Lollapalooza 2007 (Part Three in Which Jenny Wraps It Up, Finally)

Day Three was to be the longest of all the festival days, but we weren't prepared for it to also be the hottest. It was immediately apparent that the temperate dampness of Day Two was gone the moment we stepped outside our hotel. I was convinced that Becky, who had dressed that day in t-shirt and jeans in order to wear tennis shoes and thus avoid muddy sandals, would soon be regretting her attire choices. On the other hand, shorts, like the ones I wore, seemed to provide little comfort from the 95 degrees and 85% humidity choking the air.

After a brief brunch debacle at a downtown Panera Bread which made me a true believer that Chicago has the worst customer service this side of the Seine, we headed toward Grant Park to get a start on our 11 hours of music.

A flock of geese grazed on the freshly-watered fields in front of the massive Bud Light stage as I lunched on a hamburger and thought, naively, "The day can only get better from here."

Our Stage Stops
Sunday, August 5 - Day Three

• The Postmarks. To our great misfortune, we arrived to our first stage about 15 minutes early, just in time to endure the last couple of songs emanating from Juliette and the Licks, playing nearby. {I'd like to take this time to ask Juliette Lewis to please, please, stop performing horrible music and go back to horrible acting. Thanks.} And once The Postmarks finally sauntered on stage before their medium-sized morning crowd and began their first song, I realized that we had endured the torment of Juliette Lewis' shrieking for nothing. The chamber-pop Postmarks, who I had expected to be a bit slow and soft, outdid my expectations beyond all measure and did only a hair more than sleep on stage. The lead singer, a girl named Tim, stood motionless before the mic in face-swallowing black sunglasses, whispering "doo-doo-doo"s above the delicate guitar and keyboards backing her. Audience members would inevitably arrive and leave within 5 minutes, trying to avoid falling unconscious, shrugging their shoulders and checking their programs for more lifelike options. I'm a huge fan of acts like this (Azure Ray, Au Revoir Simone, etc.), but if you're going to bring nothing to the stage, you may as well just stay home.


• Break. Giving up on The Postmarks after four songs and knowing even less about the bands playing just after them, I decided our best strategy would be to do some extra-musical browsing around the park. After the looks Becky was making during our first band of Day Three, I didn't want to chance compounding the problem. So we eventually wandered into the tree-dotted area of the MOTO Mindfield where a surprisingly large crowd had gathered on shady bleachers to watch bad comedians host a Playstation trivia game featuring depressingly ignorant contestants. Hey, we had time to kill. So much time, in fact, that after taking a seat on the bleachers, we decided to stay put for the half hour after the trivia game ended to catch the Second City improv comedy group put on a show. Sadly, sketch comedy and myself have never been on amicable terms, and after sitting through just ten minutes of loud and unfunny one-liners and lame songs, I turned to Becky with a raised eyebrow and off we went.


• Los Campesinos. On my program for each day, I had circled a band at each time of day that I wanted to peek in on. On no other day, however, were my circles filled with as little conviction and desire as on Day Three. With choices like Smoosh, Amy Winehouse, and Blue October, how could they not be? I think Becky nailed it precisely when she mentioned the fact that the organizers had to move all of the good smaller bands to non-headliner days to increase ticket sales. We were falling victim to monetary maximization. So, forced to choose something, anything, to do for the next hour or so, I led us to Los Campesinos. I know just one of their songs, a fun little indie jaunt called You! Me! Dancing!, but I thought, "Maybe if half their songs are as entertaining, we'll have something to do for a while." Within two songs, Becky had spit more glares at me and frowns at the ground than I ever thought possible from one person's face. When they launched into a five minute noise jam session featuring squealing guitars and random keyboard solos, Becky shook her head and walked off. "This is awful. I'm going over to Amy Winehouse." I personally thought the experimental, giddy little septet was doing an okay job, and I'd be damned before I ever lowered myself to watching trash like Winehouse. So we split up here for a while, and as You! Me! Dancing! began and I rose to join the crowd in bouncy movement, I wondered if we'd be staying on separate paths for the remainder of the day.


• Kings Of Leon. After Los Campesinos and Winehouse had silenced their respective noise, Becky and I wandered back together, again at a loss for where to be. We wafted momentarily past the forgettable Annuals, through steaming masses of overheating crowds, moving like schools of fish swimming up narrow pathways, past smoky grilled food booths, and over dirt baseball fields before once again ending up inside the air-conditioned oasis of the AT&T tent. This time, we spotted a coveted empty spot on the floor, right in front of a set of the mammoth fans spitting cold air. Taking our seats there in the corner, surrounded by a group of quiet people looking similarly bored and heat-stroked, we noticed the Kings of Leon on the widescreen next to us. Incidentally, they were playing on the big stage just outside the tent's front door, but out there... no air conditioning. So we watched and listened to the echoing weirdness of the TV's split-second delay tripping in behind the actual music happening outside. A good half hour would pass as we watched the Kings spin their oddly-appealing, messy, Southern, prog-rock until we decided it was time to get off our asses and actually join the living.


