By Lisa Morgan
Day 1:
The sound was pristine no matter where you wandered at this historic event. Each vocal and each instrument had its special place on its path through your ears and into your chest. The visuals behind the state of the art screen were breathtaking. The crowd was classy (for the most part), the weather typical (if you live in PARADISE!) and the depth of the music un-fathomable. Yes traffic getting to and out, both walking and driving, were a bit like the 405 with one lane shut down on a holiday Friday night, but come on man – 70k people and we all got out of there before Neil’s closed down???!!! What happened last night was miraculous and blessed. There were special spiritual forces at work along with the thousands who labored to erect the impossible. From those behind the technology, those managing the sound, the screen, the lights and the affects, to those who put up the signs, grandstands and buildings and the cable that was run underneath it all – so many worked beyond the average human capacity to make something stellar happen that made this night otherworldly. Thank you Goldenvoice for this indelible mark on our lives!
I finally got to see Dylan. He sounded better than ever, with that signature voice, marked by age and a full life, spinning tales and poems like only he can. You could hear every nugget of gravel in his voice and the instruments (including the soul melting pedal steel) rang out as if you were sitting in a concert hall. Disappointing was Dylan’s choice (one can only assume it was his call) to show vintage black and white footage (not even of himself) for most of the concert. Even when the camera was on him, it was filmed from behind or in multiple images fading in and out of each other. There were a few camera shots from the front, standing there at the mic when he’d come out from behind the piano. It all just made the distance feel more… Distant…He seemed detached… Not something we concert goers hope to feel when we come to hear an artist live. He never said a word. Not Hi, thanks, here’s my band … He never once engaged. I found that unfortunate and frustrating, but mostly disappointing. He played soulful harmonica, his musical poetry was highlighted by the state of the art technology, and it was absolutely buttery, better than I’ve ever heard… The sound, the music was the moon and stars, but his heart was missing. I also never saw him pick up a guitar.
Dylan lost much of the audience to their phones, the bathrooms, the bar, the shops, food vendors and loud conversation by the 5th song. That also made me sad. I was one of them. Thank you for all that you’ve contributed dear sir. I am grateful to have been in your presence from a very cold distance that left me feeling devalued somewhat as a fan. There could be a million reasons why you chose to not engage. Maybe you are struggling with something. I don’t know. But no musician gets where you are without the fans, and you had such a beautiful band – I would have loved to at least see more of them and hear their names once. But it’s ok. Mick made up for it.
We ALL knew Mick would make it better, and he did, along with everyone else on that stage. Remember how in “The Wizard of Oz,” when Dorothy was in Kansas, and everything was in black in white? Well, that was Dylan. Then when she crossed over into OZ, remember how everything was in “Technicolor?” That was the Rolling Stones, literally. The graphics on the huge screen behind them were stunning and majestically woven into beautiful camera work from the stage. I had wondered if there’d be some celebrity guest appearances on stage. There were, but not like I expected. It was better. The USC Thornton Chamber Singers with their angelic voices singing the intro to “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” nearly made me weep. And the new backing vocalist, Sasha Allen… OH. MY. LORD!!! Girl, if you ever get ahold of these words…you embody EVERYTHING times 3 of what is amazing about a woman who can SANG! You won my heart not just with your powerful vocals, but with your fierce presence and command of the stage – I am inspired to a new level of fearlessness and work ethic because of you. From the bass player featured in a funkified soulfully finessed thumping thunder solo, to the keyboard player exhibiting the proper use of the cowbell in “Honkytonk Woman” (more personal notes taken to the relief of my own band members), the entire band behind Mick, Ronnie, Keith and Charlie, were each phenoms in their own right with the depth of character to enhance each other to nose bleed levels of greatness.
The sweetest part of the whole deal though was seeing the genuine smiles on the faces of these musicians who have been doing these songs for decades. Keith fought his way through “Slipping Away,” and his smile showed a hint of apology and the ability to not take himself too seriously, but let me tell you… The dust and dry air are havoc on any voice but especially one not used to how easily the vocal chords can be affected by dehydration or by one singing in the range and movement of that song. Hell, this morning, thousands of us ladies woke up with a voice like Barry White’s from the dust alone. And there were fireworks!!! Shooting from the very top of the giant screen… Since fairy dust or bacon falling from the sky might have been impractical, it was a fitting enhancement to a performance and encore that needed nothing else to make a lifelong impact.
“Every band that is playing here this weekend has been making music for over 50 years,” Jagger said from the stage. “Thank you for still wanting to come out and see us.” I say, “Thank you, for kicking so much ass that none of us have any excuse to not go out there and do the same with whatever gifts God has given us for however long there is breath in our lungs! Thank you for surviving, for living and thriving, and for giving us music for our own personal soundtracks and a night we will never forget… Never stop!”
