The Coachella Valley Music & Arts Festival isn't heaven and it isn't hell. It's both. You get to see all your favorite bands perform all your favorite songs in front of a gorgeous backdrop of palm trees and mountainsides, but you have to endure 105-degree heat. You get surprise collaborations, celebrity sightings, and bikes that charge cell phones, but an ice cream bar costs $6 and you have to walk two miles to find your car in the parking lot.

Nonetheless, it's the kind of thing everyone should experience once, if only to be able to tell your grandkids that when you were young and free, you fashioned a hat out of the lid to a recycling bin and laid in the grass watching Scarlett Johansson duet with the Jesus and Mary Chain as the sun set.

Coachella 2007, which took place Friday, April 27, Saturday, April 28, and Sunday, April 29 at Empire Polo Field in Indio, Calif., did a lot of things right. There was no overwhelming sponsorship presence, no corporate banners on stage or Army recruitment stations. Rather, there were tables for left-leaning social and political causes, displays devoted to alternative energy, and a free bottle of water for every 10 empty bottles delivered to certain recycling stations. The programming was as diverse musically and culturally as one could possibly desire. And despite the fact that two of the three headliners were the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Rage Against the Machine, the annoying frat presence was pretty easy to avoid.

There's still plenty of room for improvement. Getting to and from the site was a nightmare, as traffic overwhelmed the small town of Indio. For a festival so devoted to environmentalism, the lack of public transportation options was surprising. And parking was poorly organized and chaotic, with little direction to help make sense of the madness. (I'm convinced some people are still out there looking for their cars.) The sound was less than stellar for most sets, as bass crushed melody and the bleed from nearby stages threatened to overpower the quieter acts.

A gazillion bands played Coachella, most of them at least mildly interesting. However, we were just three people-- two writers and a photographer-- so seeing everything, or even a majority of acts, was impossible. Here are our thoughts on just a fraction of what went down in the desert last weekend. --Amy Phillips

Friday, April 27

Of Montreal [Outdoor Theatre; 4:55 p.m.]

One of the highlights of my Coachella, Of Montreal managed to project both stadium grandeur and small stage weirdness at their scorching mid-afternoon set. On the E! reporting tip: Kevin Barnes had three costume changes (Klaus Nomi clown; go-go dancer; silver dress giantess) and Brian Poole wore a pink, dodgily rigged Eno-in-Ostrich-Feathers ensemble. They played the majority of Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?-- alas no epic "The Past Is a Grotesque Animal"-- and Barnes and Poole managed their in-sync melismatic harmonies with ease and modest glam panache. By "Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider" Barnes was go-go dancing in blue shorts and fishnets, grabbing his crotch to illustrate the lyric, "you wouldn't know what to do with me." Off duty A. Phillips reminded me of Barnes' earlier Pitchfork exclusive, and there was a temporary swoon. On a reconfigured Satanic Panic-era "Rapture Rapes the Muses" Barnes climbed into a giant silver clown costume via a ladder just like high art performer Marina Abramovic. They ended with "The Party's Crashing Us" and while crowd dancing I noticed their monitor mix soundman was wearing a Steely Dan tour t-shirt. Winner, best t-shirt of the day. --Daphne Carr

Amy Winehouse [Gobi Tent; 6 p.m.]

Backed by the Dap-Kings and two Motown charm school-style dancing backup singers named Xalog and Ishmael, Amy Winehouse turned the waaay overcrowded Gobi tent into a big-budget T.A.M.I. Show stage with her Brit round-the-way Ronnie Spector vibe. That girl does not smile when she performs, except when she's coyly suggesting she'll "nick your wallet" after the show or when her calls for a drink arouse evil-wishers' cheers. She confessed, "I'm not a confident person at all" before "Wake Up Alone", which for some reason sounded like an interpolation of Journey's "Lights". The song's slow burn exposed Winehouse's lack of torch singing vocal nuance-- she gets swallowed with the big songs. It's reason for her not to be confident. She's better at scorned lover mid-tempo burners like "Back to Black", where she channels the Shangri-La's badass in her Long Island mini-mall digs of an undershirt and daisy dukes, riding the beat with her left hand and turning those panda-eyes to the adorning audience without forgiveness. Only fate will tell if she's the Smash Mouth of Motown girl groups, but today at least folks were content, if not blown away, by her tributes. --Daphne Carr

Arctic Monkeys [Coachella Stage; 6:25 p.m.]

