Coachella: Touchdown, Tacos, Weird Parties and GPS


For this year's Coachella, we've dispatched our very own indie rock star reporter, Ed Droste of Brooklyn band Grizzly Bear.

April 26th

4:46 p.m.: I'm stuck in the most hellish traffic ever. I've been informed we are passing through San Bernardino (supposedly the "Newark" of Southern California). I'm feeling satiated from our Baja Fresh stop, yet exhausted from the flight and now being stuck in endless, stand-still gridlock. There's a girl with a nose job driving a hummer next to us. Her sun-roof is open but her windows are up. We speculate she's being even more wasteful by blasting the A/C. I remember why I live in New York: No need to drive. I also begin to understand this concept of "road rage."

7:22 p.m.: We arrive at our house! It's amazing! It has a pool and is decked out all mod, Palm Springs, aging gay-man style. Appropriately kitschy, yet comfortable. We are greeted with blended margaritas. *SOOTHING* There are people who rented the house with us trickling in one by one and Gregori, our newest friend, suggests we hit up the Filter party. One catch -- it's in Indio, not Palm Springs, where we are staying. That's easy right? He's got GPS, so we roll.

10:55 p.m.: Whoa this Filter party is random. Firstly we had to go to a parking lot of some casino and board a Filter bus to the "super secret" location of the party. It felt like a bizarre class trip on a shortbus. People are clearly confused. Once arrived we notice the party is at a "Yacht Club" which is basically a little man-made pond with lots of tiki torches, free Red Bull, Dewars and Heineken and Filter magazines. Starving, we see a swarm of about 200 waiting in line for something. Surely this must be food!!!

Nope! It's a line to make T-shirts. I guess everyone really wanted to drink and get their craft on because that was the most hopping spot of the party. The only musicians spotted was Sergio Mendez...on a billboard we saw on the way to the party. He's playing a show soon at a casino. We continue onward to the Nylon fete.

11:30 p.m.: The address says Shadow Mountain Road, but we put in Mountain Shadow Road by mistake and GPS (who apparently is a British woman) takes us 20 miles out of our way back to Palm Springs when really we wanted to be in Palm Desert. Grrrr.

12:02 a.m.: We're here and the party is winding down. I find some cold rice and beans. We meet up with some friends and call it a night.

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