Experiences, observations of a Cajun living in NYC
Kerry and I did not get close to the stage for many shows on Saturday at Coachella. I blame the flank steak.
Hence, I did not take many good photos. It did not help either that I did not charge my camera beyond 50 percent of its battery.
Maybe this is a good thing because after I posted My Coachella Friday photo recap I accidentally shut down my site by exceeding bandwidth. Womp womp womp!
Click below for my Saturday Coachella pics (i.e., far away pics of Thom Yorke)
So good, so dangerous
The temptation of eating anything with even the slightest ties to Louisiana suckered me again and again during the Coachella festival. This sort of explains why I ate a flank steak with “Louisiana barbecue sauce” Saturday afternoon before encountering the festival’s 105-degree heat.
Word to the wise: Don’t eat flank steak before attending Coachella. It is akin to playing Russian Roulette.
Fortunately, my heavy meal, which also included mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables, did not lead to repeat porta-potty visits. It did weigh me down for the day’s first few sets. As I reflect on it, Saturday’s lineup did not offer many opportunities for dancing. So maybe the day’s lesson is eat flank steak prior to attending Coachella ONLY if the day promises little dancing.
NOTE: You can read my Friday recap here.
One of my favorite things about attending festivals is taking pictures. I do not subscribe to the philosophy that you must lose yourself in the music at all times. No, I want to lose myself in the music and take pictures so that I can remember the event long after the music has faded.
The first day of Coachella provided some sweet picture-taking opportunities. I was close to the stage for shows by GIVERS, GIRLS, and WU LYF. For later shows like Frank Ocean and M83, I was probably a good 200 feet from the stage, not to mention darkness had descended on the polo grounds.
Below are my favorite pictures from Friday of Weekend 2. Also, you can read my Friday recap here.
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Ellery Roberts of WU LYF
The smell of horse shit hung in the air like a nauseating fog as my festival date Kerry and I walked toward the main entrance of the Empire Polo Club grounds for the first day of Coachella’s second weekend. There were only a half-dozen horses in sight, but their collective output plus the day’s triple-digit heat choked the air.
The temperature gauge inside the rental car I drove to Indio read 106. I felt every last degree as I walked to the first porta-potty in sight. I might as well have taken a piss on the sun’s surface.
The week prior to Coachella I vowed to dance my ginger ass off, in spite of the heat. I underestimated its oppressiveness. Fortunately, rivers of bottled water, globs of sunscreen, and an overpriced straw hat saved me from the worst the sun had to offer. And, in no time, I was dancing my ginger ass off, albeit under the festival’s three tents.
NOTE: Click here for photos of Friday’s festivities. Also, check out my Friday playlist by clicking here.
Ryan Gosling ... still not at Coachella
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Alabama Shakes
Rare is the song that gives me goosebumps twice. “You Ain’t Alone” off Alabama Shakes’ debut album, Boys and Girls, does this in the space of a few seconds. And for this reason, it is hard to imagine this showcase for Brittany Howard’s naked, soulful vocals not appearing near the top of my favorite songs list at year’s end.
As I type this, Alabama Shakes’ single “Hold On” is playing at the Starbucks where I sit. The hype machine is in full effect. And yet I am OK with this. Alabama Shakes’ brand of southern rock circa 2012 feels deserving of acclaim, especially when compared with someone like Lana Del Rey.
Authenticity is key, yes. So is the power of Howard’s voice and the clarity of her message. I read an Atlantic article earlier this week about our society’s prevailing loneliness. To hear her sing is to be invited, to be reassured in the face of uncertain times.
I play a State Trooper on TV
NOTE: A short ditty on holograms, gingers, and dancing like a tornado.
In The Gravels, bruh!!!
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Dancin' my ginger ass off!
I spoiled my dinner Friday night, according to friends. For the record, I drank a yellow 32-oz Gatorade, a monster bag of pepperoni-flavored Combos, and a slightly more petite bag of Welch’s grape snacks.
How did I spoil this, um, dinner, you ask.
I watched the first night of Coachella 2012 on YouTube via webcast. I am attending the mega festival’s second weekend with my boo, Kerry. That did not stop me from vegging out on the webcast. It was both enjoyable and a learning exercise to better decide who to see on the festival’s first day.
Here’s what I learned from watching Coachella’s Friday webcast. I did not watch either Saturday or Sunday. Kerry convinced me to not spoil my dinner any further.
George Dohrmann glued his “grassroots” basketball tour de force, Play Their Hearts Out, to my fingertips and even flipped the pages for me this weekend. Hell, he cooked the beef-flavored ramen I ate while reading too. I’m not sure how he did it, but he did.
Play Their Hearts Out proved impossible to put down. I am a fan of sports non-fiction, in general. Dohrmann’s chronicle of AAU coach/glorified pimp Joe Keller, his star player Demetrius Walker, and their ups and downs over an eight-year period held my interest like few other books I have read in recent memory.
Reading Play Their Hearts Out provided me the same feelings of joy, heartache, and anger I felt the first time I watched Hoop Dreams or read Friday Night Lights. To label Dohrmann’s work a basketball book would be like labeling David Simon’s classic HBO drama The Wire a cop show.
I am a 27-year-old journalist living in NYC. Prior to that I lived in south Louisiana and Portland. I blog about music, New Orleans Saints and LSU football, and what it's like to be a Cajun living in the fast-paced world of NYC.
Feel free to send any questions, comments, music submissions, etc. to my email below. Also, check me out on social media!
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Email: raybaybay3@gmail.com