The early afternoon hours tend to be naturally devoid of can't-miss acts, which lends itself to shopping around. Thus, I wandered from Drowners (a perfectly competent NYC rock band that seems to have discovered the Strokes secondhand via Tokyo Police Club) to the Internet (in which Syd Tha Kid intones flatly about being unashamed of who you are over boilerplate neosoul) to Foxygen, whom I've always admired but never loved. They've developed a reputation for turmoil after Sam France melted down on stage at SXSW last year and a blog post from backup singer Elizabeth Fey alleged that relations had chilled between France and co-founder Jonathan Rado. But the band I saw Saturday showed no signs of burnout or intra-band tension. They seemed giddy and alive and ready to comprise the cast of That '60s Show immediately. They performed their retro ditties with amateurish abandon befitting their youth. "We're just little kids," as Rado put it. "We're not trained adult musicians like Lionel Richie or something." Demonstrations of that truth included the new lineup of festive backup singers sashaying through their dance moves with slumber party sloppiness and France going shirtless to become a scrawny, clumsy alternate-universe Jim Morrison. Foxygen's influences mostly predate punk, but this incarnation of the group is as punk as it gets: inspired young people fearlessly imitating their heroes without regard for precision. All it takes is a few decent songs and some balls.

My colleagues, you might've heard, didn't much like what they heard when Julian Casablancas + The Voidz played the Fader Fort at SXSW. So I was bracing myself for disappointment too. "This music is meant to alienate all the right people," Casablancas told us. Instead, Julian and the boys throttled me with the kind of all-out rock 'n' roll assault I didn't realize he was capable of anymore, louder and more kinetic than the Fader show in every way. The Voidz's sound suggests Casablancas has finally figured out how to successfully meld songwriting that evokes early Strokes with the discordant harmonies and digital exoskeleton he's been toying with ever since. When his voice reaches a static-enhanced roar over some exultant chord progression of his own making, it is still spine-tingling.

Come on, pilgrim: It's still the Pixies, and they're still playing some of the greatest rock songs ever written, Deal or no Deal. The new material is just awful, though.

Like Haim, 2013's other freshly minted indie rock name brand leading the charge toward the FM dial circa 1989, every song on Chvrches' debut album The Bones Of What You Believe feels like a hit single. Unlike Haim, the Chvrches live show does little to differentiate those songs from their studio versions. Fortunately keyboardist, backup singer and occasional frontman Martin Doherty does everything he can to keep the live show vibrant, often by dramatically pressing keys then stepping away from his machines, letting his hand go limp, and waving it around wildly. When he was untethered from his keyboard, he went supernova with the body movin'. Doherty danced like a sign language interpreter on drugs. Speaking of which...

Shout out to the sign language interpreter who took on Queens Of The Stone Age's "Feel Good Hit Of The Summer" (lyrics: "Nicotine, valium, vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy and alcohol/ C-c-c-c-c-cocaine!"). If there was ever a set that came across loud and clear, though, it was Queens Of The Stone Age's Coachella show. A night after Outkast's grand return was plagued by audio problems, the main stage sound for Queens was strikingly bold and beautiful. Maybe chalk it up to home-field advantage; Josh Homme mentioned that nearby Palm Desert is his hometown.

Casablancas and the Pixies just joined the lineup this week, but festivals the size of Coachella tend to book way in advance. To give you an idea just how far in advance, Lorde mentioned during her set that she lined this gig up last May, just a month after last year's Coachella. A lot has changed for young Ella since then, huh? She is a star, and not just because she looks totally badass with her hair blowing in the desert wind. What stood out most during her performance was her talent at building universe-sized songs out of precious few ingredients. Even performed with a spartan xx-sized band, "Royals," "Team," and the rest filled up all the atmosphere they could get. They sounded limitless -- like Lorde's potential.

It all started here. Last year's Coachella was abuzz about the debut of the "Get Lucky" promo video, which unofficially marked the beginning of the comeback that launched Pharrell Williams to unprecedented heights. A year later, Pharrell was at Coachella in the flesh and feeling on top of the world (dust-related vocal problems notwithstanding). Had he given us the Buffalo Hat Revue and stuck to post-"Get Lucky" material, no one would have blamed him, but fortunately Pharrell wanted to let all his new fans know how many of their favorite songs he produced. Thus, Nelly, Busta Rhymes, Diddy, Snoop Dogg, Diplo, Gwen Stefani, and Tyler, The Creator showed up to perform or just dance around on stage. It all wrapped with Pharrell pulling the whole congregation of famous people on stage -- Lorde and Este Haim included -- for a very "Happy" dance party.

We've written at length already about Future Islands' special new album Singles, their gripping live show, and the slow-building success that's finally coming to fruition for them. All of that seemed plenty true as night descended on Indio on Saturday and this band seized its moment. Samuel Herring has combined two distinct frontmen from arguably the two most enduring underground bands of the '80s -- Black Flag's fuming aggressor Henry Rollins and the Smiths' suave, sharp-tongued Morrissey -- and his band sends him into such a fervor that he can't help launching into that Letterman meme dance. Bonus points for having some songs that sound like Les Savy Fav.

Readers sometimes assume that writers who take controversial positions are trolling, but I'd be trolling myself if I gave the #1 spot to Pharrell or Lorde or QOTSA or even Future Islands. It only belongs to the band that made my night. Lord knows the Dismemberment Plan could use the attention; upon taking the Gobi Tent stage around midnight last night they were directly competing with Muse, Skrillex, Nas, and the Pet Shop Boys. The resulting set was more sparsely attended than anything I've seen at this festival. That meant it had the feel of your average D-Plan club show, albeit with a large gulf in front of the band that prevented fans from climbing on stage for "The Ice Of Boston." I am predisposed to like the Dismemberment Plan -- check the avi -- but as readers of my Uncanney Valley review know, I also scrutinize them more harshly than most. So here's my scrutiny: They played like a band that only gets together every so often, which they are. They didn't come to Coachella as would-be conquerers. Yet despite a few minor flubs, they did conquer Coachella last night, at least for the tiny congregation that assembled to bear witness. The classics clicked as ever, buoyant and full of reckless abandon. But the new material connected too, imbued with a swagger that didn't quite come across on the record. I once put it this way: "Eventually, you don’t even notice the unusual turns of a song like 'Gyroscope,' you just get lost in the propulsive pace and Morrison’s masterful storytelling." That rang true last night. The Plan continued to majestically and spastically tap into human frustration and elation, and those of us who witnessed it couldn't help but get swept up in it. I only wish there were more of us.