The boys from Sheffield tore through a fast and furious late afternoon set, attacking their instruments with a ferocity most people only bust out when there's a baby trapped under a car. Songs from both of the Arctic Monkeys' albums were sped up to light speed, revealing the giddy teenage pop-punk band lurking underneath the Arctics' fashionable veneer. Later that evening, guitarist Jamie Cook was spotted running around the VIP section with his hands down the front his pants. Arctic Monkeys: the new, more melancholy Blink-182? --Amy Phillips

The Jesus and Mary Chain [Coachella Stage; 7:40 p.m.]

There were all kinds of rock stars at Coachella this year, but none were quite so obviously full of bile as the brothers Reid. Never once looking at one another, standing a maximum stage width apart, they moved through their reunion set as if on separate planets. Those Brits know their lighting, and JAMC's all-white stage floods gave William Reid that bleached out, deep-shadowed look of forlorn aristocracy that so makes Psychocandy a secret goth classic. That's why when Will says, "Are you having fun? Well we'll see what we can do about that" to a crowd of maybe 30,000, no one thinks he's an arrogant tosser: We want him to take us on his melancholy trip. Songs included "April Skies", "Side Walking", "Happy When It Rains", "Some Candy Talking,", "Between Planets", "Blues From a Gun", and "Reverence". The only odd thing was the absolute separation of sounds-- a lot of clean channel guitar melody, big sibilant vocals-- that made the tracks sound less hissy, more present than super fans may have liked. And yes, Scarlett Johansson sang backups on "Just Like Honey", but you don't need me to tell you that, since it was the weekend celebrity blog gossip. --Daphne Carr

Jarvis Cocker [Outdoor Theatre; 8:40 p.m.]

Jarvis Cocker's right hand expressed a wider range of emotions than most Coachella bands' entire sets. His long, bony fingers curled into obscene gestures, caressed the microphone like a phallus or a gun, threw candy into the crowd, slapped his ass, clapped, pumped a fist, played guitar, and even went after a moth circling the stage ("Does this mean I'm like a beacon of light? Or a pile of shit?").

Of course, that hand is connected to an equally expressive body, which wiggled, leapt, posed, and pranced through a set concentrating on tracks from Cocker's stellar solo debut, Jarvis. He didn't play any Pulp songs, alas, but he did tell many witty jokes. --Amy Phillips

Busdriver [Gobi Tent; 8:25 p.m.]

Armed with confetti roman candles, Busdriver, aka Regan Farquhar, put on a spastic, explosive show to a devoted audience full of local fans and international hip-hop heads entranced by hyper-quick, off-the cuff brilliance. He showed off with the fugal "Imaginary Places", where he fit words between a sped-up Baroque flute sample, and he quickened "Unemployed Black Astronaut", punctuating each effective couplet with a rave-era gesture of pulling his left hand forward and around his head in one swift movement-- it was like he was keeping score on himself. On his finale he started toasting in half time, then jumped on the subdivision of a manic drum'n'bass track, slowing only to ask the most lovely request from an artist to its Coachella audience: "I love you, I really do. Give a kiss, blow it back, kiss, blow it back." The audience barely caught it in time, but did what it could. --Daphne Carr

Sonic Youth [Outdoor Theatre; 9:55 p.m.]

