For the second time in three days, a mysterious septic odor — an offensive, penetrating poo stank — has washed over the festival, prompting Coachella-goers to hold their noses, wave hands in front of faces and drink beer marginally slower.

During the Montreal indie quintet Stars’ 4:00 p.m. set, the smell created a nauseating sensory counterpoint to the group’s lush, tuneful brand of pop. But no one could quite pinpoint the cause.

About 11:15 p.m. on Friday, the Verve’s frontman Richard Ashcroft took time out after the band had performed a soulful version of “The Drugs Don’t Work” to offer commentary about the olfactory overload.

“I almost got distracted near the end of the song. It smells like someone took the biggest [bowel movement] in the world!” Ashcroft exclaimed. ”I can tell you it wasn’t anyone in the band. We’re all very relaxed.”

– Chris Lee

There’s been a lot of conjecture about the so-called “God pass” over the years at Coachella. Some, including the event’s promoter and co-founder Paul Tollett, might have you believe that this mythical all-access pass — the festival’s literal and figurative golden ticket — does not even exist.

But dear Soundboard reader, the God pass is real, an inexorable privilege for a lucky chosen few every year. At Coachella — where the kind of VIP bracelet you have on is generally in direct proportion to the amount of fun you have — they are spoils that mostly go to key members of Tollett’s Goldenvoice Productions.

And since the festival’s 1999 inception, they have taken various shapes. The original God pass was a blue, red and white target, a la the Who during its Mod phase. Last year, the pass was a pair of interlocking pistols (because, generally, if you’ve got one, you’re a “top gun,” as the inside joke goes).

Andrew Hagen, whose father owns the Empire Polo Fields, holds the privileged position as the event’s official photographer — he snaps everyone who plays in an air-conditioned photo studio in the VVIP area. Cagey when first asked about the God pass, Hagen inititally declined to show. But eventually, he had to show it off.

The 2008 God pass is a wood bead necklace –a kind of rustic choker — with a unique charm: a golden rooster as its focal point. All on-site guards are instructed to swing all barricades open wide upon sight of the pass.

But perhaps its most tangible benefit (if going on stage with bands — and being able to walk around their dressing room area while drinking their Red Bull for free — isn’t enough for you) is the access to the Tiki Bar. Almost no one knows that just to the left of the main stage, abutted by the VIP area, is a tiny lagoon full of whimsical sculptures of animals, a cozy bar with low lighting and comfy chairs. And several rows of folding chairs offer the best seats in the Coachella house.

– Chris Lee

Shout Out Louds’ singer Adam Olenius looks exactly like Jason Schwartzman in “The Darjeeling Limited.” He’d surely take that as a compliment, because Shout Out Louds’ music is smack in the middle of the Wes Anderson demographic. Its chipper indie pop has all the trappings of twee  (hottie keyboardist,  Robert Smith, yelps Swedishness), and its songs aspire to big emotional rushes.

It doesn’t usually get there, as the band can’t seem to escape that early-aughts “Ascent of Indie Pop on TV Soundtracks” style, except on a few unimpeachable singles such as  “Tonight I Have to Leave It,” where a most unexpected steel drum melody gets a lot of mileage out of one little riff. The Pogues’ accordionist James Fearnley made a spirited cameo on “Very Loud,” and afterward, I decided that more bands need to reference themselves in their lyrics. It’s a cute joke, one that Wes Anderson would likely approve of.

–August Brown

Photo by Kevin Winter / Getty Images

The final day of Coachella ‘08 was kicked off by Mexico City indie rockers Austin TV. They grow on you.

–post and photo by Kevin Bronson

“I’ve been traveling around the country doing my a capella Celine Dion cover act,” Penn joked as he took the stage Sunday afternoon in a spoken-word engagement inside Coachella’s Gobi tent.

As it turns out, the spoken-word act was really just a call to action from Penn to Coachella’s youngish demographic. “Everything we do today is going to be based on spontaneity — mainly yours,” he said while sitting on a simple chair, puffing on his ubiquitous cigarette and reading from handwritten notes.

The actor and sometimes antiwar activist then laid out sketchy details of what he is calling “The Dirty Hands Caravan.”

“What we’re gonna do is get on a biodiesel bus and go to New Orleans,” he said.

Penn apparently is bent on sharing the joy he has felt in getting his hands dirty in order to help others (the thespian famously helped rescue stranded New Orleans residents in the wake of Katina three years ago).

