Ryan Adams ended his sunset set at 2015’s first weekend of Coachella on Sunday evening, after a great finale of “Oh My Sweet Carolina” and “Come Pick Me Up”, by hoping that fans were reasonably satisfied, and that might have been a running theme for the festival. With the exception of Run the Jewels (which, uh, some of us missed because we were watching an unexpectedly bad set from Belle and Sebastian), the 16th Coachella settled neatly into an inoffensive realm between the unforgettable and intolerable, where expectations and investment factored in greatly to the takeaways.
From a historical standpoint, there was some pleasure to see the festival stay firm in support of artists they have invested in at all points of their career. All of the second-billed artists, The Weeknd, Tame Impala, and Florence + the Machine, made it to the main stage for the first time, after previously performing key Outdoor Theatre, and all lived up to the increased faith from the fest. Others, from Jenny Lewis to Desaparecidos’ Conor Oberst to Jack White, are desert veterans whose repeated appearances speak to the appeal of Coachella. Year after year, the prestige of the festival is as much a currency as the actual performances. Acts like Drive Like Jehu or Ride may not have filled their tents, but simply appearing there ahead of any other festival is a shot to their relevance, a springboard back into the music conversation.
Of course, if you are going to talk about packing stages, Coachella was again fought and won by DJs. During Kaskade’s main stage performance, the polo fields were a virtual ghost town, to which Jamie xx reaped the dividends, his heavy beats acting like fishing nets for Kaskade fans returning to the Sahara tent. Others, from Nero to Flosstradamus, stood as significant arguments that the face of Coachella has completed its metamorphosis, that the caterpillar and butterfly that became the face of the festival through art installations was simply a metaphor for what the festival has now become on a larger scale.
Still, the mantra of attendees making their own experience held true, and whether that meant enjoying Lykke Li or Brand New in packed Mojave tents or subtle, sparsely populated but nonetheless awesome appearances from Squarepusher, Angel Olsen, and Touche Amore, the idea that there was something for everyone felt ever more relevant and true this year. All demographics were present at Steely Dan’s first Coachella performance, and while Sturgill Simpson’s classic Stagecoach country sound and Joyce Manor’s Warped Tour pop punk didn’t feel out of place, audience sizes that begged to differ.
And while the idea of special guests has been a recent staple of Coachella, this weekend felt light, with Madonna’s awkward as fuck visit to Drake the most notable, Bryan Ferry’s stop by an excellent Todd Terje the most sensible, and Jenny Lewis’ reunion with Blake Sennett from Rilo Kiley the most important. By now, YouTubes of all these spots have made the rounds. With no late adds of note either, Coachella chose to rest on its laurels this year, which, with laurels like Coachella has, can’t be seen as a mistake. Sometimes being reasonably satisfied is enough. Even as we list 41 acts from worst to best, none were terrible. None blew it. None were literally the “worst.” But, despite reasonably satisfying, some were better than others.
Click ahead to see Coachella’s first weekend acts from worst to best.
Here and there throughout Coachella’s history, some cheese-ball flash in the pan draws a massive audience despite having little more than a radio hit or two to speak of. Remember Gotye? This year’s entry: Hozier. Maybe he’ll stick around a la Jack Johnson and even return to headline. But his set on Saturday evening did little to convince anyone but the infatuated that he was worth the attention.
Toro y Moi
Toro y Moi is now a five-piece band, with Chaz Bundick now playing guitar as often as keys, and the overall scope of the project fleshed out and ready for big stages. The stars would seem to be aligned if in weren’t for Bundick’s lack of charisma as a frontman, the songs’ hit-and-miss memorability, and vocals that ranged from flat to simply passable. Still, Toro managed a respectable crowd, and the atmosphere was positive, mostly thanks to the fluidity of the five musicians.
Belle and Sebastian
Belle and Sebastian are Coachella vets and were given the plush sunset slot on Saturday evening in the Outdoor Theatre, but saw a minimal turnout. Still, frontman Stuart Murdoch is an expert entertainer and worked the crowd, dancing, tightrope walking on the railing, and offering classic banter: “I saw you in 2002 on the same stage” someone yelled to him at one point. “You look like you’ve been here since 2002,” Murdoch responded. Still, the band couldn’t overcome technical errors with the sound and video, plus miscues from the musicians themselves, to the point that inviting the audience up to dance on stage for “The Boy with the Arab Strap” and “Legal Man” seemed like a last-ditch effort and not the planned finale it was in reality.
Cloud Nothings are a band with defined strengths and weaknesses in a live capacity. Fans at Coachella got both. There was the awesome in a jammed-out “Pattern Walks” that showcases Dylan Baldi and drummer Jayson Gerycz’s unlikely ramshackle chemistry, while a song like “Stay Useless”, one of Baldi’s best, lives up to its name in concert, with the tunefulness the track demands not being within Baldi’s live range.
Lil B’s set had songs, sure, but none were as memorable as his endless banter about being a legend, his hyper-positive proclamations about “today being the best day ever at the best Coachella ever in the best life ever,” and his urging to not buy Lil B products from anyone but Lil B. And to be honest, this was all fine, as, in the words of Lil B, it’s all about him being Lil B. I guess there are worse things you can do than watch Lil B be Lil B.
It’s hard faulting Cashmere Cat for not getting Ariana Grande to guest in his set, as the rumors were not the DJ’s fault and proved to be merely the speculation of fans. But Cashy’s set proved disappointing for more logistical reasons: it was over-crowded and in the daytime, when his music is moody, nuanced, and fit for something much more atmospheric. Both the over-hyped expectations and the poor placement forced Cashmere Cat into the forgettable column at Coachella, which is in no way a reflection on the music he was playing. The music was quite good.
The conflict of Jack White vs. fka Twigs vs. Tycho vs. Tyler, the Creator had one definitive loser, and it was Twigs, every bit as dramatic and precise as she should be, but simply overwhelmed by the immense sound of everything happening around her. It was a set that could have worked if it didn’t sound like a Tyler/Jack mashup, but on this day, it was a set that failed to deliver on the power of her music.
Lights’ loyal following was in full support of her afternoon Gobi set, shouting happy birthday at the beaming pop singer. And while she is an ace as a performer, the booming pop lacked the dynamics that seem prevalent in the music world at the moment.
Sturgill Simpson may have country songs about drugs, but dude still wore white New Balance tennis shoes, creating no illusion that he is somehow a hipper incarnation of some very traditional sounds. The audience was exactly the size you’d expect of a country singer playing at Coachella, but those looking for variety and some surprisingly solid acoustic guitar chops found refuge with Simpson. A remarkably strong finish with a cover of “Listening to the Rain” gave credence to the questionable booking.
MØ’s set could have been catastrophic when sound cut off from her vocals during opener “Pilgrim”, but despite a five-minute delay, the Danish singer bounced back easily. “Thanks for staying,” she said before completing an energetic set of about as many pony-tail twirls as one ever expects to see.
Reports that Benjamin Booker lost his voice were tough to confirm being that sandpaper and rust are what his voice does. Performing mostly with his eyes squeezed tight, Booker didn’t need to see to have great chemistry with his two band mates, blending a swinging rock sound with punk sensibility.