"Where's Kim?" Thurston Moore asked as the rest of the band stood in wait for the beginning of its performance. No jokes, no banter, just waiting for Gordon to appear in her odd, misshapen attempt at the weekend's de rigueur female clothing: the ultra-short baby doll dress. "They wouldn't let me on stage cuz I'm a girl," she said when she got on, which on a day including the Noisettes, Tilly and the Wall, Gillian Welch, Amy Winehouse, Julieta Venegas, Peaches, and Björk seemed like a sort of misplaced cynicism. Perhaps anticipating their Daydream Nation tribute, they started with a rockin' version of "Candle" then went straight into anthemic but somehow forgettable Rather Ripped material such as "Incinerate", "Reena", "Do You Believe in Rapture", and "What a Waste", which featured a nice, too-brief Cagian radio interlude. Thurston recalled his boyish snarkiness and shook his mop on "100%". "We just got back from China," he said in a characteristically droll voice, "The Shanghai punks send their love." --Daphne Carr

Björk [Coachella Stage; 10:45 p.m.]

"I DON'T GET IT!!!" screamed the middle-aged man in golf shorts standing next to me, as Björk opened her headlining set with her new single "Earth Intruders". She was wearing a headdress that, from my miles-away vantage point, looked like it was made of giant marshmallows, and was accompanied by a chorus of women in neon dresses surrounded by brightly colored flags.

I wanted to tell the guy that nobody gets it-- that's kind of the point-- but he had already headed to the bar in search of more daiquiris.

Ah, the friction created when the avant garde is absorbed by popular culture. Very few artists can successfully navigate these choppy waters, and yes, Björk is one of them, as she proves over and over again with spectacles like this one. Losing oneself to the shimmer of "All Is Full of Love" or the onslaught of "Army of Me" while being overwhelmed by a carnival of laser lights is an intensely pleasurable experience whether or not you know (or care) that the songs are based on feminist mythology or ancient tribal rites or whatever. And when Björk encored with "Declare Independence"-- the pounding, rapturous highlight of her forthcoming album Volta-- the tens of thousands of people with fists in the air were reacting to the chemistry of a particularly well-fashioned hardcore song. Didn't matter if we were in the basement of a VFW hall or a polo field in the middle of the desert.

However, the fact that the screens above the stage projecting the action focused more on the hands of whoever was manipulating the electronics than on Björk herself was massively frustrating. It was probably some sort of artistic statement, but goddammit, we just stood out in the sun for a billion hours! We don't want to see some dude pushing buttons! We want to see Björk's face! --Amy Phillips

Saturday, April 28

Hot Chip [Mojave Tent; 4:10 p.m.]

Due to battles with traffic, parking, and standing in line, I missed most of Hot Chip's set. But I got there in time to experience "Over and Over", which the band masterfully stretched to its limits for maximum delayed gratification. The irony of getting a tent full of people progressively more and more excited by repeating the phrase "laid back" ad nauseum was surely not lost on the group, but I wouldn't know; I was too far back to see their faces, only strobe lights. --Amy Phillips

Peter Bjorn and John [Mojave Tent; 5:25 p.m.]

Hellishly hot and overcrowded, the tent for Peter Bjorn and John in no way resembled the Swedes' homeland, a fact that they ought to have planned for instead of appearing in long sleeves and suit jackets. Overdressed and overwhelmed, they fumbled through the first half of their set, playing reluctant, melted versions of their more shoegazey material in relative states of in-tuneness. Between songs, people whistled the hit, refusing to budge until it arrived. The mellow haze of drumless "Amsterdam" got lost in the sonic competition and tracks like "Paris 2004" fared better, if only to reveal that PB&J are really more Kinks than electro-pop. When doe-eyed Shout Out Louds keyboardist Bebban Stenborg came out for "Young Folks", the crowd went into expectation overdrive, cheered readily at the intro to each part in the track and didn't mind when John didn't mime a whistle in the outro. After the track, the band looked relieved, relaxed, and played a mindblowingly great final two songs-- "Objects of My Affection" and "Up Against the Wall". Bjorn offered the best Coachella "how much time do we have left" question when he said, "My mom is picking me up soon and I have to start walking to the parking lot, how long have we been playing?" Not clever, but endearing, that PB&J. Hope they survive the crush of novelty to become a nice little guitar-rock band. --Daphne Carr

The Decemberists [Outdoor Theatre; 6:20 p.m.]

