Yeah, sure, there are some attempts made at establishing an overarching theme of the festival “bringing people together,” or some other such tripe, but let’s be frank: Nobody’s purchasing this DVD for any sort of fuzzy neo-hippie sentiment. They want to see their favorite musical artists melt eardrums and break hearts with words and guitar.

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California’s is a story of booms and busts, of massive power grabs made by titanic public figures, and all the sorts of juicy corruption that make history textbooks worth the occasional read. So where does the fertile Coachella Valley fit into this rich tapestry of events? Hell, I have no idea. But to begin his documentary on the Coachella Music and Arts Festival, director Drew Thomas at least gives us ignorant viewers a brief snippet of historical background. By way of some grainy archive film, a humble old farmer hazily reminisces about the valley’s olden days, back when “life was pretty quiet.” Of course, the poor old guy probably never lived to see the birth of the rambunctious Coachella Festival. However, if he were brought into the present day, his quaint heart would probably explode upon seeing the kind of debauchery that annually goes down in his beloved valley in the name of rock ’n’ roll.

Thank goodness that you and I are of stauncher, modern sensibilities. We can tolerate the pseudo-erotic pageantry of Fischerspooner, the barbarous savagery of Iggy Pop and his Stooges, and the sunshine horror of the Polyphonic Spree. Not only that, but we can also celebrate these musical freaks and their eccentric brand of ingenuity, which is exactly what Thomas’ film does. Yeah, sure, there are some attempts made at establishing an overarching theme of the festival “bringing people together,” or some other such tripe, but let’s be frank: Nobody’s purchasing this DVD for any sort of fuzzy neo-hippie sentiment. They want to see their favorite musical artists melt eardrums and break hearts with words and guitar.

So how does the impressive musical roster of this film fare? I’d say Black Elvis (aka Kool Keith) is doing just fine. He sanctifies the microphone with an invigorating resurrection of old-school jam “Poppa Large.” Elsewhere, fiery upstarts Arcade Fire’s cathartic performance leaves multi-instrumentalist Richard Parry lying on stage, utterly drained. The real treats, though, come from the veteran performers. Morrissey proves that the world still revolves around him, the Flaming Lips bring playful psychedelica and nun puppets to the main stage, and a reunited Pixies turn in a magical reading of “Where Is My Mind?”

In general, Thomas allows these performances to dominate the film. Still, he makes the most of the interludes between the big-name acts, sketching a composite profile of the Coachella audience. They carpool in from throughout North America, brave the elements, try to stay hydrated, and, in general, celebrate the powers of their youth as they migrate from stage to stage. Naturally, there are also plenty of gorgeous scenery shots, as it’s practically impossible to divorce the Coachella Festival from its picturesque setting.

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