Coachella 2006

"British bands are easily the greatest", enthuses Californian resident, Garin, who we sweat it out with in the queue to the seventh Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival. "It's always been that way, ever since The Beatles and The Kinks, there's just something about the way you guys put together your melodies."

Put together great music we may, but if it's immaculate aesthetic beauty you seek in your festivals - and we're not talking boutique picnics round the village pond -  then forget Glastonbury or V and start saving for next year's Coachella. Surrounded by jagged mountains and crested by rows of palm trees, all decked under clear blue skies and searing desert sun, its unique location and incredible attention to detail are jaw-dropping in equal measure. Five separate venues (two outdoor stages and three tents) lie dotted around the parameters of the flat, expansive Indio Polo Fields, with various art installations, stalls, and side attractions nestled in between them, all colour coordinated in uniform striking white.

The people present are just as eye-catching, with the cream of an already impeccable gene pool being skimmed off the Californian cup just for Coachella. Hollywood annually comes out in force (Francis Ford Coppola and Danny Devito are just two of VF's run-ins), bikinis flaunt perfectly toned, golden brown bodies, and there's enough silicon to build a sixth stage. Even the gang of guys selling acid on Saturday night look like they should have lead roles in The OC.

Coachella may rub its UK equivalents into their own mud baths in terms of glamour and style, but the flipside is that the pristine, Ascot-like atmosphere can at crucial times lack the grit of festivals like Reading and T In The Park, as proven when Bloc Party's Kele Okereke tells his audience that it's time for them to 'start dancing now'. You're more likely to see a stray glowstick whizzing through the air than bottles of piss, beers are confined to special areas with none allowed to be taken into the main arena, and the locals have become so used to the statewide smoking ban that you're guaranteed dirty looks and people hurrying away from you if you do so much as spark up a fag.

Musically, Coachella is the Glastonbury of north America, boasting a diverse lineup that ticks almost every genre box but has little intention of keeping them hidden away from each other, a flexibility that allows the lo-fi dub of Massive Attack to be pitched directly before the experimental metal of Tool, just as the good time reggae of Damian 'Jr Gong' Marley warms up the stage for Josh Homme's sabre-rattling Eagles Of Death Metal. On paper it shouldn't work, but it does. The breakdown of bands and DJs reflects the global spread of music's current bout of great health, with artists from Iceland to Mali and Australia to Jamaica all taking part, but it's the two sonic superpowers, the UK and USA, which dominate the landscape (in terms of both bands and fans) showing that the 'special relationship' between these two like-minded tribes is stronger culturally than it is in many other spheres of influence...

And nowhere is this 'special relationship' more evident than in the shade of the Sahara Tent as the midday sun beats down on the opening day. Welsh breaks band, Hybrid, one of the first dance acts to incorporate a live show way back in 1998, have teamed up with Lollapolooza legend, Perry Farrell on vocals. Their epic, Sasha-like soundscapes wrenched apart by the distinctive voice of the Janes Addiction singer may not sound the most obvious combination, but the Swansea trio have ventured down a rockier road recently, towards Death In Vagas territory, and it works brilliantly. The adjacent tents play host to Nine Black Alps and Lady Sovereign, all bringing a distinctly British flavour to what's clearly a very American event.