In another, perhaps more unpredictable universe than ours, Brooklyn-based psych-folk collective Akron/Family has been anointed the heir to the ever-touring hippie-rock throne of Phish, inspiring throngs of well-bearded “Ak-heads” to follow it from show to show around the country.

Settle down, this is by no means intended to lump the bands (or their dreadlocked fanbases) together, which is really like comparing Kellogg’s Grape Nuts to a freshly made organic tabbouleh wrap. But more to say that if Deadheads and jam-worshipping Trey-huggers were truly looking for a band that embodies the thrilling mix of improvisation, crowd interaction and unhinged creative energy that can transform a room’s spirit, Akron/Family would make a far more interesting choice than, say, Dave Matthews.

Through a 45-odd minute “First Friday” set at the Natural History Museum (more on that later), Akron/Family showed it hasn’t missed a step since losing original guitarist Ryan Vanderhoof to, naturally, a Buddhist center. Perpetually manic bassist Miles Seaton has stepped into a sort of frontman role quite smoothly, and he led a delirious crowd through a variety of roof-raising clap-alongs, tribal chants and style shifts as the band burned through its set, most impressively during the feverish psychedelic tent revival “Raise The Sparks.” The show closed with drummer Dana Janssen standing to beat-box through a selection from last year’s “Love Is Simple” and somehow came across far less ridiculous than it sounds.

Therein lies the secret weapon of Akron/Family — as close as its ‘We are one” philosophy and anything-goes songwriting techniques come to utter absurdity (especially on record), its performances never cross to the other side. Because when you can make a crowd gleefully clap in time and shout gibberish choruses, everything has clearly gone mad in the first place — in the best, most joyous way possible.

Before the Akron/Family, San Francisco’s Dodos filled the museum with percussive, hypermelodic tribal jams that borrowed some of the spirit of the headliner but with vocals that carried a dramatic sweep occasionally reminiscent of Morrissey, if that isn’t too brain-smashing a collision to imagine. I’d have more specifics about their set, but unfortunately because of the museum’s apparent policy of over-booking, there was a rope line circling the museum’s main gallery for entry into the performance space that left us trapped outside for much of their show. A maddening policy certainly, but once the initial frustration wore off it was all too easy to give in to exploring the rest of the museum as the Dodos’ sound pulsed against the museum’s massive Tyrannasaur skeleton. There’s more than one way to raise some sparks.

– Photo and post by Chris Barton

Nervy cover of the day: Mandolinist nonpareil Sam Bush, on the Mustang Stage where the most staunchly traditional acts have played, dusts off Randy Newman’s 1974 chestnut “Mr. President (Have Pity On the Working Man).” More than three decades and six chief executives later, it remains frighteningly, hilariously on target. And a gutsy move in front of a hard-core country crowd.

– Randy Lewis

Photo by Karl Walter / Getty Images

At first, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at Jason Pierce’s audacity. Spiritualized was mounting an acoustic show, with a lovely string section and everything, as the sun set on the Mojave Tent, at the time unfortunately flanked by thumping dance music. Ear-shattering feedback plagued the first couple songs, and it seemed a train wreck was imminent.

Spiritualized recovered with aplomb, finishing with a long stretch of sublimely beautiful pop. Anyone who witnessed the band’s recent shows at L.A.’s Vista Theatre knows the power of Pierce’s music to transport, and for nearly an hour Sunday, his two-thirds-full tent was a musical oasis.

All smiles afterward.

– Kevin Bronson

Overall, there has been precious little in the way of political statements at Coachella ‘08 — maybe everybody was too busy in the dance tents? — but Love and Rockets (of all groups) did their part, if only for five minutes, Sunday night at the Outdoor Theatre.

The trio of Daniel Ash, David J and Kevin Haskins opened with a blistering version of “Ball of Confusion,” and, yeah, that’s what the world is today. Uh huh.

To a spectacular light show, the offshoot of Bauhaus (who played a reunion show at Coachella in 2005) stormed through a battery of fan favorites in mostly workmanlike fashion, perhaps regretting the mid-set ballad that was tainted by noise bleeding over from the earache-inducing drum ‘n’ bass area in the middle of the festival grounds.

Of course, the Bubblemen emerged late in the set, the band’s alter egos (and residents of Planet Girl) dancing during “Yin and Yang and the Flower Pot Man.” The show ended with the Bubblemen battling the band in a pillowfight, and feathers were flying — a nod to that song’s video.

The band’s familiar blasts were welcome noise for weary festivalgoers gearing up for Roger Waters’ mainstage show.

