A Festi-Val (or Festi-Mal) to Remember
The Corona Capital 2025, in a burst of absolute originality, decided that its fifteenth edition would be the last. Because nothing says “we’re unique” like following the global trend of canceling things people love. The event, which calls itself a “generational crossover,” basically brought together millennials with a midlife crisis, centennials who discovered rock on TikTok, and some resilient boomers who still believe the Autódromo is just for racing.
To give it that touch of controlled chaos that we enjoy so much, the festival started with a round of musical cancellations. Waxahatchee, Jelly Roll, Samia and PinkPantheress decided they had better plans (or maybe they read the traffic reviews from previous years). Their replacements – Whitney, Parallelle, Lyrah and Adéla – sounded like those substitutes who enter the game when it is already lost, but who, to everyone’s surprise, managed to prevent the show from turning into three days of absolute silence. A miracle, wow.
Day 1: Nostalgia Knocks at the Door (And Charges Admission)
The opening was given by Franz Ferdinand, whose greatest achievement was to demonstrate that “Take Me Out” remains the perfect anthem for two completely different generations to unite in the same thought: “Do they still exist?” Their riffs were a comforting massage for the ears of those who miss the indie of yesteryear.
Then, Queens of the Stone Age showed up to remind us that Josh Homme is basically the cool rocker guy we all wish we had. With a set that was a demonstration of sonic power, they made it clear to us that the desert and stoner rock are a combination that will never go out of style, or at least, it won’t at the Autódromo.
The first day was closed by Foo Fighters, because what would a rock festival be without Dave Grohl smiling as if he had just invented the drums? With a string of hits that we all know by heart – “All My Life”, “The Pretender” – the band fulfilled its role as an infallible rock machine. It was like eating your favorite childhood food: comforting, predictable and perfect.
Day 2: From Raw Emotion to Ultra Modern Show
Saturday was the day designated for “diversity”, which in festival language means: “today it’s not just white men’s rock with guitars.” Brittany Howard of Alabama Shakes turned the stage into a soul group therapy session. It was emotional, raw and so intense that several attendees probably had to check their emotions afterwards.
And then, the moment that all the social media algorithms were waiting for: Chappell Roan. With a production so theatrical and visual that it made the other shows seem like a garage rehearsal, the artist demonstrated that current pop is a multimedia experience. Her followers, who looked like they stepped out of a choreographed TikTok feed, sang “Femininomenon” as if it were the new national anthem. One almost expected the credits to roll at the end.
Day 3: Goodbye, Tears and a Flying Dr. Simi
Sunday dawned, and with it, the promise of a historic ending. The Deftones submerged the Autódromo in a sea of black t-shirts and sounds that oscillate between the ethereal and the visceral. Chino Moreno, between green lights, generated controlled chaos that was, without a doubt, one of the most intense atmospheres of the weekend. Because nothing unites people more than a good collective slam.
But the crowning moment, the icing on the cake, the reason why many paid for their subscription, was the much announced (and leaked) return of Linkin Park. The main screen began a countdown so dramatic that one expected the launch of a space rocket. The band opened with “Somewhere I Belong” and immediately thousands of souls went back in time 20 years in a collective act of pure and simple nostalgia. It was beautiful, it was emotional, it was… predictable.
The climax of the play came with “In The End”, but not before the band decided to turn the stage into a Mexican curio shop, appearing with wrestler masks, a Mexican flag and, the master touch, aDr. Flying simi. Because nothing says “respect for Chester Bennington’s heritage” like an inflatable doll of a friendly doctor. It was a nod so local, so absurd and so perfectly strange that, in some way, it summed up the entire spirit of the festival: chaotic, sentimental and full of moments that you don’t know whether to love or seriously question.
So goodbye, Corona Capital. You leave us with ringing ears, sore feet and the memory of a Dr. Simi flying through the skies of Mexico City. It wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly unforgettable.
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