There's a ton that's different at Indio this year. The wristbands, for one–while members of the press got to check in at Indian Wells, a site about five miles away from the festival, almost everyone else got their wristbands mailed to them. That meant no clusterfuck at the gate, and a wait in traffic that–between 2 and 3 p.m.–was almost benign.
Still, with three different checkpoints (the last of which was a
technological wonder of a wristband scanning system) and masses of
people onsite, it still meant that once you were able to crawl out of
the port-a-potties and grab some water, the first show you're going to see
is at 4:40 p.m. Thank god that's Odd Future. I'm afraid to like Odd
Future because it means I'm going to have to take them and their
misogynistic lyrics about rape and such seriously. So every time I see
them I look for something to criticize–I doubt its the same for the
sweaty masses teeming out of the Sahara tent right now. Everyone wants
to believe the hype.
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