To those who insist that the Decemberists are wimps, I ask this: what kind of band would choose to spend half of their 50-minute Coachella set with not one but two ten-minute-plus multi-part seafaring epics? (That would be "The Island" from The Crane Wife and Picaresque's traditional set-closer "The Mariner's Revenge Song".) A band with balls, man.

As Kings of Leon's clatter bled over obnoxiously from the Coachella Stage, seersucker-clad Colin Meloy and co. countered with their trademark goofy charm, barely letting a song pass without some kind of crowd participation. And the thing that garnered the most cheers wasn't current sorta-hit "O Valencia!" or old favorite "July, July!". It was the homemade whale costume that "swallowed" the band during "Mariner's". --Amy Phillips

Ghostface Killah [Outdoor Theatre; 7:30 p.m.]

"Play some hip hop" someone shouted while John Lydon's voice whined, "Anger is an energy" over the PA before the Ghostface set. As the start time grew late people speculated of a Wu-Tang reunion but, alas, not to happen. After a high-energy smattering of verses from "Run", "Be Easy", "The Juks", and "Biscuits", Ghostface hyped the summer reunion and asked for requests, throwing up a quick medley that included "Underwater" before calling for Amy Winehouse, who was not on site, and Tommy Lee who was. "Only In L.A." he said, giving Lee a hug before asking ladies onto the stage for an embarrassing, tired "Cherchez La Ghost" tradition, complete with very cool-looking ladies just psyched to be dancing with each other and one very young girl who wanted to be near Ghostface to give him a hug. One had on a shirt that read, "I Love My Boyfriend." Even more depressing was keeping the ladies on stage for "Back Like That", a tricky slow jam that includes the casually violent opening line "Let me get that rock on your finger/ Oh, it's stuck?/ Then I'll take the whole finger then." Sigh. --Daphne Carr

The Arcade Fire [Coachella Stage; 7:30 p.m.]

The Arcade Fire are the perfect festival band, as they can turn anywhere (even a high school cafeteria) into a good old fashioned tent revival. With so many people going apeshit simultaneously on stage, it's hard for a crowd not to give in, especially when the sing-along hits just keep coming and coming. "Wake Up" into "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)" into "Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)" into "Rebellion (Lies)" into "No Cars Go"-- the awesomeness was just relentless.

Serious props to Regine Chassagne. She is the heart and soul of this band. Not only did she spend a third of the set doing the Arcade Fire's heavy lifting-- literally!-- by hauling around an accordion and hurdy gurdy, but she performed with a constant smile on her face. Because the Arcade Fire aren't just fire and brimstone and apocalypse. They're a celebration of the joy of mass music-making in the face of doom. --Amy Phillips

LCD Soundsystem [Sahara Tent; 9:30 p.m.]

The enormous disco ball hanging from the center of Coachella's Sahara Tent wasn't put there just for LCD Soundsystem, but it might as well have been. As James Murphy took the stage dressed in head-to-toe white, the venue was transformed into a living, breathing mash-up of the artwork from both LCD albums. (All that was missing was a space helmet.)

The added visuals were definitely appreciated, as LCD aren't much to look at. Nobody moves around very much, and Murphy has perfected his snooty frontman stance so that he's literally looking down his nose at the audience whenever he presses the microphone to his face. But none of that really mattered, as the band delivered the finest-sounding set I heard all weekend. The bass was loud but unobtrusive, and the synths and percussion sparkled like, um, disco balls.

LCD know how to sequence a set, and this one rose with "Us V. Them", "Daft Punk Is Playing at My House", "Time to Get Away", and "North American Scum", peaked with "All My Friends" and "Tribulations", plateaued with "Movement" and "Yeah", and fell, steeply and sharply, with "New York I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down".

It would have been really nice to have been able to dance to LCD Soundsystem. Too bad the crowd was so packed that simply waving your hands in the air was dangerous. --Amy Phillips

The Rapture [Sahara Tent; 10:20 p.m.]

Somehow, the Sahara Tent became even more packed in the minutes leading up to the Rapture's headlining performance, stoked by a DJ set from bassist/singer Mattie Safer and saxophonist/percussionist/keyboardist Gabe Andruzzi. The duo spun music with bass so oppressively thunderous, I seriously felt an old metal dental filling rattled loose from one of my teeth.

