Staff Editor on October 16th, 2018

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By WILLIAM GOODMAN

First things first: Desert Daze, held for the first time at scenic Lake Perris State Recreation Area, about 75 miles south east of Los Angeles, started off as an unmitigated shit show. It took nearly four hours to drive that distance in bumper-to-bumper Friday rush hour traffic. Upon arrival, you were met with a backup to enter the festival that, for many, approached another four hours. At the check-in, I wasn’t on the list — but after a quick chat, the security guy trusted me, he said, and just gave me a press pass. OK. As for camping, he had no idea what to do. (“If you can’t figure it out, maybe, like, come back and we’ll see,” he said). I was instructed to ask someone else, further down the road. I asked a total of seven people about that camping pass. I was told to go to Lot 7, no, Lot 8, no, Lot 11. I ultimately landed in Lot 12, where I slept in my car.

I heard the last notes from the band I had come to see, Australian psych-rock/Tame Impala-adjacent group Pond, while I was parking. I was stoked for Tame Impala, too — and that’s where things got interesting. After settling in and perusing the grounds (and scarfing some awesome empanadas), I posted up for Tame Impala amid a drizzle. The crowd was jazzed. The band played three songs before the lights turned on and the music abruptly stopped: This wasn’t just a light rain; a major storm was fast approaching. The meteorologists were right. We were told to immediately evacuate the area, disperse, sit in our cars, don’t sleep in a tent with metal rods. Rain had hardly fallen in Southern California in over six months — and here the sky was opening up wide.

Despite everything — the black hole of cellphone service (and no wi-fi in the press tent), sound problems, the disgusting port-a-potties for some reason placed directly on the beach within spitting distance of the water — I had some memorable, interesting and deeply fun moments along the way. Here are 12 of ‘em:

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, Among the Lightning

After evacuating the festival grounds in a torrential downpour Friday, I huddled underneath a picnic area and found myself with the dudes of King Gizzard & The Wizard Lizard, who were parked nearby in ol’ Lot 12. We sat and chatted as a truly dazzling display of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the mountains and the rain falling onto the lake. Each flash was like a firework cracking the sky. Talk about psychedelic. After each flash, someone would count the seconds until the thunder clapped. Soon, there was no time between the two – the storm was directly upon us. It was a moment.

Random Campground Shenanigans

Once it became clear that Tame Impala was, unfortunately, not returning to the stage (and that the remaining Friday sets were all canceled), a motley crew in rain coats descended upon the official campgrounds. We were slippin’ and slidin’ in the mud, and soon met some shirtless hippies dancing in the rain with glowing lights. They served us up hot chocolate, which was quite soul-warming. I had to ask three times to check that, no, it wasn’t spiked with LSD. Drink that image in for a hot second.

Warpaint = Rad

Before the storm shut down the party Friday night, Los Angeles’ Warpaint put in one of the best sets of the weekend on the main stage. “I am feeling your vibezzzzzzzzz,” said frontwoman Emily Kokal. “Let’s dance.” She was. We were. Everyone was. Their songs from 2016’s “Heads Up” sounded great, and the twinkling guitar work matched beautifully with a psychedelic light show. We all need to listen to more Warpaint.

JJUUJJUU

First off, JJUUJJUU’s drummer is a champion. Dude slayed. This is Desert Daze founder Phil Pirrone’s band, and the crowd had fun bouncing around with about seven gigantic, inflated balls. This is where the festival, after a seriously wounded first night, started to turn around on Day 2. The momentum was flowing, and I bet Pirrone was stoked about that (which in turn makes me stoked, ya know?). There were a few cutting-in-and-out sound problems, but they soldiered on and the crowd was thrilled each time their charging sound kicked back in, the band not missing a note.

Empanadas

Seriously, though, the empanadas were really tasty. It was three empanadas for $10. I ate nine over two nights.

17-Year-Old Local Skater Kids Who Just Want to See Slowdive

After my early afternoon nap in my car Saturday, I came upon three high school kids from the nearby Moreno Valley. They had snuck off to see the festival — they love Slowdive, they said. They had to see Slowdive, they said. Knowing the festival was, um, a loose affair, from all perspectives, I just told them to follow me through security and to “look confident.” It worked. I last saw those three kids disappearing into the crowd. “Let’s get closer. Let’s go up front, dude,” said the one kid. I waved them off and watched them go for gold like a proud father or something. Godspeed, kids. Slowdive sounded great, playing their moody brand of shoegaze for a thrilled crowd. I’ll always think of those kids’ elation when I see, think, or hear the word “Slowdive” from now on.

Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats

This is what you come to festivals like this for. This British band was so on-brand for a psychedelic rock festival that it’s mind boggling. They played songs called “Wasteland,” “Shockwave City,” “Dead Eyes of London” and “Crystal Spiders,” the last of which was devil-horns-in-the-air gnarl, a dark and deeply trippy take on 1960s metal groups like Black Sabbath. Crunchy riffs and shrieked vocals — it was definitely a satanic vibe going down. Pentagrams and 666 and whatnot. Long manes headbanged, marijuana smoke filled the air and the crowd was into it. It was all very, very rock ’n’ roll.

Kikagaku Moyo’s Out-There Sound

The name Kikagaku Moyo, a Japanese psychedelic band from Tokyo, translates to “geometric patterns.” And that’s what the band played. Floating and otherworldly, deeply gorgeous and light on the aggression found in other festival acts, Kikagaku Moyo brought the ethereal, feel-good vibes with warm bass tones, twinkling chimes and sitar riffs. It’s formulaic, mathematical at times, but painted on with an impressionistic touch. I’m very excited to have discovered this band.

Acid Casualty Haunting Lot 12

Here’s a weird, but particularly memorable moment nonetheless: One of the things about these festivals is that they just attract an interesting crowd. At 10:30 a.m. on Saturday, a young woman in a fur frock, wearing no shoes, meandered into our area of Lot 12. She stood about 20 feet away and stared for about 10-15 minutes. We invited her in. We offered her water. We asked if she was OK. She finally approached us and asked if we wanted to see her treasure pouch. OK, sure. One brave soul among my group reached in and pulled out two teeth from some dentures and a bottle cap.

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, Again

Real talk: King Gizzard owned Day 2. After the major letdown that was Tame Impala’s canceled set, there was a gap waiting to be filled when it came to ecstasy-inducing psych-rock spectacle. OMFG, King Gizzard. These dudes charge, hard, and went on a 20-minute long jam session that wasn’t long enough, and that’s coming from a guy who doesn’t exactly exalt lengthy jam sessions. During the propulsive “Robot Stop,” a tangle of krautrock-esque bass and drums and wiry guitar lines, it was as if the collective crowd was all peaking from their drug of choice. When they abruptly finished the song, the energy from the crowd was nearing a froth. This was hands down the highlight of the weekend. Hot damn.

Shannon and the Clams

Waltzing in the moonlight was the M.O. at this 1 a.m. set. Her growl and twangy guitar playing will steal your heart, combining doo-wop, R&B and 1950s surf-pop and girl group sounds. It’s definitely the soundtrack for a modern day “Enchantment Under the Sea” dance, and on “Ozma,” from 2013’s “Dreams in the Rat House,” the young lovers swooned beneath a sliver moon. “Ohhhh, I’ll always love you,” she crooned to a backing ohhh wahhhh ohhhhhhhhs. “I’ll see you in my dreams …”

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

Waking up in a car sucks. Especially the second morning (I never slept in my tent — the area was still flooded). After opening the car door, mangy and missing a sock at 8:30 a.m. Sunday, I saw a neighbor, whose first words were: “We’re out of here, headed back to L.A. If we stay for My Bloody Valentine and have to wait in line for three hours just to fucking leave, my life will implode.” I took that as advice. (Editor’s note: It turned out there was nary a problem.) Peace to the neighbors who weren’t up yet for a proper goodbye. Your saucer-sized eyes will go down in history. I heard secondhand that My Bloody Valentine was awesome and that the festival was fairly sparse, attendance-wise, on Sunday. File under: lessons learned.

Also see:
||| Day 1: The traffic jam and the storm; highlights with Pond, Warpaint and more
||| Day 2: Rekindling the flame with King Gizzard, Mercury Rev, Slowdive and more
||| Day 3: My Bloody Valentine and other beautiful noise

William Goodman is a Los Angeles-based writer.

Photos by Samuel C. Ware