Knowing I’d have to write about day two and three was debilitating. How could it hold up to this?
Day 2:
It was obvious who was playing next by the look of the stage. It made my heart leap. There were Indigenous American Tepees aligning the stage (in apparent support of the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Tribe fighting the pipeline in North Dakota). The majority of the huge digital screen was covered in brown tarp to look like a huge burlap sack, with the words “Seeds of Life, est 1966, Indio CA, Quality 100% guaranteed,” taking center stage. It was an obvious anthem to Young’s support of Farm Aid throughout the years and his album that takes Monsanto Corporation to task, the company providing genetically engineered seeds to the world. As women in Native American attire spread what appeared to be seeds around the stage, Young stepped out alone and sat down at an antique upright piano making it ring to the 1970’s song, “After The Gold Rush.” His iconic voice rang out like it did 40 years ago. He updated the tune’s warning by singing, “Look at Mother Nature on the run in the 21st Century.” Alternating between the piano, a gorgeous pipe organ, his acoustic guitar and of course, his harmonica (fitted with wireless mics so that he could sing and play it at will as he moved about the stage), he delivered spellbinding renditions of “Heart of Gold,” and “Comes a Time.” As the song “Mother Earth” ended, his lyrics “Respect Mother Earth and her healing ways, or trade away our children’s days,” still ringing in our ears, three people in hazmat suits came out symbolically spraying the stage with the chemicals. While it was clear Young could have held us captive on his own, the entrance of his band of choice, Promise of the Real (a band led by Willie Nelson’s son Lukas, featuring little brother, Micah Nelson) took things to a whole other level of sound and exhilaration.
The harmonies and face melting guitar jams that followed were jaw dropping. The energy on the stage between these troubadours was like no other. There was no anger in his obvious political and world stance, only a beautiful rock and roll plea, lyrical sarcasm and a verbal quip or two – “You all make sure you come tomorrow night. Roger is building a wall that’s gonna make Mexico Great again.” Otherwise, his politics stayed within the lines of his songs, some of which he updated to address current issues. Songs were delivered to my soul from the stage like a healing balm, “It all gets strange; ‘Walk on.'” As the harmonies rang out on “Down from the misty mountain,” tears jumped out of my eyes with a will of their own. Only Neil Young can pen a tune so quirky and graphic that the lines burn themselves into your brain at first listen. They are ringing still: “Terrorists, suicide and hang gliders in the sky you can’t see; hidden there in the darkness behind the reasons you are free; Have to show the children that we just don’t care, keep on burnin’ it and put it in the air.” The energy on the stage between Young and Promise of the Real was thick, tangible and contagious. Amazing artists as individual entities, together, they created a raw powerful magic. It was as if they didn’t want to stop. “Down by the River” turned into a 20-25 minute concert in itself, that ebbed and flowed with the dynamics of the ocean itself, with Lukas Nelson and “Uncle Neil” trading licks that Jimi Hendrix would have wanted to jump in on. We were all convinced to “Be on my (Neil’s) side” by the end of it all. As the set came to a close, Young said, “Well, we have 40 seconds left to do ‘Rocking in the Free World.'” They ripped into it with the help of 70,000 delighted fans and played way past their deadline, but no one complained. When they were done, the crowd begged for more, but far be it from Young to take any more time away from his friend, Paul McCartney, with whom he would join on stage later for another beautiful lifetime memory maker.
Paul McCartney… what can I say that hasn’t been said? As a first time McCartney concert attendee, I was already wowed at being in the presence of music royalty. Witnessing the spry, weirdly youthful man, perform with the joy of a teenager, left a permanent imprint in my heart and mind. When Neil Young joined him, adding some of his rock and roll hot sauce to the recipe, all words left me. I could only marinate in the blessing. Hearing 70,000 people sing “Give peace a chance,” along with them, all but broke me. I saw what love looks like, and how the doing what you love can keep you whole and alive and ridiculously young and good looking. And here I thought that it couldn’t get better than Day One.
Day 3:
I am exhausted. My feet, I fear, are permanently crippled. All I want is a shrimp po’ boy from the Cajun food counter, an ice cold coke and my remarkably comfortable reserved seat on the floor. I had nothing left, so… sorry Pete Townsend and Roger Daltrey, but I’m all out of “Woohoos”. For the first time, there was no front of stage facade. Just the monster screen and standard set up. As I read through some fantastic information being shown on all the screens about The Who and their team, a booming voice almost made me drop my Monster Fries: “Stay Calm and get ready for THE WHOOOOOOOOOoooooo!” Everyone cheered, and then, nothing…at least for a few minutes. Then, without fanfare, over half of a century of full time dedication to authentic rock and roll walked onto the stage. Townsend steps up to the microphone and says, “Well, here the fuck we are. Y’all come to watch old people dance.” And then they proceeded to tear the sky open.