The Rapture pulled off Coachella's best entrance, casually walking on stage and picking up their instruments as a booming house track played. Before I even realized what was happening, the Rapture were actually playing the booming house track live; the background music had been switched off. As effortlessly as they had started, the band switched gears and launched into "Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks". The dude in the rainbow light-up visor in front of me started recklessly doing the Roger Rabbit, endangering the lives of all of us.

Unfortunately, the bass remained at the same ungodly volume throughout the Rapture's set, nearly swallowing all melody and vocals. Nobody seemed to care, though, as Safer and floppy-haired singer/guitarist Luke Jenner have evolved into pretty great frontmen, bringing just the right amount of nerdiness to their "rock star" stage moves. At the end of the finale "Olio", Jenner dove into the pit and crowd-surfed. Twice. --Amy Phillips

Cornelius [Gobi Tent; 11:05 p.m.]

Now I've heard that it was worse for the Good, the Bad and the Queen, but let's just say this: nothing nothing nothing could be heard over the inane trance of Tiësto at night's end. Who the hell held the dB meter at this festival? Poor quiet Cornelius, recently dropping a lovely if new age-leaning acoustic-electro pop album, was right up against the bombast of Holland's cornball export, and lost badly. His Sensuous Synchronized Show, a fully integrated, mod costumed sound, light, and video spectacular currently touring the U.S., needed dark and silence for its fixed program and could not adapt to the environment. Sadly, the show also lacked invention, recycling old videos from Fantasma and Point-- I've personally seen "Count Five or Six" about that many times in 10 years-- and the precision of the band was somewhat less impressive given that the other guitarist was reading a score off a small music stand. It seemed a little Berkelee and Keigo Oyamada looked tired and annoyed with his working conditions. In spite of it all, the somewhat small crowd was beyond enthusiastic until the very end: "Sensuous", a lazy, acoustic guitar rumination with accompanying video of slowly dripping paint on a stark white background. It was painful to hear the luxurious tones lost in the din of Tiësto's mega-synth pads. --Daphne Carr

Sunday, April 29

Lupe Fiasco [Coachella Stage; 1:45 p.m.]

A rumored guest appearance from Kanye West never materialized, but Lupe Fiasco didn't need him. This guy can more than hold his own. Running back and forth across the massive Coachella Stage with more energy than the entire crowd baking in the unbearable early afternoon heat, the Chicago rapper fused the personal and the political, the angry and the celebratory. He dedicated "He Say, She Say" to "kids who grew up in single-parent homes" and "American Terrorist" to President GWB ("I honestly do not like this guy"), managing the difficult task of making these songs as fun and entertaining as pop singles like "Kick, Push", "Daydreamin'", and "I Gotcha".

Even more impressive? Lupe rocked a wallet chain and made it look cool. --Amy Phillips

The Coup [Outdoor Theatre; 3:25 pm]

With DJ Pam the Funkstress conspicuously absent, Coup MC Boots Riley fronted a raging live band that matched his incendiary lyrics with firebrand funk on songs like "We Are the Ones", "Laugh/Love/Fuck" and classics such as "5 Million Ways to Kill a CEO" and "Me and Jesus the Pimp in a 79 Granada Last Night".

But Riley's booming presence was easily outshined by that of vocalist Silk E, who sings and struts like Tina Turner raised on hip-hop. Her booty dancing is an act of protest, middle fingers extended and pride fully intact-- and in your face. She only sang lead on one song, the excellently titled "BabyLet'sHaveaBabyBeforeBushDoSomethin'Crazy", but she stole the show. --Amy Phillips

Grizzly Bear [Gobi Tent; 3:30 p.m.]

