We Watched With the Volume Low—and the Emotions High

We weren’t chasing crowds or sunlight. Most of us were just watching from the quiet corners of our lives. In Minneapolis apartments. Dorm rooms in Duluth. Kitchens in St. Paul with yesterday’s dishes still in the sink.

We weren’t expecting to be moved. We were just curious. But Coachella 2025 came in soft and slow—like a song you forgot you knew all the words to—and by the end, we weren’t just watching. We were in it.

Lady Gaga Didn’t Perform—She Unraveled in Real Time

Nobody tells a story like Gaga. And this year, she didn’t hold back.

Her five-act set was less about perfection and more about truth. She peeled off layers of herself—literally and emotionally. Buried her past personas in the dirt and walked through her own wreckage with lights flashing like a heartbeat.

It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t expected. But it was honest. And in Minnesota, where we’re not always great at showing it, that kind of vulnerability lands hard.

And then Gesaffelstein came out and the vibe shifted into something darker, stranger, and weirdly beautiful. It didn’t feel like a set. It felt like a breakdown. And we watched, silent, like it mattered more than we could explain.

Green Day Gave Us Permission to Scream Again

We needed it. That release. That big, messy, unapologetic noise. Green Day didn’t just play music—they gave us a place to put all the stuff we’ve been carrying.

Their set felt like a 2003 road trip through feelings we forgot were still alive. The politics. The fire (literally—yes, a palm tree caught fire). And then somehow, The Go-Go’s appeared and made it all feel like we were watching a rebellious house party in real time.

If you were screaming lyrics alone in your bedroom? You weren’t the only one.

We Didn’t Plan to Cry—but the Guest List Had Other Ideas

It was the chaos we didn’t know we needed.

Charli XCX brought out Billie Eilish, Lorde, and Troye Sivan, and suddenly we were thirteen again.
Bernie Sanders introduced Clairo with a speech that made our eyes sting, and someone in St. Cloud texted, “Why is this hitting so hard?”
Benson Boone singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” with Brian May should’ve been cringe. It wasn’t. It was… emotional.
Then the LA Philharmonic took the stage with Zedd, Maren Morris, and LL Cool J, and it somehow worked. It was dramatic and cinematic and weirdly spiritual.

Post Malone Sang Like He Knew Us Personally

Posty’s set wasn’t loud. It was low. Soft. Real. Watching him sing “I Fall Apart” from your couch in Mankato felt like he was talking to something you hadn’t named yet.

And it wasn’t just the heartbreak songs. His new material carried this weight that felt familiar. Like he’d been through it too. And that made it okay if you cried a little.

Travis Scott followed with fire and bass and chaos—but then paused mid-set to talk about Stormi, his daughter. It was so human. So simple. And it was that moment—not the pyros—that stuck with us.

Livestreaming From Minnesota Was the Most Minnesota Thing Ever

We didn’t have sand in our shoes. We had slippers and soup and the YouTube multiview open in one tab and the weather app in another. The Coachella app kept us synced in. But the silence around us—that made it all the more intense.

We felt safe watching it alone. We cried without needing to explain why. And when the music stopped, we just sat there for a while.

Final Thought—We Might’ve Stayed Home, But It Still Moved Us

You don’t need a festival wristband to be part of something real. Sometimes, you just need a screen and a moment of stillness.

Coachella 2025 didn’t crash into us. It slipped in through our quiet. Through the places we go when no one’s watching. And Minnesota—of all places—was wide open for it.

So no, we didn’t show up in person. But we showed up emotionally.

And that counts for something.