Arguably the best thing about the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival is that you know everyone there with you really likes music. I doní¢â‚¬â„¢t mean that they like having the radio on while theyí¢â‚¬â„¢re cleaning their house, or that they take their MP3 player with them on their weekend run. Maybe they do that too, I doní¢â‚¬â„¢t know, but these people really like music í¢â‚¬“ they have traveled for hours in search of a great show.

Out in the Californian dessert, hours from LA, with an average daily high of 100í‚ °F, and being somewhat amalgamated with Palm Springs, Coachella is not the cheapest place to spend a long weekend. These festival-goers are on a pilgrimage, and the Empire Polo Fields are their mecca.

This is the first year that Coachella has been a three-day event. After catching some of Amy Winehouseí¢â‚¬â„¢s sultry-toned treats, we headed over to squint at Arctic Monkeys as they belted out their always-enjoyable tracks from the huge outdoor Coachella Stage. Not too many people were dancing, but Ií¢â‚¬â„¢d put that down to the heat rather than enthusiasm. Over on the smaller Outdoor Theatre stage, though Peachesí¢â‚¬â„¢ teaches were entertaining, she didní¢â‚¬â„¢t blow me away: I caní¢â‚¬â„¢t decide if she wasní¢â‚¬â„¢t on top form or if I was just distracted by the group of wonderful people more into taking photos of themselves at armí¢â‚¬â„¢s length than any kind of musicí¢â‚¬ ¦ okay so maybe there were seven people there who arení¢â‚¬â„¢t all that into music.

After tunneling into the thick of it all for Interpolí¢â‚¬â„¢s immaculately tight set back on the main stage, we found a sweet spot in one of the beer gardens for Bjorkí¢â‚¬â„¢s headline show. Visually, the big screens gave too much time to the cool-but-ultimately-boring touch-screen light-up mixing boards, and not enough to Bjork í¢â‚¬“ I came here to see her, not some dudeí¢â‚¬â„¢s hand as he manipulates virtual buttons. Her performance, though, was wonderful. Her voice was remarkable and mesmerizing, and her outfit unforgettably Bjork (a tiki grass skirt and shoulder combo, with an almost-skeletal designed corset, in case you were curious).

Perhaps I should blame my expectations, but the Fratellisí¢â‚¬â„¢ early show on Saturday wasní¢â‚¬â„¢t all I expected. They sounded good, but perhaps the mid-afternoon heat had wilted their energy. It was great to hear favourites like Henrietta live though, I have to say. They were followed immediately by Hot Chip, who played to a fully packed Mojave Tent. At very nearly front and centre, the temperature was excessive, but the crowd left those kinds of feelings behind as we jumped and danced and cheered along with the boys. I have yet to see a poor performance from them, or a bad crowd at one of their shows. Peter Bjorn & John were next, as we retired to a nearby beer garden for some well needed Gatorade & shade. And beer.

Arcade Fire put on a fantastic show, but sadly by this point either mild heat stroke or a reaction to the overwhelming amount of dust in the dessert air sent me back to the car for some quiet time, just as they were finishing. Some great artists performed that night and Ií¢â‚¬â„¢ll always be sorry I missed them, but the one thing that the Coachella grounds were missing was somewhere to chill out í¢â‚¬“ to really get away from the hustle of the music lovers and the lights of the shows and the art installations í¢â‚¬“ and my only way to recover was to get the hell out. Bummer.

Sunday was a new day, which kicked off with some sunshine and Explosions in the Sky: their relaxed and anthemic sound turned out to be ideal for laying on the grass and scratching at a frozen lemonade with a plastic spoon. I was keen to see Junior Boys, having heard bits of their album, but their performance just didní¢â‚¬â„¢t grab me. Or too many other people it seemed. Perhaps they are just better suited to home play, or the club scene? Whatever it was, I didní¢â‚¬â„¢t stick around long enough to figure it out properly, and headed over to the massive Sahara dance tent í¢â‚¬“ Soulwax Nite Versions were bashing out some great tracks to a large audience.

Kaiser Chiefs drew a big crowd over at the Outdoor Theatre and couldní¢â‚¬â„¢t have been more excited to be playing í¢â‚¬“ the crowd happily reciprocated their enthusiasm with plenty of dancing and a couple of good olí¢â‚¬â„¢ sing alongs. The gathering over in Gobi, the smallest of the tent trio, was dancing up a storm to some Bazombo-trance-meets-electronic-experimental-rock with Konono No1. Perhaps one of the best things about festivals like this is the opportunity to wander around and try new sounds: listen to bands you havení¢â‚¬â„¢t heard of, sample music you would never normally even pick up, dance with crowds you wouldní¢â‚¬â„¢t normally hang with.

Klaxons kicked up a storm for their early evening set of prog-rock-pop, with every single person in that tent giving it their absolute all; the band, the crowd, everyone. Even for their lower energy, lesser-loved tracks, people were still bouncing around í¢â‚¬“ when they played Ití¢â‚¬â„¢s Not Over Yet the crowd just lost it. Later, in the Sahara tent, Paul van Dyk was on his usual world-touring top form, while Lily Allen was next door dispelling those rumours that sheí¢â‚¬â„¢s given up on breaking the US and gone back to Blighty.

As an endless stream of Ragers moved determinedly towards the Coachella stage, early in Manu Chaoí¢â‚¬â„¢s hour long show í¢â‚¬“ presumably to get their spot in the mob, I called it a day. When I got back to Toronto, people were appalled that I didní¢â‚¬â„¢t stay the extra two hours to see them, but after 3 days of dancing and prancing, drinking and partying, and show after show, song after song, I was ready for a swim in the pool, with just the sound of the stars above.