It’s not a festival until someone simulates their own death on stage. And last night, under the blood-orange California moon, Lady Gaga turned the desert into a gothic disco apocalypse.
Coachella, Day One. A hundred thousand dehydrated dreamers, fashion casualties, and TikTok influencers melted into the Polo Grounds like candle wax. The air: dry as a dealer’s conscience. The temperature: 100 degrees and rising. And then she came—Mother Monster, high priestess of the unhinged.
Fresh off the release of her new album, aptly titled “Mayhem,” Gaga’s 90-minute headline set wasn’t just a concert—it was a resurrection ritual with synths. There were death scenes, rebirth sequences, interpretive dance chess matches, and just enough nostalgic pop brilliance to remind us why she rewired the pop matrix in the first place.
When she launched into “Paparazzi” and “Bad Romance,” the desert howled. During “Poker Face,” she played a life-sized chess match against her dancers in a moment that felt equal parts Dadaist cabaret and Stanley Kubrick fever dream.
This was Gaga unhinged. Gaga ascended. Gaga howling at the moon with stiletto-clad vengeance.
But she wasn’t alone in the madness.
Missy Elliott, dressed like she just stepped out of a Blade Runner nightclub, lit up the stage with a set that felt like a laser-guided missile aimed at your childhood. “Get Ur Freak On,” “Work It,” and “Lose Control” exploded across the desert with bass that could rupture your ribcage.
Elsewhere, Benson Boone tried to steal the sentimental slot with his chart-bait “Beautiful Things” and a backflip that made half the influencers clutch their rhinestone boots. But the real holy moment? Brian May—yes, the Queen guitarist himself—strode out like Zeus with a guitar and joined Boone for “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Even the EDM kids paused their molly-fueled grind to witness it.
And then came the rest of the chaos.
The Prodigy turned a tent into a punk rave inferno, while Blackpink’s Lisa, fresh off HBO’s The White Lotus, gave a solo set that cracked the sky with K-pop precision and god-tier stage presence. If this was a test run for her solo era, she passed with stilettos on the neck.
Meanwhile, festival fashion did its best Mad Max impersonation. Leather in 100-degree heat? Sure. Crystal corsets under zero shade? Why not. Sunscreen dispensers and water stations became warzones, and paper fans were worth their weight in mushrooms.
Somewhere in this solar-flared circus, the cast of “Yo Gabba Gabba!” stumbled around in plush costumes, melting slowly like psychedelic marshmallows while millennials lined up for selfies and irony.
This is the start of festival season. This is modern worship. This is the church of sound and sweat.
And Gaga? She didn’t headline. She baptized us.
Celebrity Festivals Musician News
Last modified: April 12, 2025
