Graffiti the Ghost

I Got Coachella in my Eye

Lie down motionless in a cool, air-conditioned sensory deprivation tank for about 3 days, and you'll get a pretty good feeling of the exact opposite of what last weekend's supersonic orgy of hot hot hotness, the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival, was all about. Sorta like going on a nature hike where all the trees are replaced by bands and DJs.



Most the shows were kickass. Some, not so much. Of Montreal kicked off with some dirty fuzzy distortion rock. We shook our feet really good on LCD Soundsystem's rhythm rug. The Decemberists were reliably pretentious. The Arcade Fire was an epic wall of sound, with Ghostface Killah politely filling in the dead air between songs from his stage next door.



Bjork capped it off with her familiarly unfamiliar blend of rock, electronica and river nymphs, playing a wild sound machine that looked like the kind of baby a poker table and a submarine sonar device would have if they had sex.



Oh, and I'm now convinced that Amy Winehouse is really a 60-year old black woman from a Baptist church in southern Georgia who's soul found a way to possess the bod of a 23-year old white British alcoholic chick with hair like Elvira:



Of course, the concert was only part of the madness. Maxin and Chillaxin by the pool till the breaka breaka marked the first time all 3 Ghosts spilled our Graffitti together outside the blogosphere, successully fighting off a band of roving golf ninjas and penning the raver slasher flick that will sweep the nation, as soon we get around to filming it.



PS I've decided to name my firstborn "!!!" Instead of calling him by name you'll have to wear an expression of surprise/excitement on your face otherwise he won't be sure who you're talking to.

posted by G-Train @ 11:40 AM