redfishingboat

Lykke Li Heats Up the Desert

Sitting there on the cool grass of a polo field, my ears ringing and my feet throbbing, I was waiting for The Cure to wrap up the third and final day of the Coachella music festival. My exhaustion spoke eloquently to me about a job well done, about having photographed thirty-three bands in three days, and how that was quite enough for anyone. Just sit, my fatigue said. Rest up, shoot The Cure and go back to the house and swim. And, I was fine with that.

Except, I didn’t want it to end. As grumpy as I’d been at times, and as much as I struggled in spots over the weekend, I had a moment of purity. I let in the good vibes of fifty thousand music fans flowing through the air over my head, got up off the ground with a gleam in my eye, and I strode through the night towards the distant Mojave tent to take pictures of those sexy kids in The Kills.

M.I.A.’s Neon Swagger

Another strange year at Coachella. I photographed it for Yahoo! Music and the lovely and talented Lyndsey Parker - rock writer par excellence. I spent quality time chatting up strangers this time: Fernando traveled from Mexico City to cover the event, only his publication got him a photo wristband, but failed to request an actual ticket, which he had to buy. The security contingent came from a nearby military base. One staffer confided to me that they were “voluntold” to be there until two A.M. and had PT at five the next day. I met fans in the front for Paul McCartney who inexplicably got there at eight-thirty in the morning. I met a girl whose most amazing festival highlight was Peter Bjorn and John, a band with only memorable song in their repertoire. She wanted to know how “deep” she could get in our musical conversation. Clearly she was on a higher plane.

As much as I saw and heard this weekend — Karen Oh as Christmas decoration, My Bloody Valentine’s tsunami of distortion, crazy denizens from all species — I know I missed so much more. Coachella adds more visual stimulation every year. Even on my way out for the final time, I was seeing all sorts of artsy things I didn’t even know was there. The spectacle can be oppressive in its immensity. You capture what you can, and remember a fraction of the rest. I could go and not shoot a single band and still get lost in the photographic opportunities in that magical place. (article continues beneath photo)

But, musical artists were there and it was my job to get them with their eyes open, without microphones obscuring their face, and standing in or near dramatic lighting. I did that to varying degrees of success. Of the thirty-three hundred images I captured over three days, these here are my favorite photos.

Fun With Felix Da Housecat

This was also a year of operational SNAFU and hindrances. Certain performers restricted photographers from their sets, an annoying practice getting more common over the years, though I was surprised it had spread to include random nobodies at three in the afternoon in side tents. Before the festival I got notes from talented photographers telling me how difficult it was to get credentials this year. Apparently the publicity agency MSO held back most of their photographer and press wristbands to hand them out to the army of seventeen-year-old girls in minidresses, oversized sunglasses, and flipflops that were wearing the credentials and clogging the photo pit. Wielding Nikon Coolpix point-and-shoots or Blackberries, these pros spent half the time calling their friends to give them tips on how to sneak in as well. In previous years on the first day of the festival, the photo pit would be clogged with VIP and backstage wristbands as well as credentialed photographers and press. This would inevitably lead to complaints, and the next day security would start checking for photo wristbands specifically and keeping the VIPs backstage where they belong. This year, the rich and wish-they-were-famous were onto the game because they all had press and photo bands. Maybe it was intentional on the part of MSO to ensure a lot of coverage on teen girls Myspace pages.

Leonard Cohen Is All Class

Even getting in was an adventure. On the first day, I was personally escorted past the throngs to the front gates no less than three times only to be told that press actually couldn’t enter at that particular point, but not to worry, they would personally escort me to another entry to repeat the scenario. I should have been wearing my minidress and big sunglasses.

Still, it’s all in good fun. You can’t have an event like this without long lists of WTF moments. I never saw anything too terrible. The biggest problem is that after coming to this festival for so many years, I finally faced a real hardship. I lost a lens cap here for the first time ever. I’ll be checking the lost & found photos that Coachella will put up in the next few days. Maybe I’ll get lucky, yet again.