Yahoo! Music Review

Gig played on 25/05/08

Coachella 2008 begins just as the inimitable opening bass line of The Breeders' signature song, "Cannonball", thuds across the field. And while The Breeders' Deal twins, Kim and Kelley, aren't looking quite as svelte as they were in their heyday (the Deals have become a little supersized, so to speak), their main stage set still brings to mind that glorious, pre-Britney '90s era when the righteously rockin' chicks from Hole, Elastica, Veruca Salt, Bikini Kill, and, of course, The Breeders ruled the alt-rock roost.

The weekend continues with Vampire Weekend, making their first-ever festival appearance. The Ivy League indie darlings are dressed more like they're about to spend the day boating in Martha's Vineyard than playing a desert rockfest (singer Ezra Koenig is wearing pink Bermuda shorts, for instance), and while fashion choices like that would get lesser bands run out of Indio on a rail, VW are warmly welcomed by the hipster masses, as the band's afro-tinged pop is the perfect soundtrack for a sunny day.

Over in the Gobi Tent, Dan Le Sac's partner Scroobius Pip goes off on an oddly unprovoked anti-James Blunt rant, declaring: "If you're complaining about (underwhelming Friday headliner) Jack Johnson being at Coachella, just remember you could've had James Blunt!" Scroob does have a point. In the adjacent Mojave Tent, disco goddess Alison Goldfrapp storms the stage, rocking a batwing-sleeved orange caftan while supermodel Agyness Deyn and "American Idol" season 1 runner-up Ryan Starr watch from the wings.

But as compelling as Goldfrapp is, festivalgoers start streaming out of her tent when The Raconteurs take the main stage. It's still disconcerting to see Jack White a) not wearing red, b) playing with a bassist, and c) playing with a good drummer…but it's obvious he enjoys jamming with his Detroit buddies. At times it gets a little too jammy, but Jack's a fascinating enough frontman to hold the audience's attention no matter how w*nky the onstage action gets.

Jack White ain't got nothing on Richard Ashcroft, who's next on the main stage with The Verve, as fabulously Skeletor-skinny, fiery-eyed, hippie-barefooted, black-clad, chain-smoking as ever. His band mates passionately tear into "Space And Time", "Life's An Ocean", "Lucky Man", "The Drugs Don't Work" and "Sonnet" as if they've been chomping at the bit to play these tunes for the last 10 years, and the fanatics in the crowd are practically weeping, as if they too have been dying for this moment again.

"Thanks to all the hardcore fans who came down today", Richard tells the crowd. "And thanks for sticking around for 10 years for us." As "Bittersweet Symphony" majestically sweeps across the field, Jack Johnson must be standing in the wings, quaking in his flip-flops. There's no way he's going to top this.

by Lyndsey Parker