Damon Winter/The New York TimesA member of Pulp performing on Friday at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival in Indio, Calif. More Photos »
INDIO, Calif. — Well, in the end it’s a business. But so it is at the beginning, and in the middle.
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A sortable calendar of noteworthy cultural events in the New York region, selected by Times critics. An ambient question about the three-day Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival, which ended on Sunday — or did it? — was whether the knowledge that it would be repeated exactly one week later in the same place and in the same order might alter the minute-by-minute feeling of it. You know, make it less special. Take away its aura. Does Coachella have an aura? It did once. At large destination pop festivals, impressive surprises are experienced as acts of generosity: a balloon rising into the vast desert sky, a three-hour set. This is what unites large numbers of people and makes them feel innocent. Not the weekend’s quick-stop onstage guest appearances, from macro (Rihanna with Calvin Harris, Usher with David Guetta) to micro (the weirdo rapper Gonjasufi with the Los Angeles D.J. Gaslamp Killer). Moments like those are as much for celebrity blogs and YouTube clips as they are for music fans. They don’t make you, standing in the crowd, feel particularly innocent. This year more than ever, the sets felt like jobs with a bit more self-promotional energy. I don’t remember a lot of shared awe. Will the surprises be better next weekend? Who knows, but it’s unlikely, with much less news media present. This festival was founded 12 years ago on the premise of indie rock, which is, or has at times been, an art of innocence and skepticism — in other words, ideals. It’s grown out of that to become a festival of popular and semi-popular North American, English-language noncountry music, a megamart of sound for college kids. It’s strong on Grammy winners, breakout acts from South by Southwest and the CMJ festival from a year or two ago, and, at this point, second-tier reunions. And dance music, which is likely to alter Coachella’s future more than any of the genres it has flirted with over the years. Aesthetically, it’s almost uncontainable, which is neither good nor bad; it’s just breadth, Spotify made real. The oxymoron of a unique cultural event set to rerun was, obviously, a way to sell more tickets — 75,000 more — without making the festival too crowded. And that plan worked: both weekends sold out, and the crowd felt at capacity but no more. (Except in the dance tent, where many came to stay, and late arrivals squinted to watch house D.J.’s like Sebastian Ingrosso, Avicii and Kaskade.) The security felt nonintrusive and often invisible, as it should; this is a calm audience. I saw violence only once, during the Death Grips’ set on Friday. That band, from Sacramento, has a great idea: nonidiomatic digital dance beats (sort of Southern hip-hop, sort of reggae, sort of hard-rock) with Zach Hill’s hypercreative, improvised live drumming on top, and Stefan Burnett’s mostly unintelligible yammering raps and chants. It’s bad-dream music, strong and strange, with dirty rock riffs occasionally drifting in: Pink Floyd’s “Astronomy Domine,” Link Wray’s “Rumble.” It’s music that can start fights, and it did. The two-part festival is a big deal for music on the West Coast, and not just at the festival site, the Empire Polo Club. It means that a lot of these bands play other club and theater shows in Los Angeles before or after the festival weekends — many of them also booked by Goldenvoice, the festival’s promoter — and some of them run up to San Francisco in between the shows. In 2012 the headliners didn’t define the festival or, on the face of it, lure concertgoers to spend money specifically here — as opposed to, say, Sasquatch or Lollapalooza, in May and August, each of which has about two dozen of the same acts as Coachella in its lineup. Most of the names in the biggest type were acts that have been seen a lot in recent years, in touring circuits and wherever else: the Black Keys, Swedish House Mafia, Bon Iver, Radiohead. Anyway, innocence. You saw it projected onstage rather than felt by the audience, as part of the music’s artifice, in band after band with cool eyewear, retrospective yearnings and the trebly sound of Fender Jaguars and Jazzmasters: Girls, Yuck, EMA, Ximena Sariñana, M83, the Shins, Real Estate and even the R&B singer Frank Ocean, beset with sound problems, singing beautifully and moving diffidently. It was left to Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg, on Sunday night, to work the surprises. They performed wall-to-wall hits from 10 to 20 years ago with a pile of guests: Eminem and 50 Cent; Wiz Khalifa as rap’s present; the Los Angeles rapper Kendrick Lamar (who performed “The Recipe,” a new Dr. Dre production) as its future; and, as its past, a full-body holograph of Tupac Shakur, digitally pacing the stage and appearing to ask Coachella what was up.