– Kevin Bronson

Swervedriver was more the sonic kin of Nirvana or Dinosaur Jr. than late-’80s/early-’90s shoegazers such as My Bloody Valentine and Ride, with whom they are often linked. The Oxford, England, quartet could fashion a wall of sound, to be sure, but their churning, aggressive guitar rock over four albums (1991-98) was the kind of music that could shake you to your foundation rather than seep, midtempo, into your soul.

The foursome’s reunion for Coachella (they were a late add to the lineup) was largely unheralded, except by a few passionate fans who were keenly tuned into the band’s recipe of guitar riffs and effects.

Swervedriver’s set before a one-third-full Mojave Tent on Sunday afternoon certainly ranked as a triumph artistically, as Adam Franklin and mates bathed the faithful in angsty roaring and subtler noodling. Ever stoic as a frontman, Franklin remained expressionless throughout (save for a smile of acknowledgment to a friend sidestage), but the music and the obvious joy with which drummer Jez Hindmarsh played spread smiles all around.

If Sunday was any indication, Franklin, who has released a fine solo album and has a buzzworthy side project with Interpol drummer Sam Fogarino called Magnetic Morning, might have more work to do with Swervedriver.

– Kevin Bronson

Photo: Kevin Bronson / Los Angeles Times

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

Hot Chip was hot all right. The English electro-pop act packed the Sahara tent at Coachella on Saturday evening, and then some, blinding the crowd with beats. Fans were also blinded by the harsh sun coming through the west end of the tent.

Those who thought the quintet stole the show at last year’s Coachella were not disappointed. Some fans climbed the scaffolding of the tent; another tried crashing the up-front area, and after a WWF-worthy tussle with a security guard that saw the perpetrator crash through the side of the tent, order was restored. The over-exuberant fan was carted off in handcuffs.

Behave. It’s dance music.

–Photos and post by Kevin Bronson

It’s always a fun time when Death Cab For Cutie plays its anti-L.A. anthem “Why You’d Want to Live Here” in Southern California. It’s an exacting laundry list of the most cliched, obvious complaints about Los Angeles: traffic, movie star egos and smog.

Oh, sensitive Seattle-ite Ben Gibbard, with your floppy bangs and pained falsetto, we’re so sorry our city doth offend you so! Yes, we know you’re kind of kidding, and you’re really only bitter that another hipstress wised up to your sad-panda schtick, but still, tell us about your mythic Metros and great coffee and endless metaphorical rain!

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The sweltering crowd that braved triple-digit temperatures for the 4 p.m. set at the main stage on Saturday at Coachella could have used a cold front along with the Cold War Kids, but somehow the heat was fitting for the Long Beach-based quartet’s sometimes-swampy, always-clattery blues.

The indie favorites emerged from the L.A. scene in 2006 with a reputation for steamy club gigs and road-tested intensity. The heat Saturday demanded every ounce of frontman Nathan Willett’s caterwaul, as he and mates Matt Maust, Jonnie Bo Russell and Matt Aveiro worked themselves into a red-faced frenzy. Their largely spare arrangements and frenetic percussion proved too daunting for the mix at times, but tales of woe such as “Hospital Beds,” “We Used to Vacation” and “Hang Me Up to Dry” still came off as boozy and forlorn, even in the harsh sunlight.

The foursome has been working on a follow-up to 2006’s “Robbers & Cowards,” and showcased at least four of the new tunes, a couple of which seemed to slow the set to a crawl. But maybe it was the lack of a breeze.

– Photo, post by Kevin Bronson

The Coachella festival’s afternoon set from Carbon/Silicon had all the trappings of a backyard barbecue when your eccentric uncles grab guitars, give you an eyebrow-raised grin that only implies they used to be a band and play until the beer runs out.

The quartet, featuring Mick Jones from the Clash and Tony James from Generation X, kept it  loose affair, and maybe, casually, a flip-off to Father Time. That Jones and James still have much to say poiltically and socially is without question; Jones, 52, and James, who just turned 50, merely underscore it with less abandon these days. If the guitar work is fairly ordinary, the content isn’t — songs off 2007’s “The Last Post” echo the inflammatory punk rock of the early days.

The early days weren’t mentioned Saturday. Instead, Jones bantered about things eccentric uncles might tell you — the song “Magic Suitcase” is about a trunk full of steroids but these days he’d settle “for International House of Pancakes French toast.” Dostoevsky is name-checked in “WTF?” — but, Jones relays later, he had a nice time this week at Disneyland. And did you know he has psoriasis?

Much respect was shown, from fans young (some of whom were mouthing the words to “Magic Suitcase” and “The News”) and old. Can we do this again next weekend?

– Post, photo by Kevin Bronson