The original plan was to make it out to Coachella on Sunday as early as possible to catch the Cool Kids, I’m From Barcelona, Holy F*ck, Stars, Autolux and Swervedriver, but instead the day began with a headache that was the equivalent of a thousand tiny pickaxes chipping away at the brain. A prescription strength Ibuprofen promised relief, but instead brought a wave of horrible nausea. Not the ideal state of being for running around in 100 degree heat. Has anyone else wondered why Coachella isn’t planned for March instead of the end of April?

Fortunately, I was able to drag my nearly lifeless body onto Empire Polo Field for the last half of Tucson favorite Gogol Bordello’s lively performance. OK, “lively� is putting it mildly. Anyone who has seen the New York gypsy punk ensemble knows that “explosive� is a more accurate term. Club Congress holds just a few hundred.

Coachella holds many, many thousand. Well imagine Gogol Bordello’s normally explosive energy amplified by hundreds. Stifling heat, a relatively meager Sunday turnout, daylight and what seemed like about 10 intrusive video cameras did not slow down Eugene Hutz and crew. He shook, shimmied, high-kicked, guzzled wine, shouted and belted while his fellow lithe female cheerleader/percussionists also demanded the audience’s attention. And they got it. Couples danced, thick-necked dudes who had never heard of the band jumped and screamed at the tops of their lungs and every spectator that wasn’t bouncing held up a digital camera to capture the moment.

They came, they saw, the conquered. Would we expect anything less?

After the full-speed-ahead power of Gogol Bordello, Spiritualized’s gospel-heavy space rock (this time acoustic) seemed to have trouble keeping spectator’s attention. That was probably because it was more space folk than rock, as a result of R Spaceman’s decision to go basically unplugged and acoustic. Every Spiritualized show I have seen has been different- one had a more standard rock set up, another had a full orchestra and gospel choir. But this stripped down (though he was supported by a small chorus of female singers), Spiritualized’s songs came across as pretty, pleasant, yet obviously simplistic in structure and somewhat redundant.

Strangely enough Sean Penn (yes, the soapbox loving actor) was scheduled for a 15 minute set of something on Coachella’s biggest stage. It was over before we could check it out, but frankly we were only mildly curious. Poetry? A lecture on the environment? Pass. The more important task at hand was staking out a prime spot to see Love & Rockets, who have reunited every now and then since their heyday in the ’80s as a Bauhaus splinter group.

Though not as arty or lyrically agile as Bauhaus, Love & Rockets made a name for themselves with their own much-imitated brand of dreamy, trance-inducing rock, even scoring a radio hit with “So Aliveâ€� in the early ’90s. The crowd that gathered in front of the Outdoor Stage was a mix of L&R T-shirt wearing hardcore fans and clueless wanderers- both erupted in movement and cheers of approval when the threesome launched into the danceable groove of “Ball of Confusionâ€�.

Bassist/vocalist David J looked not unlike he did a good twenty plus years ago, but guitarist/vocalist Daniel Ash has morphed into a rock and roll caricature over the years, exchanging his trademark long, spiked hair and smoky eyeliner for a Slash-like top hat, ruffled shirt and white sunglasses. Drummer Kevin Haskins was all but hidden behind his drum kit and like the rest of the band, spent the performance fumbling and trying to cover up his band mate’s fumbling.

Ten years ago I saw Love & Rockets in Orange County and I don’t recall any of the constant flubs that the crowd and I witnessed that night. Timing was off, beats were hit sloppily, and I was shocked that they played one of my favorites, “Yin & Yang The Flowerpot Man.� I had hoped that they would, but then changed my mind when I realized that in the state he was in Daniel Ash would never be able to keep up with the song’s super fast guitar requirements. He tried and failed, even letting the guitar drop out for an entire verse while he recovered enough to chime in again.

Did they think they were above rehearsing? We’re they drunk? Did they have heat exhaustion? There has to be some good reason for all of the sloppiness. They are all just too good to be that off. Interestingly enough, they barely spoke between songs, except to dedicate one song to Roger Waters and another to his departed former band mate Syd Barrett. Regardless, the crowd didn’t seem to notice or mind the roughness of the performance and frat boys, geeks, and oldschoolers alike shouted approval before and after every song.

And even I had to forgive them when for a grand finale, they were joined by the bubblemen – dancing beelike cartoon characters with giant round heads who brought the show to an end by starting a pillow fight with the band.

The stage looked like a blizzard of feathers had hit it and soon the melee spread to the crowd when band members tossed the ripped pillows into the audience.

The set list included “Mirror People,� the ending of “Motorcycle� (where was the whole song, dammit?), “The American Dream,� and “No Big Deal� and mercifully did not include the glossy radio hit, “So Alive.� Thank you kindly.

Roger Waters of Pink Floyd had just arrived onstage in a suit (how rock & roll) to an overly dramatic orchestral fanfare as we were leaving Love & Rockets, still coated in feather fuzz. After a debate on the possibility of the rest of Pink Floyd joining him onstage, we decided to beat the crowd out and catch a show in LA. Ticket sales were too light on Sunday for that to happen. It would not behoove the festival’s organizers to have a big ticket/big money act like Pink Floyd go unannounced. It seems like it would have been leaked in order to up sales if the rest of the band was going to appear. Plus, the female vocals substituted for original ones smacked of cheesy showmanship. On to Los Angeles…

Buzz can be a misleading thing. Sometimes a band gets hyped because they have a novel element to them and sometimes that element isn’t enough to make a great band. Case in point, The Teenagers. Music mags have been dropping their name lately like they are the next big thing in rock. The hook? They’re French. At least that’s what we figured it must be when we saw them at The Echo in Los Angeles.

They seem to be a straight forward poppy, new wavey rock band. Female drummer, female keyboard player, male singer, bass player and guitar player. Nothing special, nothing to write home about. The singer had a certain vaguely unappealing self conscious awkwardness to him that made you feel like you were watching a high school band’s first performance.

I just don’t get it. Maybe we should have stuck around for John Waters after all.