In an effort to inspire teenagers and twentysomethings at the festival, Penn, who partnered with nonprofit Do Something, asked those in the audience to sign up at a nearby booth to participate in the journey and to perhaps be in a documentary about the upcoming effort — there were two release forms courtesy of the Dirty Hands Caravan in the sign-up tent.

“Revolution is a job for the young,” Penn continued. “This is the smartest, most technologically proficient generation of all time. This idea that I had was based on ‘no experience necessary.’ What we’re gonna do is get on biodiesel buses, and I want you to go over to a booth today and go with us to New Orleans.”

The bus trip, which leaves Monday directly from the festival, is free. Penn, who will be on the bus for at least part of the trip to New Orleans, says the biodiesel bus will “stop all along the way” to hear guests like Stan Harper and Everlast speak. “It’s gonna be a journey that no one will ever forget,” he promised.

Around 30 people initially crowded the sign-up tent afterwards, but more can seek out forms all day today. It’s not known how many will be able to ride on the compassion caravan, which should arrive in New Orleans May 3 and return to California May 7 or 8.

- Charlie Amter

Photo by Chris Pizzello / AP

Full report tomorrow, but to satiate you musicologists, here are the highlights of Prince’s epic, way-past-curfew set: a poignant version of “Little Red Corvette” with an awesome, rubber-shredding guitar solo; a swingin’ version of “Glamorous Life” with Sheila E; a couple of Morris Day and The Time songs, including “The Bird” and a double encore with insane purple lights. Oh, and let’s not forget the covers: Chaka Khan’s “I Feel For You,” Radiohead’s “Creep” and the Beatles’ “Come Together.” The final encore? The fastest version of “Let’s Go Crazy” that the law would allow.

Lights out, Coachella. We’ll catch up with you tomorrow.

>> Read Ann Powers’ review of Prince’s performance

Photo by Damon Winter / Getty Images

P.S. Thanks to the diligent readers who caught the slip-up: “I Feel For You” is an original Prince tune that Chaka Khan covered in 1984.

In the 10 years that Portishead has been absent, trip-hop, the genre birthed in the ’90s to a mix of giggles and rapture, has been maligned but then quietly, in some quarters, resuscitated. Tonight’s set proved that Portishead, one of the lighthouses of the genre beaming a murky green light, has splendidly evolved from its Bristol beginnings.

Let’s say this first: Geoff Barrow, Adrian Utley and Beth Gibbons are control freaks of the first order, executing every stroke of their subterranean cabaret with tight fists, which often results in brilliance but then something too claustrophobic at times. But you’re not listening to them for sloppy joy in the sun; Portishead is strictly for nighttime vamps.

Read Full Story

Prince is late.

Scheduled for a 10:45 start, he just started, at 11:10.

Wonder if the midnight curfew is in effect?

Calvin Harris is a tall Scotsman with an ’80s fetish and, on Saturday night at Coachella, a tent full of dance-happy fans who knew the words.

His throwback disco is sprinkled with enough moxie and clever wordplay that it might have a shelf life longer than the wisps of fresh air that occasionally blow through this festival’s porta-potties. It helps that his five-piece band delivers the goods, both instrumentally and with those falsetto backing vocals that were “Acceptable in the ’80s,” and even before.

Even stomping purposefully around the stage, furiously knob-twiddling or doing his best to sell a couple new songs, Harris comes off as the party guy, and it’s just not his sticky song “Merrymaking at My Place.” His is the new disco that wants to be taken seriously like, perhaps, LCD Soundsystem’s. Dance, sweat, then talk about that great book you just read.

Harris seems on his way.

Post, photos by Kevin Bronson

If you ever found the idea Uffie appealing (a sassy Francophile spitting kiss-off rhymes over feverish electro) but the actual article completely unpalatable (like I do), then Yelle has solved your problems. Yelle, from Brittany via a sweet Halloween costume supply store, joins M.I.A. and Santogold as this year’s it-girls, and proved that last year’s French techno armada might still have some juice left. Being a corn-fed monolinguist American, I have no idea what kind of awesomeness she was singing about. But here’s what I do know: she can do the post-Peaches bubblegum sex-rap deal pretty convincingly, I was psyched to see her with a live drummer and synth player who actually looked to be playing live, and she will be absolutely everywhere in Nightlifeland in a few months. Another fun detail: the crowd had a huge contingent of really young teenagers losing their minds every time she flipped her bangs or jump-kicked or whacked a floor tom. I forgot how much fun it is to see a concert next to kids who can’t buy cigarettes yet. I bet she’s better than Justice will be tomorrow, and was certainly more interesting to watch.

-August Brown

Photo by Jessica Gelt