Grizzly Bear played an awesome set in spite of the massive, ugly heat of their 3:30 start time. Their huge close-harmonies pushed high in the mix, and their weird instrumentation and incredible dynamics set them apart from others playing the smaller stages-- they really worked the room and the surrounding area, letting their neo-hippie trappings billow out into the desert that laid just beneath and around the faux civilization of the Coachella polo field. They started with "Little Brother", then "Lullaby", and the hit, "Knife", after which Ed Droste joked that the weekend had caught up with him: He swore his voice cracked somewhere amid the 60s slow dance beat. They ended with "On a Neck on a Spit", which took on a sort of cosmic country feel. The girl next to me, with an Italian accent said to a stranger, "I think I like them very much." Agreed. --Daphne Carr

Junior Boys [Mojave Tent; 4:40 p.m.]

In Spin's 2007 "Festival Dos and Don'ts" there's a "do" called "Bring Someone pale and/or fancy." In the great tradition of mocking yesterday's dominant subcultures, the author suggests that bringing a metrosexual to an outdoor festival would be funny-- you could watch them pass out from heatstroke from their dandy affectations. That danger could be seen at Junior Boys' Coachella appearance, where the mid-tempo blue-eyed soul of Jeremy Greenspan challenged the audience to stay cool while busting out its sexiest mid-day steps. Low-key versions of "Count Souvenirs" and "So This Is Goodbye" got them moving but it wasn't until "In the Morning" that the crowd was really enthusiastic. Since Matt Didemus stood in sleepy keyboard perma-daze with a continual cigarette hanging from his lips, James Dean-style, and their drummer kept coming out of time with the preprogramming, the metrosexuals did not get a fair chance to sweat-- ennui won again. --Daphne Carr

The Roots [Coachella Stage; 5:15 pm]

Am I weird for wanting to hear the Roots play songs by the Roots? Sure, they seemed to be having a lot of fun up there, doing "Just a Friend" and "Jungle Boogie" and "The Star-Spangled Banner" and, um, "This Is Why I'm Hot" and stuff. And the crowd definitely loved it (hey, songs we know!). But the Roots have, what, seven albums? And most of those albums are pretty good, if not great. I would have much preferred to hear full songs from their back catalog or even their excellent latest album, Game Theory, to a snippet of "Act Too (Love of My Life)" followed by a 10-minute-long ?uestlove drum solo in the middle of a cover of "Masters of War". But then again, I didn't bring a hackey sack. --Amy Phillips

CSS [Mojave Tent; 5:55 pm]

Even though frontwoman Lovefoxx was wearing a purple unitard and had drawn glasses on her face in magic marker, this was a pretty subdued set by CSS standards. There was no stage-diving or hair extensions fashioned into merkins or beer poured all over everybody or anything. Just CSS and their adorable outfits and infectious dance-punk and a tent full of hyper kids loving them to pieces.

Yes, Paris Hilton was there. And yes, Lovefoxx dedicated "Meeting Paris Hilton" to her. Hilton stood on a riser next to the stage and danced through most of CSS' set, which included their cover of L7's "Pretend We're Dead".

I repeat: Paris Hilton danced to CSS covering L7. You could not possibly invent a more flabbergasting third-wave feminist mindfuck. Oh wait-- apparently Courtney Love was there, too. --Amy Phillips

Konono No. 1 [Gobi; 6:05 pm]

Congolese group Konono No. 1 played the first of their U.S. dates at Coachella and after a somewhat awkward sound check (EQing the likembé thumb pianos in 15 minutes between sets is probably a rock engineer's nightmare), the seven-piece version of the band began. Mawangu Mingiedi's vocals went through the two huge horn-shaped amplifiers, giving it a trademark distortion. Cowbells, a snare, conga, and three likembés made up the continuous fabric of sound with Mingiedi singing and a single female providing the parts usually filled by a whole group of vocalists. They played three extended jams, including a somewhat shorter version of "Lufuala Ndonga" from Congotronics. Wandering from the front row to outside the tent, I thought the best mix was actually heard outside, from a little afar, and indeed many passersby wandered into the tent, which went from half full to full over the course of the set. --Daphne Carr

Air [Outdoor Theatre; 9:10 pm]

Worst experience at Coachella, hands down. First of all, dudes were 40 minutes late. 40 minutes! At this festival, that's inexcusable, given how tightly programmed every second of every day is. People booed Air when they finally took the stage and then proceeded to play their finely manicured boutique background lounge-pop as if we were all standing around in cocktail dresses an art gallery in Paris or something. No special effects or light show or any shred of personality from the duo and their backing musicians. Too tasteful. Boring.