• Peter Bjorn and John. Though I've been sick of Young Folks for a year now, I thought it would be interesting to see the trio play live. Apparently, it wasn't meant to be. The Lolla sound curse reared its ugly head once again to silence PB and J in the midst of just their second song. The band, looking a bit confused and only slightly less comfortable with improv than the Second City troupe, stood motionless for a few seconds before one of them danced a sad little jig and the rest of them shuffled silently offstage. Though the huge crowd (which I'm sure was eager to hear that aforementioned song of which I'm utterly tired) seemed content to stand and wait for the technical difficulties to be resolved, I thought it probably wouldn't be worth the wait anyway. Off we moved toward the Bud Light stage in preparation for Modest Mouse.


• The Wailers vs. Yo La Tengo. I like Yo La Tengo. From the Yo La Tengo I've heard, they're quite unique and yet still accessible. This, however, this was not Yo La Tengo. I don't know who these people were, but their set, from minute one, came at me like an ugly, spiked toad, croaking and lurching, and if that's the true Yo La Tengo, then I don't like Yo La Tengo. And it gets worse. Recoiling from the mess happening on the Yo La Tengo stage, Becky and I took shelter on a tree-covered patch of soil with hundreds of lounging and seated others. (The blue Playstation ponchos we had wrenched from the hands of that poor Playstation rep the day before were now coming in quite handily as makeshift blankets upon which to sit.) Unfortunately, this little patch of land sat nearly dead-center between Yo La Tengo's stage and that of The Wailers, so it soon felt like we were guinea pigs, being tested by crazy scientists as to the combined psychological effects of cacophonous indie rock and reggae. No Woman No Cry mingled with squealing, low-fi jams, and I began to lose my mind. So I stared straight ahead at the water fountain in front of us, with its unending stream of sweaty kid after sweaty kid filling their water bottles. I played with the mulch on the ground beneath our plastic blue blanket. I watched Becky stare blankly from behind her huge sunglasses, holding her complimentary AT&T hand fan mere inches from her face. I took pictures of my feet. And then it was time for Modest Mouse.


• Modest Mouse. Seated half a mile from the Modest Mouse stage at the North end of the park so as to more quickly reach the Pearl Jam stage afterward at the South end of the park, Becky and I waited for the band to arrive as crowds filed in past us, slowly consuming every bit of empty grass. And finally, the band appeared, ant-sized from where we were despite huge monitors on either side of the stage. I thoroughly believe that We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank is one of the better albums of 2007, so I was anxious to get this show on the road and hear real music for the first time that day. So I waited. And waited. Until I realized, that that crackling, muffled, ice-cream-truck tuneage I was hearing was all we were getting. The speakers nearest our position meekly hummed out every other note, sputtering at us and teasing us with only occasional clarity. Heartbreaking. One of the only bands I was looking forward to seeing and hearing... and I could barely do either. After 4 songs (which I'm sure were amazing to those right at the stage's edge), I threw in the towel and admitted defeat. "Do you want to head over to find a spot for Pearl Jam?"


• My Morning Jacket. By now, in the late afternoon, the park was beginning to swell with people. Every path choked and clogged. Every porta-potty had a line. Luckily, we had plenty of time to pick out a position on the sprawling field before the Pearl Jam stage. When we reached it, however, we realized that My Morning Jacket was still playing. So we slid past the endless groups of 20-something white guys, and camped out to wait beside the elevated sound booth. I have to admit some ignorance here, as I had convinced myself somehow that My Morning Jacket was just another obnoxious emo band (probably because of that pesky My Chemical Romance titular similarity). But I found myself pleasantly surprised to discover that nothing could be further from the truth. The band on stage was rolling out epic soundscapes of melodic guitar and string backed by an entire youth orchestra. They were dressed in purple tuxedos and stood before a backdrop straight out of a Candyland board game: a frosting-pink wall littered with candy and ice cream. The music was foreign to me, but felt strangely familiar and warm. Because I can't offer a single song name, though, we'll just leave it at this for now: I was impressed.


• Pearl Jam. As some of the My Morning Jacket faithful filed off the field after their last song, Becky and I moved forward with the remaining crowd to get a better view. I was amazed at the amount of people standing in that field waiting for a band that I was not only mostly indifferent to, but at many times, also annoyed by. But this was why we were here after all, and I thought, maybe this is just one of those bands you have to see in person to understand. ...Sadly, I'd soon be proved wrong. This was still Pearl Jam, same old boring Pearl Jam, with a lead singer that sounds 80 years old when he talks and predictable crunchy rock. At most points, as I looked over at Becky, I was convinced she was bored, too. She has seen them 5 or 6 times now, after all. Maybe it was just heat exhaustion. The interesting points of the set came when Vedder mumbled at the crowd between songs. Near the middle of the set, he noted that he was hearing fireworks, which for some reason had begun to explode above and behind the stage midway through an extended Even Flow. Later, he muttered something obvious about Bush, incorporating his understandable dislike into a little ditty, and then later offered up a chant against BP Amoco, urging concert-goers to boycott the oil company for crimes against Lake Michigan. To me, it was the irony that surged through the "Brought to you by AT&T" banners astride the stage that held more meaning. (And hearing later that that same company had censored some of Vedder's politics for the webcast of the event made it even funnier.) The set, however, chugged along, and I waited it out on feet that had seen the ugly side of three days' standing. One moment made it worth it: singing along to Better Man, the one good Pearl Jam song I know, along with thousands of others. The front man left it to the crowd for the full first verse and chorus and then, sliding toward the mic and smiling, praised us. "Fucking beautiful."

