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Ever wonder what an indie pop quartet from Brighton, England thinks of Coachella? British Sea Power helps put that curiosity to rest with their Coachella tour diary...
"British Sea Power approach our slot at the
Coachella Valley Music And Arts Festival with
the same spirit we approach most things -
amazement, glee and raw wonder that they have
let us in. Here we are sat on the grass, ringed
by the shimmering purple peaks of the San
Jacinto mountains and playing on the same bill
as New Order, Gang Of Four and The Sexy
Magazines. Nice enough, but even all of this
pales beside the real point of getting to
Coachella - back-door entrance to the polo scene.
"As most people know, the Coachella festival site
is also home to the Empire Polo Field. The polo
scene has enough filthy, rotten excess and
buck-toothed oddity to make rock look like a
pre-pubescent boy chorister asking for extra
toothpaste. Polo, remember, is home to the Debii
Dollar Western Women’s Challenge, the Barbara
Sinatra Skins League and, above all, the Jackson
Hole Horse Emporium And Hawaiian Iced Tea
Tournament And Open House. It is a world in
which grown men will pay $8000 for six-chukka
membership and all comers can visit the onsite
Polo Grill for American classics in a
comfortable setting. However, our excitement is
short-lived.
"Within minutes, it becomes clear that there will
be little polo activity this weekend - that the
nearest we will come to the thunder of hoof on
turf is the sight of the some game polo ponies
gambolling in an adjacent field. It sure is good
to see Mr Topspot and Wansdyke Lass as they run
and play. But all too soon, we must say au
revoir both them and companions Polar Force,
Subtle Shandy and Buckaloo Boyzee. There is work
to be done and we must move on to more familiar
sights and sounds of rock - of Trent Reznor
sending back his on-site Humvee because it ain’t
got Attila The Hun’s actual bones in the
tool-kit, of Ms. Chloe Sevigny erotically
detuning Conor Oberst’s backwoods mandolin in
the VIP compound and of an excellent set from
The Arcade Fire.
"As soon as we get to our exclusive pop-star
bungalow, they give us all free massages and
beer in a bin. The programme promises much. Not
only is there Secret Machines, The Futureheads
and mind-bending sister Sapphists Tegan & Sara,
but the sculpture park also promises The Lucent
Misting Oasis. Can it be true - a lifesize
effigy of Liam Gallagher lighting up and crying
as he gets homesick for chips and beans in the
rowdy Manchester projects? No it can’t - it’s a
robot pond made by hippies with nice teeth. So,
then, off over the Gobi Tent to see MIA. Also
known as Maya Arulpragasam, this young lady is
the new queen of big-tune UK dancehall grime
and, all across America, her track "Bucky Done
Gun" has been the toast of the BSP tour bus.
Bouncing in reflective bounty-hunter safari
outfit and MC-ing with effervescent joy, she
does not disappoint. After MIA’s set, we head
over to the Sahara Tent to see the DJ set from
Ms. Kittin.
"As we enter the tent, Ms K’s only gone done
started playing her own, up-front mix of Bucky
Done Gun. Imagine that! Like totally spangled
4AM ravers overjoyed at remembering our own
names, we spontaneously thrust our arms aloft.
In the heat, it’s almost too much. But then it
gets worse. As Ms Kittin bends over the decks,
you really, really can’t help noticing that her
cleavage is revealed like that of 17th Century
courtesan leaning out of a coach to give oranges
to the poor. Once, twice, three times she does
it. We all start involuntarily rocking back and
forth and slapping each other with a force that
goes far beyond playfulness. In the nick of time
our tour manager finds us and orders us back to
our artist cabin.
"We are playing on the Outdoor Theatre stage, after the composed Aesop Rock and before the
glorious crawdaddies of The Faint. The crucial
stage decoration is completed - a fan or beech
leaves around the drums, two pine cones on the
keyboard riser and a plastic pheasant on the top
of the Marshall stack. Then, an unfortunate
reality becomes real. As our soundman attempts
to complete the line-check, it becomes clear
that no sounds is coming our of the PA.
Heart-stoppingly, we are due on stage in one
minute and 30 seconds. Our monitor engineer and
their stage manager shout at each other like
men. Then, miracle of miracles, the PA starts
working. We are on.
"Stage time is always compressed terrifyingly.
Tonight’s 40 minutes rushes by like 4 minutes
of the temporal normal. A crunch of power
chords, our singer making garbled reference to
California Girls and our guitarist climbing 40
foot into the stage rigging - that is all that
remains. Well, that and the hand-annotated
plastic sack of garden peat that one young lady
has been kind enough to throw on stage.
"In the backstage compound, within minutes we are
all drunken and scared at how fast it went.
Then, just what we needed, our friend Carlos Of
Interpol beams out of the night. We can’t
believe it. On the plane over, we were amazed
enough to see Carlos featuring in the in-flight
entertainment - skilfully taking the role of
Joaquin Phoenix in M Night Shyamalan’s 2004
thriller The Village. And now here is in the
flesh. Sing hallelujah! He tells us we were
great, the dirty fucking liar, and then soon all
of time is gone. Not one of us remembers getting
from Carlos to the tour bus. But it happened. As
we leave the festival site, our keyboardist
Eamon wakes momentarily to hear a joyous,
spirited whinnying resounding through the night.
Goodbye Miss Kittin, goodbye Wansdyke Lass and
goodbye Coachella Valley Music And Arts Festival." |
