The boat was 'a rockin' and not in a cute or funny way. The ship was lurching side to side, and people looked queasy. Gaslamp Killer (who liked my $2 thrift store little-boy tie-dye top) was going nuts on the pool deck, whipping beats into a batter of Luda and the Beatles, breaking songs up with funny hype shit, his halo of hair bouncing like those dumb beach balls that seem to be everywhere. The crowd was grooving, but still looked hesitant to give in totally to the music, any music. At about 1 a.m., things got creepy on the deck, and every drunk man seemed to have hungry eyes and grabby hands.
The Frankie Chan-DJed dance party at Quasar downstairs offered some relief from the pool-verts. As the night went on, the room filled up, and finally, it seemed people relaxed. Har Mar Superstar even attempted a set before his mic cut out at like 4 a.m.
Upstairs, El-P and Killer Mike announced an upcoming collaboration. Killer Mike even gave some fashion advice. To make board shorts, he said, simply, "cut up old Sean Jean shorts." They also requested drugs. Nothing specific, just drugs.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the thing you can most easy find on the S.S. Coachella is good music. It's everywhere, not just onstage. Like when you're eating from the buffet, and suddenly hear Thurston Moore singing "Sugar Cane." By the pool, you can lie, half-dead in a bikini, looking at Nassau's port and hear some of the best chilling-the-fuck-out mixes you've ever heard. Let's close with a Black Lips quote of the night. Before destroying "O Katrina," Ian Saint Pe told us we were about to hear "the original electronic music." Rock and roll. That's right. And yes, we did.
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