I’m not one of the five million hippies that claim they went to Woodstock in 1969, nor did I assault anyone in line for the porta-John at Woodstock 1999. These giant music festivals first take shape in the mind of a shaggy idealist who knows we all love good music and that we can’t stop ourselves from a massive group hug if we can just get together and chill. There’s another shaggy pessimist out there too who knows we’re dumber together as a mob. So many “free spirits” out in the open together will probably get messy. Woodstock, Lollapalooza, and now Coachella formed annual Dream Team(tm), Perfect Storm(tm), or Shameless Promotion(c) events with unbelievable line-ups. Since I’m not immune to the schocking and astounding announcements every Spring, I boggle at the surprise appearances and reunions. I keep this deep foundation of impossible fantasy shows like My Bloody valentine, Love and Rockets, Cat Power, and “unicorns parading along Center Street.” Imagine how bonkers I get when I see that My Bloody Valentine will be blowing out amps at Coachella in a few weeks, and Love and Rockets will be reminding kids they used to be Bauhaus to the clueless mall-goth kids at Lollapalooza in Chicago this August. Unicorns close behind? Continue reading →