Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: coachella

A Terrible Poem About A Terrible Weekend

The Instagram Hotties have gone to
Coachella
The agency rented a house
Or maybe it was the energy drink company
BANG!

Yeah, it’s an infinity pool
Or whatever
The ones in Bali are nicer.

Between you and me?
The desert sucks
How can one be expected to hydrate?
It’s not an option, hydration
Thank God for cryogenic blood facials
I have one scheduled for when we get back to Los Angeles

Give it up for The 1975
I’m gonna fuck a 1975.
Probably the drummer
Do they have a drummer,
Or are they one of those bands without a drummer?
I don’t wanna fuck the bass player, but I will if I have to.

Is this too much underboob?
(If there’s such a thing)

I’m showing underboob in honor of Nipsey Hussle
It’s how he would have wanted my boobs
He taught us so much

Is it a good thing or a bad thing that Kendall isn’t here?

 

 

 

Excelsis Indio

Nothing says Rock & Roll like the Polo Club.

OR

Does Lil Uzi know Lil Yachty?

OR

The Sunday show looks like the best one: I like Lorde’s hair and spaz-dancing, and New Order is okay, and Toots and the motherfucking Maytalls! Plus, I dig DJ Khaled: he delivers inspiration along with funky beats. Porter Robinson sounds like a soul singer, but I’m sure he isn’t. Tove Lo takes her top off at her shows, so that’s something. Plus, as well know, Kendrick Lamar is killing this rap game.

And no Father John Misty.

OR

They’re streaming the whole festival on YouTube. You can watch it for free.

OR

Y’know what, King Gizzard and the Lizzard Wizzard? Well done.

OR

Hot Since 82 and Breakbot are also good names, but the rest are depressing and shitty. Was that the best you could do, Car Seat Headrest?

OR

I am officially declaring Chicano Batman the Woody Hayes of the non-jam festival. Those guys are going to be in every field full of drugged-up teens in America this summer.

OR

Joining Mac Miller and Mac DeMarco on Friday night will be Mac Davis and Macklemore. (Excellent question to determine whether you’re a Younger Enthusiast or one of us old fucks: “Name a singer with the first name of Mac.” In defense of the old fucks, Mac Davis wrote In The Ghetto, and is therefore awesome.)

OR

How many more of these fucking things are there? I’m running out of jokes.

OR

All of the Instagram Hotties are at Coachella. Their little geotags say “Indio” and they have their flowered headdresses and strappy sandals and teeth whitening kits and they are ready to party.

I Wonder Who He Voted For?

Enthusiasts, I need you to sit down. A chair, a chaise, yoga-style: however you prefer to relax. Just get off your feet, dammit, because I have some news that will knock your socks off. Your socks cannot be knocked off if you’re standing; the weight of your body will trap the stockings in place, causing a friction-fire, and your toes will burn like summer camp marshmallows.

Okay. You ready? Deep breath. (If you want to take that deep breath with a bong attached to your lips, then that would work.)

Here we go: it turns out that a billionaire is an asshole. I am as shocked as you are.

The owner of Coachella is a guy named Phillip Anschutz. (Anschutz was not a military strategy pursued by the Nazis, but it sounds like one if you mispronounce it.) Phil likes giving money to anti-gay groups, and climate deniers, and holy shit does that man hate him some unions. He contributed to some folks that call themselves the Mission: America Coalition.

This is what their website looks like:

Fun fact: MAC believes in travel restrictions on the HIV+.

Financial fact: save money by buying whole babies and butchering them at home.

Phillip Anschutz made his fortune in gas and oil: he stuck shit into the earth and money came out. He continues apace.

 

P.S. Ooh, Toots and the Maytalls.

Coachella Wooden

Brochella Board shorts, flip-flops, craft beer, and an expunged juvenile record? Then amble down to Brochella and see the Dave Matthews Band. Dude? So many sluts.

Nohchella This festival has been taking place in the shadow of Mt. Fuji for so long that its origins are lost to time, but in the 70’s, they started booking rock bands. Bring your stylized facial expressions and your Instagram followers! Vanessa Hudgens will be attending.

Frochella Lineup is Prince, Questlove, Art Garfunkel, and Hologram Billy Preston. (Do not make Hologram Billy Preston.) There will be readings from Malcolm Gladwell and an all-afro bluegrass jam entitled Hairpickin’ and Grinnin’.

Gochella Cancelled after being beaten by an artificially intelligent festival.

G.L.O.W.chella Remember the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling? Well, they’re all in their fifties and sixties now–the ones that are still alive–and not doing so well. Some of them have had hard lives. Quite a bit of pill abuse. But if you’d like to spend some time with them, then you may. The Killers are scheduled to perform.

Sochella Sochella is just so so. Not so-so. So so. It used to be very, but now it’s so. So much so. If you can’t understand me, you’re old. Vanessa Hudgens will be attending.

Boachella Snakes everywhere, man.

Hochella Hos all up in this piece.

Moechella The guy from LCD Soundsystem pokes his bandmates in the eyes, assuming that LCD Soundsystem is an actual band instead of just a fat guy with a laptop.

Snowchella This three-day gathering held in a field outside of Calgary in February killed over a hundred people last winter, including Vanessa Hudgens.

I'll See You In My Dreams

Garcia and I shared a smoke last night. Fucker stole my lighter, but I forgave him

he was in good spirits, decent health, clean-ish clothes; it was the early 90’s, perhaps. The continuity of dreams makes less sense than the continuity of these bloggings: I was telling him all about what was to come in his life, and in the life of his band, his country.

The touring’s getting to be a bit much, he said, so I told him about all the additional revenue streams that had been invented: the VIP backstage jams, and the residencies, and the subscription live-streams. There was a ton of money to be made at the big festivals each summer: Bonnaroo and Coachella and the rest.

Those nonsense words you just said, he asked, those are real things?

I assured him they were not just real things, but multi-million dollar corporations dedicated to sucking every last cent out of teenagers for the chance to be in the same dusty/muddy field as the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Well, I don’t know who that group is, but I’m positive that they’re awful, Garcia said.

Good instincts, I told him.

He lit another smoke, mumbled a thank you for extinguishing the couch cushion he had set ablaze, stole another lighter. I forgave him.

But you guys can finally make some real good records, I said. There’s this thing called ProTools and some other stuff: well, a ton of other stuff. You can fix things up and spit-shine everything ’til it’s perfect.

Really? he was enthusiastic, and I played him some of those before-and-after audio clips from the internet of pop stars singing.

He was quiet for a long moment, and then said, What was the point of all that practicing, huh?

I didn’t have an answer for that.

If you want, you could be a judge on a singing show.

LikeĀ The Gong Show?

No, I said. Not like…well, now that you mention it, yeah, kinda.

He asked me for another smoke and when I turned back to give it to him, there were two lighters on the table and he had stolen away. I forgave him.