and Ian Brown sounds awful. Both points of note are expected and unsurprising. Day one down, things have hit fever pitch, yet, it's barely getting started. Bring on the intense desert storm.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs bring the masses

Pics by Ali Fraser & Wade Brennan.