News flash: Lady Gaga didn't descend from the cosmos as a fully formed entertainer. She was, like everyone else at Coachella on Saturday night, born on Earth to humans who no doubt doted on their little daughter as Gaga's tribe, known as Little Monsters, do now.
"Most people don't come with their parents to Coachella, but my mom and dad are here," she said. Cheers of welcome erupted.
They were at Coachella to watch their girl do what she's done since she was a tyke: sing her songs and dance.
Across the massive Coachella main stage field, tens of thousands of attendees, many of whom had endured a brutal day under the sun with temperatures reaching over 100 degrees, joined them.
Many were crashed out on the pitch in pairs and bunches, some power-napping, others gossiping, most staring at smartphone screens and exhausted.
But Little Monster legs are strong from constant dancing, and the evidence was there in the pit, where diehards had been camped out at least since experimental folk artist Bon Iver's weird Vocoder-rich set a few hours earlier.
Gaga played the same batch of songs as last week. A late-add headliner who stepped up after the superstar Beyoncé postponed due to her pregnancy (twins!), she ripped through the set with a determined glee.
As with the previous Saturday's performance, which Times pop critic Mikael Wood described as "wild but controlled, funny but scary, deeply tender yet filled with aggression," the artist and her posse of tightly choreographed dancers maneuvered through a set that highlighted hits and diversions from across her career.
"All the little monsters hiding in this Coachella crowd, I see you! I feel your crazy spirit."
That craziness -- tempered with the occasional ballad or costume break -- continued unabated. Well, almost.
Near the VIP exit as Gaga sang the lyrics to "Telephone" -- Hello, hello, baby/ You called/ I can't hear a thing/I have got no service/ In the club, you see" -- a few tired souls made their escape.
One couple pushed a stroller whose passenger, a toddler, was sound asleep. Their daughter was already a little monster.
"She stayed awake as long as she could," the mother told a passerby.
The Gaga set capped a hot day in more ways than one.
On the Coachella stage in the early afternoon, a sweat-drenched Local Natives soared through their effervescent rock songs, their vocal harmonies echoing in all directions.
In the shade of the Gobi tent, the ascendent songwriter Mitski presented jaggedly beautiful works that suggested the aesthetic assuredness of PJ Harvey and St. Vincent.
The Virginia rock band Car Seat Headrest ripped through their song "Fill in the Blank," which addressed generational malaise that seemed to strike home to their singing-along millennial fan base: "You have no right to be depressed!/ You haven't tried hard enough to like it/ Haven't seen enough of this world yet/ But it hurts."
In the Sonora tent, the Boyle Heights band the Commons delivered an exuberant set of cumbia-punk that saw bassist Jose Rojas and guitarist David Pacheco bouncing to their music as if on a trampoline.
Those looking for an indoor communal dance experience filled the disco-esque Yuma tent throughout the day. The air-conditioned spot, lit by lasers, strobes and a spinning, shark-shaped mirrorball, was dense with dancers as a tag-team trio of brilliant producer-DJs -- Daphni, Fourtet and Floating Points -- dug in their crates for a set that mixed house, techno, vintage electronic jams and long-lost disco curios.
Across the way, the bombastic EDM producer DJ Snake mixed bass-heavy thump and scream-along catch-phrases for a simpler brand of beat music.
For his part, the New York-based composer-producer Nicolas Jaar worked in more rhythmic and structural variation in a few measures than DJ Snake did in his entire set.