It’s America’s No. 1 trusted newsman Pat McGroine. I’m here recovering from the drug-fueled musical sex orgy known as Coachella. I mean, at least I think I went to Coachella. Last thing I remember is I woke up naked at the beach in the middle of a drum circle. Lucky enough, my peeter has stopped bleeding. Anyway, I’m viewing the Instagram of my mind and am beginning to recollect some of the amazing moments. It’s not everyday that you can find toothless hookers who take debit (thank goodness for Square). At first, I thought Coachella would be another corporate music festival with an abundance of rules, security, lines, and $20 chicken bowls (and it was), but what I found most exciting was the abundance of people. There were all sorts of people at Coachella. White people, rich white people, very rich white people, wealthy white people, and even middle-income white people. The cultural diversity was abundant. I even saw one black person. Well, one half-black person: Drake.
Anyway, this isn’t about Coachella and its attendees. It’s about the festival. And I got to say what makes a good music festival is the quality of the drugs. And, well, I couldn’t find any. It was like everyone just came out of church communion and was patiently praying to Jesus while Ryan Adams played. The only hallucinations I had were from heat exhaustion and dehydration, which maybe makes me a hallucinogen purist and meta-hipster I guess. What I did find was a cup with about 2 tablespoons of whiskey. It was mighty fine. I struck up a conversation with a beautiful woman who told me she was dating one of the bands. I didn’t understand or recognize the name, but I’m sure they are wonderful. As I slowly drank my whiskey, I began to ponder life and what it all means… and I ended up falling asleep on the grass while strangers politely avoided stepping on me. I felt blessed.
Anyway, I woke up to the sweet, sexy sounds of St. Vincent. These ladies can play guitar. They were so good I even Google searched them for their music. After St. Vincent was the man himself: Drake. Drake crushed it. Drake was the 21st century wordsmith the crowd was waiting for. He played all the hits, even the ones the crowd didn’t recognize. Witnessing Drake perform live, I realized what Coachella was all about: the headliners. The festival isn’t about choosing which artists you want to see. It’s about watching the artists you can’t miss no matter what. It’s about braving the sun and heat, the crowds and price gouging, for the artist that can connect an entire ocean of humanity with their energy. It’s about a feeling of being connected. It’s about the conscious realization that no matter where you are in life, there is still one thing that can save you from oblivion: music.
Anyway, that’s my two cents and I’ll see you beautiful people on the next Kilson Street Action News. Stay tuned, America.