Nosferatu’s Review of Coachella Weekend One

Friday

I emerged from my ship onto the arid festival grounds of Indio, California. Those who dared transport me will soon die, drowning in their own blood at the Trixie Motel in Palm Springs.

My shadow grows long on the playa, striking fear into the hearts of those who dare utter “Missy Elliot is kinda mid.”

Famished after such a journey, I tried a plant based Hot Honey Chick’n Sandwich sold out of a retrofitted vintage RV. Unfortunately, this did not satisfy my unquenchable thirst, so I feasted on the blood of an influencer who gets avant garde tops and shows you how to style them.

It was time to make my way to the first headliner: Lady Gaga. I do not know the line of her nobility, but I wanted to see a fellow title holder. My rats dispersed the gulf of warm bodies between us, and I was front and center for the show.

In a two story red dress that doubled as a cage for her and her dancers, Lady Gaga emerged. She showed off her vocal agility in “Bloody Mary” and dance moves in “Abracadabra,” creating a stage picture that was both claustrophobic and expansive. If I had one complaint, it would be that “Abracadabra” shows a fundamental lack of understanding of ancient, dark magic.

Electrified, I returned to my sarcophagus at the La Quinta Resort & Club.

Saturday

I arose from my slumber at dusk. I intended to arrive through the shadows of all evil in the world, but some music journalists asked if I wanted to join the UberXL they were splitting. It ended up being the right choice—they gave me some tips on breaking into the industry and promised to review some of my work. An oath they would not be able to keep, as I did feast upon their blood after being disappointed by some “authentic Mission-style burritos.”

The festival grounds were far less crowded on Saturday, contrary to the chatter of r/Coachella. It was just me, the rats, and a few plague-addled former Hype House TikTokers sputtering blood and hallucinating.

I waited front and center, eager for Green Day’s set. I felt a kinship with the band—they being around for 35 years, me being around for over 300 years; both of us still rocking out.

Green Day kicked off their set with the high energy “American Idiot,” managing to maintain the same energy and anti-establishment sentiment as they did in 2004. While American Idiot may be their most famous album, I found myself most enthralled with the songs from their first album, Dookie.

The pièce de résistance, however, was when the band lit off fireworks that set fire to a palm tree. I deeply understand the desire to kill an entire group for the thing you love the most.

Sunday

Sunday was the day I had dreamed of for centuries. The day I came face to face with the musician who awakened me from my eternal slumber: Post Malone. I knew I must be with him forever the first time I heard beerbongs & bentleys.

I wanted to prepare myself for our meeting, so I applied the COSRX snail mucin I got from the Nylon House x Ulta Beauty brand activation party. It worked, and my skin looked like it was only 200 years old.

There was no traffic on the way to the festival because all the concertgoers succumbed to the consumption destroying their bodies and minds.

Being the only one on the festival grounds was nice, but no one was working the food trucks and I couldn’t get the Reuben bánh mì or man named Ruben I had been eyeing. If I could give one note to the Coachella organizers it would be to have a contingency plan if a great terrible evil wipes out the local population.

Finally, at 10:25 PM, I saw my love.

Hearing him play “Go Flex” and “M-E-X-I-C-O” live reminded me why I made this arduous journey from my estate in Transylvania. He deftly flipped between the hip-hop sound that made him famous and the country aesthetic he’s found a new comfortable home in.

After that bewitching performance, I slipped my way backstage to finally meet face to face. Under the full moon, we sealed our promise to each other with a Lime-A-Rita. I planned to exsanguinate him but, as he put it, I got “buzzed like crazy.” He was super cool about it and let me crash on his couch.

Normally, I do not sleep out because a single ray of sunlight could end my wretched, centuries long existence, but he promised to wake me up early. I cannot wait to consume him and catch weekend two!

Editor’s Note: Post Malone forgot to set an alarm and Nosferatu emulsified in the sunlight.