I Watched 18 Hours of Coachella's Vertical Livestream and All I Got Was This Lousy FOMO
Say what you will about Coachella, but anyone who's actually been knows the truth: it's a blast.
I went in 2024, where I earned my stripes as a Coachella elder. The music hits hard, assuming you can navigate around the influencers and their ring light setups. I'd be back in the desert dust tomorrow if I could swing the ticket price, airfare, and the potentially nightmarish drive into the Colorado Desert.
But I've got a smartphone, which turns out to be enough. Coachella has livestreamed performances for years, but this year the festival overhauled its vertical video offering for mobile viewers. So I decided to lean into "Couchella" and watch the entire weekend exclusively in portrait mode.
The production quality jumped significantly this year. Coachella now streams seven stages on YouTube with 4K resolution and multiview options that let you toggle between stages like channel surfing. The festival's EDM-focused Quasar stage, livestreaming on YouTube Shorts all weekend, was captured entirely on Google Pixel devices. That became my feed of choice.
Vertical video has colonized the internet. Beyond every social platform prioritizing endless scrollable feeds, Disney launched short-form content called Verts on Disney+. Bravo is preparing to roll out vertical clips hosted by an AI-generated Andy Cohen serving up "iconic scenes" from its reality TV empire. Even the Oscars took a shot at the format.
For Coachella, the vertical format is a natural fit. Just like the festival itself, vertical video has become the domain of brands and influencers. The festival's marketing engine runs on FOMO, and vertical feeds are built to amplify that feeling. Most Pixel-shot videos place viewers right beside performers, creating the illusion of VIP access—as if you're standing onstage with the artists.
But is this really the optimal way to watch live music? Perhaps in short bursts. Definitely not for 18 hours across a weekend, as I discovered.
My assignment was straightforward: watch Coachella's entire vertical livestream. No switching to 4K horizontal feeds or multi-window viewing allowed.
Coachella debuted a similar vertical stream last year, earning memorable feedback from Reddit users like "it's too vertical," "I immediately switched to another channel," and "so glad this video is squished up and limiting my view of the stage." This year proved different. Each day's stream accumulated thousands of likes—over 42,000 for both Saturday and Sunday, according to Google's thumbs-up counter. The vertical feed sometimes outperformed horizontal streams of the same stage.
Live chat buzzed with activity—viewers either enthusiastic about performances or sharing gems like "ugh, next song bro," "I wish I was at Coachella," and strings of cross emojis. Still easier to ignore than someone talking through an entire set next to you.
Two hours into Saturday's stream, I'm two edibles and several beers in, dancing to Joezi on my deck. Rain-soaked but committed. This is Coachella, after all.
David Guetta delivers an entertaining if predictable set. Joy (Anonymous) talks too much. Fatboy Slim reminds everyone why he's legendary. Meanwhile, I'm using an actual bathroom. Taking showers. Doing laundry. Walking my dog. Preparing dinner without risking injury. Reading. Sleeping in a real bed. Try managing any of that while watching a show from the actual festival grounds.
The experience isn't flawless. The Quasar stage features massive horizontal screens that define its visual impact. Watching them compressed into vertical phone format strips away that grandeur. There's also an unavoidable awkwardness in watching crowds party while you're alone with your phone.
The horizontal video ban means missing headliners on other stages—Justin Bieber, Karol G. I'd been anticipating Nine Inch Noize, since headbanging to remixed industrial rock feels appropriate when reality resembles the midpoint of a NIN apocalyptic concept album. In a way, these limitations mirror actual festival scheduling conflicts that force difficult choices.
Despite home viewing advantages—mainly cleanliness and financial relief—the feed absolutely triggers FOMO. Streaming works well for music fans, but you can't escape knowing you're missing the authentic experience. The expensive, exhausting, occasionally miserable one where you wander dusty grounds with drunk friends and might spot Katy Perry and former Canadian PM Justin Trudeau acting like college kids. Even with the physical toll festivals exact, I always feel melancholy when they end. Now, I'm counting down until this vertical experiment concludes.
Sunday arrives—the festival's final day. I'm walking my dog with the livestream playing. Like leaving an actual festival, I'm exhausted and overstimulated from endless hours of music.
Back inside, barefoot Fatboy Slim plays funky beats through my phone. ("Who's this grandpa?" someone comments.) Sitting at my desk, I accidentally swipe up and the video switches. Swiping back fails, forcing me to close and reopen the app. When the feed returns, the Fatboy Slim track is chanting its refrain.
Ten minutes later, I'm in bed. At least I can sleep knowing I won't spend eight hours in traffic leaving the venue tomorrow.
