So, this one time (at band camp) I saw Robert Plant, Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, Neil Young, Paul McCartney, The Who, and Roger Waters live all in one week. Impossible, you say? Hah, merely difficult. And expensive. It began late April this year. Whispers started circulating, Chinese and standard, about a so-called ‘mega-fest’ to be held in the same venue as Coachella each year – Empire Polo Club in California’s Palm Desert. This mega fest was to feature just six acts, all of whom embody and represent a certain ‘lost era’ of music. Hilarious puns were quick to follow, namely “Oldchella”, geddit!? Mick Jagger even quipped from the stage that he tried to stay away from doing age-based gags, but that backstage resembled one big AA meeting, and welcome to the ‘catch-them-before-they-croak’ tour. Rumour had it that there would be only two acts each night and the six acts were apparently Dylan, the Stones, Neil Young, A damn Beatle, The Who, and Roger Waters. Come early May, my worst fears simultaneously collided with a dream come true. I’m going to have to go. Damn. I signed up to any and all pre-sale information and subscribed to online mailing lists supposed to keep me up to date with all the latest info and developments. Soon enough legitimate info began trickling out and we knew the price of tickets and we knew that they were planning on building a makeshift stadium in the middle of the polo grounds. Holy shit. Not only that, but behind the stadium would be the general admission area, my usual stomping ground. One that is also usually the foremost section of any gig. $400 to spend the weekend behind the stadium? Imagine paying ANY amount of money to stand outside Western Springs and watch Foo Fighters on a big screen.That being said, all 6 acts on their own fully eclipse bands like the Foo Fighters, not to mention when they’re all together playing the same gig.
If I was a semi-wealthy, or even semi-passionate Californian, it’d be a no brainer – Go dance with a few mates and a few drinks in the desert for a few days for a few hundred bucks. Easy. Decent weekend. However, coming from New Zealand, hypothetically, why pay all that money to be at the very back. I wondered, what would the other, seated, tickets be like? Too much of a gamble? Hang on..Yes, there is a general admission pit at the FRONT of everyone else! Of course there is, no promoter worth their salt would waste the opportunity to charge people premium prices for the premium spot(s). $1600 to be in front of everyone else. Shit, it’s worth the bragging rights alone. A guaranteed spot within the first few rows for some of these acts individually would reach the $1000 range easy. Even at the very back of this section you have a better view than 95% of the people there, you’re standing in front of 85,000 bodies. Hard to comprehend sitting at your computer analysing a bunch of not to scale lines pretending to be the ‘site map’ on the festival’s website, and in a strange way it’s almost harder to comprehend when you’re actually there experiencing it. It’s like the desert’s most awesome mirage. If it hadn’t been for some of the breathtaking aerial photography, I don’t think I would have ever fully realised the scale.
Tickets for Desert Trip went on sale on Monday the 9th of May at 10.00am (their time), 5am our time. Before even going on sale a second weekend was announced due to interest/demand in the virtual waiting rooms. My goal was to buy one of the hotel packages that were being sold that included accommodation and the tickets for the weekend, so without so much as a wink of sleep I opened up pages to purchase (each counting as one ‘place’ in the waiting room), on my phone, my laptop, Abbey’s laptop, the PS3, the PS4, and Abbey’s phone. 5am ticked over, and we were immediately glued to our respective screens, switching between devices every few moments in the hope that at least one of our little men had walked his way across the screen (which meant you’re through, free to buy tickets). Eventually all around the same time we had multiple options so quickly snapped up our preferred hotel, sweating and with a captive heart beating its fist against my chest in anxiety, we entered credit card details and clicked ‘submit’ with relief.
“Card not valid. Please contact your bank”
No, no, no, no, no, no. It’s supposed to work, I even asked customer service specifically if my card would work and was told unequivocally ‘yes’. Banks aren’t the easiest places to get hold of in the best of times, not to mention when they weren’t even open. It’d be no use – this thing was going to sell out instantly. We’d missed out. For shits and gigs we tried each card multiple times but to no avail. We were even charged a few bucks for each attempt. I was deflated. Beyond angry. So angry that it was like a calm plateau somehow, numb almost. Abbey retreated back to bed, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Sitting on my floor jamming multiple screens, all featuring multiple options, it seemed it couldn’t just be over. Surely not. It was all going so well, I have the damn money all I want is to hand it over! Please take these thousands. I managed to borrow someone else’s credit card, but would have to wait until my transfer hit their account. By that time the festival would be sold out (Duh Max, you have no chance), but wouldn’t hurt to at least try, right?
Desert Trip posted on their Facebook page less than two hours after going on sale “Thank You, Desert Trip 2016 is now Sold Out”. 85,000 tickets times 6 days, that’s a lot of people, a lot of money. In my search for this elusive “other” option I happened upon what seemed perfect for people like me. ‘Like me’ in the sense that they were, inadvertently or otherwise, unprepared. What were Desert Trip Premium tickets?
Around 9am that morning, 4 hours after tickets went on sale and sold out, I sent a text to Abbey (who, remember, was under the impression we tried and failed. Did our best, not to be.) reading: Check your Facebook.
On her Facebook page I had posted a screenshot of the confirmation email I had just recieved featuring 2x 3 day Pit Standing passes, with a caption referencing the meme flavour of the week; Ha! Got ’em!