AN ACHING IN MY HEART OF PALMS

somebody get me back to palm springs!

or geez, even los angeles. i cant believe i actually warmed up to the place despite a luggage fiasco that left me in the same clothes for days... but here i am, pounding the new york pavement and wishing it was 75 degrees, sunny and shallow.

my time with the futureheads was delightful as always, with trips to the price is right wheel, the beach, and the end of sunset blvd. i met my favorite danes in the early saturday hours and hitched a ride to the desert on their super tricked out bus. the fucker had a SHOWER. we passed hundreds of windmills, and sune attempted to wax poetic without sounding too much like a wide-eyed foreigner.

the coachella site was unreal. at 11 am on saturday morning, there was nobody around, and the little village that would serve as artist holding area was the picture of pre-ado serenity. rows and rows of trailers and picket fences lined the polo field and we were directed to set up shop beside a cooler of water and brown ale. we took lots of pictures, but lord knows where they went. we took a golf cart to the main stage where the raveonettes played to a cheerful afternoon crowd. sure im biased, but id be hard pressed to find someone whos seen those guys play lately and not been impressed with the turn their material has taken. new songs like "ode to la," "you say, you lie," and "twilight" are layered, melodic and bewitching... a happy extension of their prior bare bones esthetic.

after that we spent most of the day hanging out in the trailer park. the booze and cheese were abundant, despite the bravery having yet arrived. i broke away from the picnic to catch bloc party, but from my spot the sound was awful and spotty, and i left feeling empty.

at that point, elhaams invited guest turned up and turned the quiet night into a shirtless mess. having fumbled around the site and the spin party, our group (the drummer, cleopatra, demi moore, and the quiet one) returned to the condo that peter and nicole had so kindly sorted. the scene ws something out the real world, with a hot tub full of frat boys casting beer-filled evil glances at our bizarre topless guest. we called it a night and snuggled into an unusual slumber party, not even stirring when carlos, jenny, jason et al turned up at some forsaken hour. i didnt even know they were there - playing pool in the living room no less, let alone was i aware of conversing with jenny as she fondled my nose in an attempt to wake me (sorry jen, it just wasnt my night).

on sunday, my luggage arrived, sarah had a bout of taurettes ("youll always be george michael to me!"), and the shirtless wonder continued his pursuit of a funtastic persona. i checked out the f-hedz from the side of the stage, bogged down with their various cameras, trying to capture the excitement for their grandkids. it was so so amazing watching them up there. the crowd seemed a bit sun-stoned, but the futureheads undeniable energy was contagious and i think they won quite a few people over. their crowd wasnt significantly smaller than gang of four's (who followed).

blah blah blah. blur blur blur. atmosphere. transmission. nine. inch. nails. that was pretty much the extent of it for me. dave and pj danced the monkey and chatted with epworth about the production of radio 4s next album.

elhaam, shirtless, and i drove back to LA where i proceeded to pound the exuberance of the tom vek album into our dear hosts consciousness. he loved it and played me the new order dvd in an attempt to recreate the festival experience i had missed.

good fuckin times.

now im back in new york and gearing up to harness the fun of this past weekend. everyone needs to come to ORCHARD BAR on FRIDAY NIGHT! the tarts of pleasure are FINALLY able to return to the decks after a two week hiatus, and i guarantee we will be playing tunes in the spirit of coachella on behalf of youse guys who missed out. come down, come drink, come debate the best nostalgia act of the festival.