Kevin Bronson on October 20th, 2016

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Desert Trip, you done good. You assembled a hall-of-fame lineup who delivered I-can’t-believe-what-I-just-saw moments in a state-of-the-art setting. You drew 75,000 people each day and and grossed north of $160 million. And you even signed off, on the Desert Trip app, with a friendly “Thank you! See you next year.” But …

I couldn’t help but notice that the overall complexion of desert trip was creamier than the clam chowder on Sizzler’s salad bar, and almost as wrinkled. Aside from Rihanna’s surprise cameo with Paul McCartney on Weekend 2 (“Hey, look, we found somebody under 50,” he joked) and Rolling Stones’ backup singer Sasha Allen’s star turn on “Gimme Shelter,” Desert Trip was a kingdom ruled by OWDs (old white dudes, of which I am one), full of loyal subjects whose underwear still get in a bunch at the sight of Mick Jagger.

(Confession: Mine almost did, seeing the lithe 73-year-old peacocking all over Riverside County.)

Desert Trip was — precisely and unabashedly — one of these.

And judging from the empty boxes at the merch tents by the end of Weekend 2 — not to mention the number of festival-priced beers consumed by the people around me — the loyal subjects spent and spent. And they couldn’t wait to do it again.

||| See our Weekend 1 reviews and photographs: Friday (Rolling Stones / Bob Dylan); Saturday (Paul McCartney / Neil Young); Sunday (Roger Waters / The Who)

Desert Trip 2017? How about Bruce Springsteen, Elton John, the Beach Boys, Led Zeppelin (reported to have turned down dirigible-sized lucre for this one), the Eagles, Rush, Fleetwood Mac (oops, there’s a female principal in that band, if I remember right), the Police, Eric Clapton, U2, Aerosmith, the Smiths (gotta keep trying), the Kinks, Santana (not an OWD but a legendary dude), Genesis, Rod Stewart, ELO …?

All those names have been bandied around in beer huddles and on message boards. Any combination of them might draw a crowd like the past two weekends — think Bushwood Country Club meets a reunion of the Class of 1968’s high school hooky day.

But I wonder, though, would the same festival model work for something called Desert Soul? Would it command the same kind ticket price and create the same kind of hoopla? Desert Trip certainly felt like the once-in-a-lifetime experience (even though it was two weekends) it was advertised to be. Does that only work for classic rock?

Sadly, the best six-headed Mount Rushmore of soul would have to appear as holograms: James Brown, Michael Jackson, Prince, Marvin Gaye, Sam Cooke and Otis Redding. Hopefully, those guys are in heaven, getting $400 a pop for tickets, with Ray Charles, Etta James, Curtis Mayfield and Nina Simone waiting in the wings.

But the list of active artists with the juice of the Stones or a Beatle is depressingly thin.

Stevie Wonder, come on out. Aretha Franklin and George Clinton, you too. Diana Ross, we want to hear you. Anybody else? Sure, but few with the important quality that many of the Desert Trip performers had: They don’t come ’round too often. Smokey Robinson (pause to genuflect) headlined the Hollywood Bowl last year, but was spotted the weekend of Desert Trip playing the Rose in Pasadena. So many other influential artists from the golden age of soul — Earth Wind & Fire, Gladys Knight, the 5th Dimension and WAR among them — have trended toward the casino-and-oldies-revue circuit. Which does nothing to diminish their estimable catalogs, it just doesn’t make them hot festival property.

Something called Desert Soul could just forgo the whole “once-in-a-lifetime” gambit and book a weekend of legendary artists paired with contemporary ones. Like Clinton’s Parliament and D’Angelo back-to-back. Aretha Franklin or Diana Ross with Adele or Beyoncé or Rihanna or Mary J. Blige. Stevie Wonder with anybody.

Would that sell $399 weekend GA passes? Would Bill Gates buy a suite for that one?

It’d be nice to think so.