The singer, songwriter and guitarist Annie Clark, known as St. Vincent, at Bonnaroo. More Photos » 
A festival fan in the wee hours of Sunday morning after the D.J. set by Skrillex. More Photos » The festival’s most newsworthy event was the return of D’Angelo, who made a great neo-soul album in 2000 and dropped out of sight a year later. His voice and charisma intact, he was singing funk and rock songs with a band led by Ahmir Questlove Thompson of the Roots. And the must-see set on Thursday night was by Alabama Shakes, whose songs reclaim all the spirit of 1960s soul music. This year’s Bonnaroo peaked early with a spectacular set on Friday night by Radiohead, which is more than ever a hard act to follow, especially when heard through Bonnaroo’s magnificent sound system. Radiohead made its songs jitter and crackle, with new electronic overlays and abstract funk rhythms dancing through paranoia and foreboding. Its backdrop was a two-story wall of lights, constructed from recycled water bottles, that flickered with geometric patterns as if enclosing the band within cybernetic space. The Red Hot Chili Peppers, on Saturday night, were pure musical sinew, an unstoppable, muscle-powered rhythm section knocking out rock and funk ideas from the 1960s through the 2000s, topping them with wild guitar and jumping all over the stage. Phish, Bonnaroo’s Sunday night finale, was in its most euphoric mode, leaning on the part of its repertory with roots in blues, funk and country; the pop-country hit maker Kenny Rogers, who had performed earlier on his own and with Lionel Richie, joined Phish on the huge stage to sing “The Gambler.” In a way, Bonnaroo 2012 was a holding action. Radiohead and Phish were returning headliners — Radiohead from 2006 and Phish from 2009 — and this year’s overall lineup did not quite equal that of previous years. But Bonnaroo is never monolithic. With more than 150 bands on five large stages, along with smaller ones scattered around its 700-acre grounds, Bonnaroo could be folky as well as funky; it also had pop, indie-rock, electronic dance music, oldies and comedy. A few performers, like Tune-Yards, did double duty, performing live soundtracks for silent films in a movie tent. When it began, Bonnaroo featured jam bands and their sources, and that foundation remains. The audience and vendors were awash in tie dye. Reminders to recycle and other environmental messages were omnipresent; the plastic cups could be composted. Performers cheerfully, or mockingly, addressed the crowd as “hippies.” And the Bonnaroo throng — about 80,000, many camped out on the grounds — is still ready to dance to everything from hip-hop to bluegrass. It’s an untrendy crowd, gathered for a good time. Yet the pop landscape has changed over the last decade, and Bonnaroo has adapted in its own way. While more specialized jam-band festivals have modeled themselves on Bonnaroo’s early years, the current festival’s lineup now overlaps more with those of other festivals; the Red Hot Chili Peppers, for instance, will also headline Lollapalooza in Chicago. And what originated as a once-a-year event in Tennessee is available for endless replays on YouTube. Some of the festival’s most enthusiastic audiences shouted along with the hip-hop chants of strong newcomers — the hedonistic Danny Brown, the pugnacious Yelawolf, the comical Das Racist and the socially conscious Kendrick Lamar — as well as with more established acts like the Roots, who have always been a robust live hip-hop band, and Ludacris, who brought a band of his own. The latest rediscovery of 1960s soul also played well at Bonnaroo: not just Alabama Shakes but also young bands backing mature soul singers like Sharon Jones (with the Dap-Kings) and Charles Bradley (with the Extraordinaires). Bonnaroo’s schedule still had plenty of room for jam bands like Phish, Dispatch and Umphrey’s McGee, who played in Saturday’s wee hours, from 2 a.m. to just before 6 a.m. The Word, an instrumental jam-band coalition, brought together the steel guitarist Robert Randolph, the keyboardist John Medeski and two members of the North Mississippi All-Stars. The groups steamed through tunes from gospel and Stevie Wonder. A good part of the Bonnaroo crowd savored instrumental passages as well as pop hooks. The meticulous arrangements of Bon Iver, with long stretches of hushed delicacy, held thousands of people transfixed when he played the main stage. White Denim, a band that goes barreling from tricky, musicianly structures to Texas boogie, drew roars of approval.
INDIO, Calif. — Well, in the end it’s a business. But so it is at the beginning, and in the middle. 
INDIO, Calif. — Well, in the end it’s a business. But so it is at the beginning, and in the middle.