- calendar_today August 25, 2025
We Didn’t Watch for the Show—We Watched for the Feeling
In Quebec, we don’t need fireworks to feel something. We need rhythm. Stillness. Truth. We need art that says more than it shows.
Coachella 2025 didn’t shout at us. It whispered. And we heard it.
From Plateau Mont-Royal lofts with soft jazz bleeding through the floor, to old town Quebec windows opened just a crack to let in the last bit of April air—we streamed it. Quietly. Curiously. And somewhere along the way, it stayed.
Gaga Didn’t Sing to Us—She Let Us Witness Her
There was no mask this time. No wall of choreography or glitter.
Lady Gaga took the stage slowly. Her five-act set didn’t feel like a concert. It felt like a dismantling. She moved through each part like someone returning to a place they once lived in—familiar, but no longer hers.
“Bad Romance” didn’t sound like a hit. It sounded like closure.
Then Gesaffelstein came in—his presence colder, electronic, unnerving. And for a moment, it was as if the whole thing slipped under the surface. We didn’t pull away. We stayed. Because we understand complexity here. We live in it every day.
Green Day Didn’t Clean It Up—And That’s Why It Worked
It was messy. Loud. A little off the rails. And completely alive.
Green Day took the stage like they’d been waiting to let this out for years. They roared through their set without holding back. One pyro went wrong and a palm tree lit up—no one blinked.
Then The Go-Go’s came in, joyfully out of place, and it didn’t disrupt the rage. It danced with it.
In Quebec, we believe contradiction is part of the art. This set proved that.
The Guest Appearances Were a Mixture of Chaos and Grace
Charli XCX didn’t perform—she poured. Alongside Billie Eilish, Troye Sivan, and Lorde, her set was a beautiful disaster. Neon heartbreak with no need for explanation.
Bernie Sanders introduced Clairo, and it wasn’t political—it was poetic. His voice grounded the moment. Her music floated through it.
Benson Boone singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” with Brian May didn’t feel like a throwback. It felt like something being passed on, from voice to voice.
And when the LA Philharmonic, Zedd, LL Cool J, and Maren Morris came together, it felt like the world was trying to write a single sentence in four different languages—and somehow, it translated.
Post Malone Sounded Like a Long Walk Through the Old Part of Town
Posty didn’t fill space. He allowed for silence.
He sang like someone speaking softly across a table at 2 a.m., knowing that whoever’s listening already understands.
“I Fall Apart” was more memory than melody. “Circles” still spiraled. And the new songs? They felt like pages torn from a journal no one meant to share.
Travis Scott brought the lights, the bass, the fire—but when he paused to say Stormi’s name, it was like the whole crowd stopped breathing. That’s the moment we carried with us.
We Watched Like We Read Poetry—Slowly, and All the Way Through
We had the Coachella app, the YouTube multiview, and our own rhythm. We didn’t watch it all at once. We paused. Replayed. Listened twice.
Some watched in silence. Some with wine. Some with someone they trusted beside them, and some alone, under a window that let in just enough city noise to feel less alone.
It wasn’t about being first. It was about being present.
Final Thought—Coachella Never Came to Quebec. But It Understood Us Anyway
We didn’t need a stage in Parc Jean-Drapeau. We didn’t need French subtitles. What we needed, Coachella gave: vulnerability, contradiction, courage in softness.
Coachella 2025 didn’t translate itself for us.
It just told the truth.
And we understood every word.
