Sadly, Vigo the Carpathian was not there. But he may have been the only celebrity not sweltering in the desert this weekend mingling gleefully with the Los Angeles cluberati: 27 year-old trust funders, scattering shirt-less from bar to bar, tatted up and bandanna'd, scheming on 18-year old girls giggling noxiously in Marc Jacobs sun-dresses. This was the scene inside the sprawling VIP grounds at Coachella last weekend, where by hook or crook, I finagled my way into the epicenter of the madness. After all, I am a journalist, a hired geek and one of the five members of the LA Times Buzz Blog team, (who somehow covered practically every single act in three days).
Throughout throughout the duration of the weekend, the only thought that manifested inside my head when asked whether I was enjoying the festival, was to point to the circus going on inside the closed-to-the-public circus tents and start babbling about Ghostbusters II and how I was reasonably sure that there was a river of molasses-thick evil pink sludge bubbling directly underneath the VIP area.
You're probably thinking to yourself, but what about the music? Surely, the greater majority of festival-goers weren't VIP. Of course, that's true. But Coachella in the year 2007 isn't about the music. It's become a celebrity sideshow, another excuse for bold-faced names and the rich kids who love them to rent outlandish homes in the desert, booze endlessly and sneer at burly black-clad Rage fans and the endless plebe lines for port-a-potties. It's the sort of place where living legends like Willie Nelson would drop one of the five best sets of the festival and a large percentage of the crowd could've cared less, more interested in rubber-necking at the sight of Cameron Diaz eating a Spicy Tuna Roll while sipping on a Cosmo.
Coachella 2007 was Girl Talk pressing the space bar and turning a tiny tent into a massive dance party, with everyone having the time of their lives. Then at the apex of the set, Paris Hilton trolls on-stage, leaving a trail of pink sludge behind her, dancing along to the beat, doing her best to look "fabulous," while disgusted on-lookers did their best to stop from retching. Coachella 2007 was Hilton and even lamer cohort, Lindsay Lohan gawking from the side of the stage at Arcade Fire, doing their best to try to pretend like they're all hip and with it, because omg!!! Arcade Fire are like so totally awesome, right?
Expect belated write-ups on all the acts in the coming days and maybe even a surprise concert review or two). Either way, after three days of insane traffic jams, $6 slices of pizza, and doing my best not to start screaming at the VIP cabal that LCD Soundsystem was about to drop the set of their lifetimes while they were catching The Red Hot Chili Peppers for the 4th time, I'm beat and in no mood to avoid trying not to get sued for slander. Tune in mid-afternoon tomorrow. In the meantime, listen to Ray Parker Jr. tell it like it is.
MP3: Ray Parker Jr.-"Ghostbusters"