Not to be overshadowed by the new—and literally groovier—vinyl-only Despacio tent, the deep/techno Yuma Tent continued its annual upgrades, and that evolution has resulted in what appears to be a permanent dance club for the Empire Polo Field. A completely wooden interior, new day beds (as odd as that is for a dance tent) and a “chill” room were among the changes. The music curation, thankfully, remains the same, given what I heard from techno figurehead Matthew Dear and prog/tech moodshaper DJ Koze on Saturday, and Euro house favorite Tensnake and esteemed veteran John Digweed on Sunday. Yuma saw some of its largest crowds and entrance lines for the latter two. (Coachella wisely installed wristband scanners to more accurately monitor and adhere to capacity.) While the former took on the role of crowdpleaser, the latter used the lure of his name to introduce mostly house and techno novices to a wide but festival-friendly spectrum of, and overlap between, dance subgenres. All the signatures past and present were there: the rumbling but elastic basslines, the atmospheric synth wooshes, the subtle sci-fi samples, the steady and meditative beats, the sustained ambient notes and the occasional clarion and arpeggiated hooks, which have evolved from Digweed’s trancier days. Seamlessly mixed per usual, the set was a masterclass in rhythmic escapade that balanced restraint and release, and served as a much-needed antidote to the dense gimmickry of commercial EDM heard on the fields at pretty much any given moment.

Speaking of evocative and transporting music, kudos to the festival programmer who stationed Baltimore quartet Beach House at the Outdoor Theatre stage just after sunset ... though that same Coachella staffer also earned a giant demerit for overlapping their slot with that of the bombastic trio-and-friends Major Lazer, who performed just next door at the main stage, resulting in a sound bleed with which the foursome (and its audience) could not compete. Mercifully, it only lasted 10 or 15 minutes, with the reverb-fueled, keyboard-shimmering romanticism projecting loud and clear for the rest of the 50-minute set. Occasionally, less resonant melodies from more recent material (see 2015’s Depression Cherry and Thank Your Lucky Stars) demonstrated the potential intangibility of hazy etherealism. But those less substantial moments still comforted during a moment of grassy respite, and were eventually followed by the stronger, also-recent “Space Song” and modern-day classics “10 Mile Stereo” and “Myth.” Standing out in every way throughout was the assuaging and breathy delivery of vocalist/keyboardist Victoria Legrand, whose alternating starry and silhouetted figure made her one of the most visually arresting presences of the weekend.

Following Beach House was Australian songwriter/vocalist Sia, whose role as unlikely pop star qualified her for a pre-headliner main-stage set, and even those most cognizant of the indirect and distinct ways she visually interprets her material might not have predicted the celebrity assists to come. For the entire hour, Sia stood un-illuminated and shrouded by her trademark wig (facsimiles of which were on sale at the merch booth) at the back of the sparely populated and musician-less stage while various performance artists—dancer Maddie Ziegler from Sia’s most popular videos, actors including Kristen Wiig (Saturday Night Live) and Paul Dano (Love and Mercy, There Will Be Blood) and comedian Zig Notaro—performed. Or so it initially looked. In reality, the singer had her recognizable collaborators pre-tape their offerings, which were impressively and faithfully mimicked by lookalike performers onstage. Sure, it got a little goofy, pretentious and/or labored, with a possible viral aspiration to accompany the artistic one. And some of the onlookers, especially clearly waiting for Calvin Harris’ closing set, seemed impatient with the abstract display, one yelling, “Sia, where you at?” But the remainder of the audience appeared attentive and pondering what it all meant—specifically, how the performers’ movements reflected the lyrics and themes Sia simultaneously (and soaringly) sang in songs like “Big Girls Cry,” “Elastic Heart,” “Chandelier” and “Diamonds” (which became a hit for Rhianna, who, unbeknownst to the crowd, had already committed her cameo to another performer). Musically, it was a hit-loaded festival set, reaching as far back as 2004’s “Breathe Me,” known best for scoring the tearjerking end of HBO’s Six Feet Under series. But the set’s predictability started and ended there, a welcome feat during what has become an increasingly predictable festival.