Coachella 2013: Day Two

Okay, I may have slept in a little later than was originally planned, but I feel fresh, probably too fresh in fact to be entering Coachella's hump day. The Saturday bill is by far the bulkiest for both talent and variety; no matter what your poison is you are going to get a cold hard fix.

For myself, guitars were the order of proceedings early on, peppered with some trap beats – such is the style of the time. Theophilus London is sounding out the hip hop signals from the Coachella main stage as we walk in. The crowd is far thinner than this time yesterday, but those that have made it through the gates to tackle the heat head on are full of colour: crazy outfits, flags, inflatable animals, beach balls, banners and drunken bravado. For some ladies with questionable decision-making skills, wedged bathers up the rear are acting as shorts. For others, nipple tape is their Saturday top of choice. Maybe their washing machine is currently broken? Perhaps someone ransacked their wardrobe? I don't know. Understandably, we didn't see any of these individuals in the pit for Biffy Clyro. The Scots are trying to break it in America and they play like a band destined to make it. Technical issues meant the set starts ten minutes late, but as a bulked-up five-piece Biffy sound massive and incite some huge singalongs with tracks like Sounds Like Balloons and Many Of Horrors.

After getting a nice rinsing while walking through a spraying/dance area, we arrive to absolute chaos at the Sahara tent where Baauer is commanding the room front and centre. With flames ripping across giant LCD screens it seems like the New York DJ is playing from within a volcano; all that's left is 10,000 manic punters feebly trying to survive amidst the heat. Harlem Shake levels the place. Coming from a totally different end of the musical spectrum, Boston's Dropkick Murphys drive the biggest (and perhaps only) circle pit seen at the festival, with Ken Casey and Al Barr pumping fists and sending out a set of rousing punk anthems. It's a pretty climatic finish when James Fearnley of The Pogues takes accordion for a track before the band play I'm Shipping Up To Boston and a wild cover of ACDC's TNT. Ben Howard offers some background fodder for a few beers before it's over to the Mojave stage for Bat for Lashes. In a shimmering rainbow outfit Natasha Khan is a mesmerising presence; her band is an absolute crack squad of players, and songs like Laura and Daniel make your hairs stand high.

Hot Chip gave us one of the best sets of Coachella 2013

Following, Major Lazer are forceful and heaps of fucking fun, at least that's the vibe Diplo is giving off when he jumps in a giant inflatable ball to ride the wave of the crowd. We walk back to the main drinking area and my friend turns to me and says, “If I started a band tomorrow I'd sound this bad.” Indeed, it pretty much sums up the Violent Femmes experience happening next to us. Thankfully the slot is quickly forgotten once Hot Chip take over the Polo Grounds, delivering one of the sets of the festival. The Brits admit they have been itching to play main stage here for many years, and now, with a five album canon behind them, they have the tunes to create an exhilarating live dance experience pretty much unrivalled anywhere by anyone. Extended and reworked takes of And I Was A Boy From School  and I Feel Better sweeten an already delicious deal further.

Yeasayer are playing a commendable set next door but it kind of feels like a poor man's version of what we have just witnessed. The beats are now flowing through our veins and we need another hit. Simian Mobile Disco will do just fine, thanks. Facing each other, a bank of wires, buttons, knobs and switches between them and not a laptop in sight, James Ford and Jas Shaw take us into the belly of an industrial techno beast that has all sorts of abrasive claws and teeth. It's frightening, dark and completely awesome. A short walk away, Moby is playing a rare DJ set, throwing out plenty of Jesus poses while getting back to his roots with some tidy Detroit-vibed basslines. By now it's an absolute clusterfuck of acts to see so there's a lot of bouncing around. Angular rock icons Franz Ferdinand are greeted rapturously and play a tightly wound set that is bursting with style and charisma. Alex Kapranos is the ultimate frontman and the four-way drum solo that wraps it all up puts jaws on floors in every corner of the tent.

A band that no doubt have been influenced by the older Scots are Two Door Cinema Club, and their brand of ultra-catchy indie rock is pure joy for a huge field of fans at the Outdoor Theatre. Alex Trimble's voice sails out with lucid intent and the lads seem as enamoured with the whole experience as those screaming back every chorus to them. After that it's tidy 20-minute sessions with funk soul vixen Janelle Mona, Aussie bass fiends Knife Party, Icelandic cinematic rock soundscape specialists Sigur Ros and Phoenix, who don't bring Daft Punk with them as many had hoped they would, but instead produce R. Kelly, who thankfully didn't piss on anyone.

I jumped a bit early to beat the mad rush home, but according to accounts there was a stampede out of the festival; punters were getting herded not so much shoulder to shoulder but nose to nose. Dust was flying in every orifice; the wind took a turn for the cold. People were getting stretchered away. It was like a scene from some war film.

Fans watching Franz

Pics by Ali Fraser & Wade Brennan.