CEOs and chakra readers, dads and daughters rubbed shoulders at the high-rolling festival where rock trumped politics, and vacation-casual beat party chic
Shortly after Sunday nights US presidential debate, Roger Waters floated out his famous giant inflatable pig in Indio, California, with a special election-year message: Ignorant, lying, racist, sexist PIG Fuck Trump and his wall.
The finale of Desert Trip, festival behemoth Goldenvoices classic-rock spin on its cash cow Coachella, brought its audience back to reality with this overt, aggressive political message. On Friday, a few hours before the first of three baby-boomer bucket-list double headers Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones, Neil Young and Paul McCartney, the Who and Roger Waters a 2005 video recording leaked of Donald Trumps lewd conversation with a TV host and left the world speechless.
When golden gods of rock are your escorts, of course, that escape comes at a price: tickets alone already generated a cool $160m from the estimated 75,000 attendees. A general admission weekend pass to the fest cost $399, but to stand in line for overpriced wine with Leonardo DiCaprio or Tommy Lee, both of whom were spotted throughout the festival, you had to pony up $1,599 for tickets in the pit. And if comfort trumped star sightings (and for most of the graying folks dressed in vacation-casual attire, Im guessing it did), you could nab a reserved, padded seat for somewhere in between.
When news of Desert Trips two-show-per-night lineup and cushy seating options broke in mid-April, it coincided with Coachella, the sweaty, frantic festival that squeezes in nearly 60 shows and 100,000 partiers per day. Desert Trip quickly and sneeringly was dubbed Oldchella a name bolstered by the sofa areas and expensive jackfruit vegan nachos on display this weekend.
<
figcaption class=”caption” caption–img caption caption–img” itemprop=”description”> Paul McCartney and Neil Young share the stage at Desert Trip. Photograph: Kevin Mazur/Getty Images for Desert Trip
The grounds opened early in the afternoon, but shows didnt start until the sun had begun to set, which solved two problems: burning and melting under a blistering sun, and dressing for the deserts wild temperature swing from daytime sweltering to evening frigid. Speaking of clothing, Coachella has morphed into as much of a fashion show as a music festival, with girls draping themselves in their Stevie Nicks finest and dying to be snapped for a best-dressed blog slideshow.
Not at Oldchella, however. There were still girls in rainbow shortalls and fringed shirts, and guys in artfully ripped jeans and flannel shirts, but most people were dressed for ease of movement or, charmingly and dorkily, in the band souvenir shirts theyd already purchased. Because heres the thing: the people who came to Oldchella to be cool were far outnumbered by the people who came to see the bands they loved, maybe for the last time ever.
<
ul>