FARA Records · Digital release

I Was at Coachella (But Not Really)

NEVEDEZ

If I felt it, does it count? A festival record about not being at the festival, that never once tells you which way to feel about that. Press play. Decide...

Archive no.
FARA-100
Edition
DRM-free audio
Delivery
Instant download
Issued
2026
£0.99 Pay once · yours to keep
I Was at Coachella (But Not Really)
Edition artwork FARA-100

I Was at Coachella (But Not Really)

NEVE DEZ · FARA Records · FARA-100 ·

If I felt it, does it count? A festival record about not being at the festival, that never once tells you which way to feel about that. Press play. Decide for yourself.

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  1. 01 I Was at Coachella (But Not Really) 3:43

If I felt it… does it count?

MUSIC TRACK STORY

I Was at Coachella (But Not Really) is NEVE and DEZ's debut single — a festival record about not being at the festival, sung with genuine euphoria and quiet ambivalence at once.

Music Track Story

I Was at Coachella (But Not Really) is the debut single from NEVE and DEZ — recorded entirely in the emotional geography of one Ontario bedroom, on a night a livestream stood in for a festival three thousand kilometres away. A dreamy, half-remembered intro opens into a genuinely big melodic-dance chorus — the warm, widescreen Australian-lineage register at full size — before a rap verse pulls the whole thing back down to earth in the middle. NEVE carries the lead: “crowd moving but I'm lying still,” watching a set from under a duvet with a phone as the only light in the room. DEZ's verse is the ground-level counterweight, delivered in the genuinely distinctive Toronto and GTA accent — Caribbean patois inflection meeting London slang meeting North American vowels — a hybrid the city produces without anyone having to invent it.

The title names the festival everyone was watching without her, chopped into the vocal hook itself — a chant built to sing back before the listener even parses the words. It's a festival record about not being at the festival, engineered to work in both directions at once: big enough to land in an actual field, intimate enough to land under a duvet at 2am on the other side of the world from where it's happening.

What keeps the song honest is that it refuses to resolve. This isn't a lecture about screen time and it isn't a celebration of staying in — it's somebody having a real experience in the wrong place, genuinely unsure what to do with that. The bridge strips everything back to six short lines and lands on the only question the record actually asks: “if I felt it, does it count?” No answer arrives, because the song doesn't have one.

The wristband that came in the post stays sealed in its packet on the desk the entire time.

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