I left after four songs, lured by the dance party happening just a few feet away... --Amy Phillips

Manu Chao [Coachella Stage; 9:30 pm]

I have no idea what Manu Chao was singing about 70% of the time, but I hope it had something to do with how awesome it is to be the ringmaster of a multicultural, cross-generational, genre-busting circus that can whip tens of thousands of people into a frenzy even if they don't speak the same language. As Chao and his chaotic (but far from sloppy) band played bouncy gypsy-inflected jams at thrash-punk speed, I actually believed all that hippie bullshit about the utopian spirit of festivals like Coachella, uniting humanity with the power of music, blah blah blah. Well, for a few minutes anyway. --Amy Phillips

Happy Mondays [Sahara; 9:40 p.m.]

Ahh, the glorious third-stage U.S. comeback of Happy Mondays. Hyperbolic Factory Records frontman Tony Wilson introduced their poet-leader as the "one man" who blended black and white, Africa and Europe, Chicago/Detroit and the UK in the most revolutionary musical way: Shaun Ryder? The guy standing onstage in a huge white tee and baggy jean shorts with a bald head and a crucifix 'round his neck? Well, okay if he could prove it. After a passable "Kinky Afro" the band experienced what can only be called a cognitive difficulty, blamed like so many things, on machines. Seems Wilson's own WB Yeats, Mr. Ryder, had a fritzing teleprompter and simply couldn't go on without his poetry on demand. Words projected, he then made it through "Hallelujah" only to invite a "real pro" onto the stage to take a crack: L.A.'s own Mickey Avalon.

Together they sang a track from the Mondays' forthcoming album, a rap-rock-dance hybrid so bad even the groupies behind the stage refused to dance. A guy standing next to me shouted to someone who didn't really know the band, "No, don't judge them by this, it's a trainwreck, a TRAINWRECK," and indeed it was. The highlight was when a bloke in athletic wear jumped up on stage during "Step On", doing a spot-on Bez impersonation (poor real Bez was denied U.S. entry due to tightened goofy dance import restrictions). The crowd went crazy when he pumped his arms and everyone went straight to the Hacienda sequence of 24 Hour Party People. As that anthem closed the night, miserable rave kids, dads with pre-teens, and exhausted Sunday night survivors mustered some of the old spirit, none of which was reflected by Ryder, who at least had the presence of mind to apologize for the fuck-off before slinking offstage. I watched them unplug the teleprompters and then left. --Daphne Carr

Rage Against the Machine [Coachella Stage; 10:40 pm]

RAAAAAAAGE!!! THEY'RE BACK! THEY SAVED US ALL! PRESIDENT BUSH STEPPED DOWN! THE IRAQ WAR IS OVER! THE DIVIDE BETWEEN THE RICH AND THE POOR HAS VANISHED! CHRIS CORNELL HAS DISAPPEARED, NEVER TO BE HEARD FROM AGAIN! AAAAAAHHHH!

OK, fine. I'll admit it: Rage were great. Duh. Zack de la Rocha is as fiery as ever, his voice still whiny in the best possible way, and Tom Morello still jerks off his guitar like nobody else out there. When these guys lock and load into the pocket of "Killing in the Name" or "Bulls on Parade", they ignite something that obliterates the questions surrounding millionaires advocating for the oppressed, at least for the duration of the song.

But what the fuck was up with the sound? How the hell were Rage Against the Machine NOT LOUD? I mean, you could stand 100 feet away and have an intelligent conversation about the pros and cons of raising the minimum wage for chrissakes. Where was the thunder, the overwhelming intensity, the, uh, rage? Was this some sort of insidious conspiracy masterminded by The Man? Or did Rage just know that after three days in the desert, we needed a little quiet time? --Amy Phillips