For the first time, I felt the need to put my earplugs in (only because I need my ears if I want to keep singing with the same integrity of Townsend and Daltrey when I’m their age). It was loud and full and everything rock and roll should be, played by the men who bled the ink used to define it. Song after song after song reminded us just how much music they had fed us over the years, timeless music that never wandered from true rock and roll integrity – music that is still relevant today. After the first few songs, I decided to walk around, especially since no matter where you wandered, the state-of-the-art sound was absolutely incredible. I browsed through the crowds to soak in the energy and joy of all ages, all styles, all face first in the music flooding from the stage.
As The Who finished their set, I was walking back into the reserved seating I had been gifted with, and could hardly make it through the crowd pouring out of the venue. I was a little perplexed. Then I realized it was Sunday, Monday was a work day for many and many people had to travel. I shrugged it off and hunted down my shrimp po’ boy. I worked my way back to my seat to enjoy the music that had captivated me in my 9th grade year, anxiously hoping to hear the music of Pink Floyd’s The Wall played by Roger Waters. I knew little of Roger Waters himself other than his affiliation with Pink Floyd, so I had few expectations, only hopes. I was immediately melted into awe. Waters was the only artist to push the capacity of the cutting edge sound technology we had been enjoying. Sonic entities bounced around us from every angle. The sound of a helicopter made us all look up in the sky for the real deal before realizing it was simply sonic imagery. My heart warmed toward Waters as he spoke of unity and brotherhood. He featured an incredibly talented wounded veteran who played soul melting guitar from his wheelchair to “Shine You Crazy Diamond” in honor of all of those affected by “war, violence and discord.”
But it was female backing vocalists Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig who made me feel as though I was having an out of body experience. Normally with their own critically acclaimed five-piece Lucius, and referred to as “The Twins” by many, the two female vocalists beautifully decimated the audience with their soaring vocals in true Pink Floyd style. They seriously made me believe that aliens are living among us, and they are awesome! This was a guest performance for the girls who met at Berklee School of Music in 2005 and “just clicked” (that’s their cover story anyway).
Unfortunately, my stone cold sober euphoria took a painful, sharp turn and spiraled downward. The show suddenly became political in the darkest sense of the word. Maybe I should have seen it coming and been more familiar with this artist and the two Mexico City shows he did, but I didn’t. I hadn’t planned on writing about Desert Trip. I had come to just enjoy the music of a lifetime. Please let me preface what I am about to say: I am as neutral as anyone else I know. I have no side to which to cling in this upcoming presidential election. I am perplexed and anxious in regard to our choices and feel very much let down by the part of our society and our system that has left us in this position. I found no offense in Canadian, Neil Young introducing “Welfare Mothers” as another song for Trump to steal, referring to Trump using “Rocking in a Free World,” in his campaign a while back. I didn’t take offense to Pete Townsend saying, “Good luck with the election;” I took it as a compassionate statement. That being said, watching ugly bully tactics even when used against an ugly bully, is hideous to me. Thanks to Roger Waters, I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. I don’t want to see anyone become the thing they hate. The animated images of an overweight, naked Donald Trump, zooming in on an anatomically small penis are scored into my retinas and it is very unpleasant. As the giant floating pig was marched around with the words “Trump is a pig,” I wondered, “Is it really ok to become inhumane and indecent as we preach against the indecent and inhumane, even if that is what we believe to be true… even in the spirit of Rock and Roll? In some ways, it felt as though the British citizen was mocking us – sticking a salty finger in an open wound while laughing and then running home to leave us with the damage. It was, simply put, a bummer. It stole back the gift of good feels from the earlier part of the show. I limped away before the end of his 28 song set as the first song from The Wall played in the background. For what it’s worth, I will never forget it. And it is an eye opening reminder that the whole world is watching, and they definitely have an opinion.
Desert Trip was an amazing audio and visual roller coaster ride, an experience I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. I am better for it somehow, it seems. I hope everyone can experience this in their lifetime at least once. Desert Trip is the platform for which we all bore witness to what 50 years of living and dying and being reborn in an industry that has eaten many alive, can create. These are the great ones. Their instruments have become appendages. They didn’t get here by sheer luck, although they would tell you there may have been some involved. But what we saw is luck and what you make of it once it comes. The work ethic, sacrifices, losses and kicks in the teeth these artists have survived to give us something indelible and timeless is absolutely priceless. I am so grateful to them and to the powers that brought them here while they are still around to make some noise…and in our very own back yard! I am inspired, my spirit lifted and the fire in my belly fueled. Music is powerful. May the music of our future, during our good times and our troubled times, ring as loud and true.
