It’s Another Year Without Coachella
We’ll have memories instead of music in April
If you know, you know.
First Time: That Festival in the Desert
I don’t know my way the first time. I don’t realize that the wind farm will become my guidepost. The ribbon of highway will lead me past it; I’ll stare at the white metal blades slicing the pale blue sky. So many of them, as far as the eyes can see. Later I’ll look it up and learn; these giant windmills power most of Palm Springs and the Coachella Valley. Hundreds of them are standing guard at the edge of the desert.
I’m a stranger here, one of many thousands at a weekend of revelry — — we’re powered by money, alcohol and drugs, and the love of music.
It’s an entertainment industry crowd; we all have backstage passes, but my name is still “plus one,” no one cares about the wives. My husband is already in action, chatting with music biz types — “how ya’ doing, who you got on stage, let me talk to this guy for a minute, that band is already popping.” I stand at the edges of the crowd, watching and wondering what the babysitter is doing with the kids. The music ripples over me, but I’m not caught in its wave. Someone…