And now, the envelope please...
Absolute Worst Band: Powerspace
Most Ungodly Noise Generated By: Tie between Yo La Tengo and Juliette and the Licks
Worst Sound Production: Every Lollapalooza stage but the one on which Pearl Jam played. Go figure.
Best Corporate Freebie: AT&T battery-operated hand fans, followed closely by Playstation's timely blue rain ponchos
Most Surprising Moment: Tie between My Morning Jacket and learning that you could buy chocolate-covered strawberries at a music festival
Most Serene Moment: Standing in a light rain surrounded by chanting Snow Patrol fans
Most Fun You Can Have At A Music Festival: I'm From Barcelona
Winner of Lollapalooza: Matt & Kim, for being obscenely happy, and rocking the stage not for one, but two energetic and super-fun sets.

Overall, it was a weird little time, filled with bands I didn't care about and plenty of disappointments, but also with a few extremely great moments and a new-found appreciation for my sister's ability to withstand high humidity and wacky indie bands.

Good times.

Lollapalooza 2007 (Part Two in Which Jenny Goes Crazy for a Musical Collective with a Penchant for Kazoos)

Day Two of the Lollaxperience began crispy and hypercolored. The one sunscreen that we had brought between the two of us had had a bit of a meltdown while on the plane, leaking entirely out onto Becky's clothes and leaving us open and naked to the sun (SPF-speaking) for an entire 7 hours. Needless to say, looking into the mirror on the morning of Day Two, I had a chance to ponder the origin of the word redneck. Then it was on to the festival.

The weather of Day Two, though, felt like a small gift. Overcast and cooler, rain hanging overhead but clinging to sun-blocking clouds. Now, if only it could stay just like this...

Our Stage Stops
Saturday, August 4 - Day Two

• Dear and the Headlights. Making our way toward the north end stage where I'm From Barcelona would be playing in just over half an hour, we wandered past Dear and the Headlights at the all-shady BMI stage. Stopping to check them out, I listened for half a song and turned to Becky to ask, "Who are these guys? They're not bad." "Dear and the Headlights," she replied after consulting a handy pocket program. They reminded me a bit of a slightly louder Shins, with comforting and somehow familiar pop-rocky angst. And just as soon as we knew who they were, they finished up, prompting us to move on.
• 
  Matt & Kim. Okay. There's this band. It's a guy on a keyboard who yells his happy lyrics into a microphone perched atop a keyboard he plays while half-dancing upon a bench seat as a muscularly lean, short-haired girl keeps giddy, simple time on a set of drums next to him, smiling a constant 6-year-old-at-Christmas smile. Would you listen? Oh, you would. Seeing Matt & Kim live is all you need to be sold on their, for lack of a better term, jangle pop. Their infectiously happy interactions on stage pull you in so that the entire time you're listening, you can't help but smile, despite the lack of song-writing finesse or instrumental expertise. The couple, situated dead center of a large stage, was clearly dumb-founded by the ever-growing crowd they continued to draw, Matt making comment after comment about how "awesome" this all was. And then, in an event that would become a bit too common throughout the rest of Lollapalooza, their stage experienced some kind of sound meltdown, and Matt & Kim had to make a still happy, if somewhat early, exit.


• I'm From Barcelona. But there's more than one way to start the day on an upbeat note, and I thought, "Well Matt & Kim were great, but let's see what I'm From Barcelona can do." So, a bit nervous about Becky's reaction to a band she had previously called "cultish" for their hand-clapping happiness on the single, "We're From Barcelona," we wandered over to one of the only two stages big enough to accommodate a 29-person band. Their set began as a surprisingly huge crowd welcomed the Finns with loud applause and the group took positions with a man in a bear suit posting himself out in front to the left of the red-headed singer. "Wow," I thought, "Becky's going to hate me for this." And then they proceeded to play a song that has easily become one of the best songs I've heard in ages: Treehouse. By the end of the song, complete with hand movements that most of the crowd had no problem imitating, lovely lyrics, and a gorgeous melody, I was officially in love with this band. A following song, Rec & Play, just confirmed it. Prefacing the song, lead singer Emanuel Lundgren said that he had planned to bring cassettes to throw out to the crowd at a certain point but that he sadly only had enough money for 50 tapes. And as he correctly noted, "There's a lot more of you than 50." So as the lyrics, "I will throw my tapes away because this will be the one worth saving," rolled around, Emanuel threw imaginary tapes out to the crowd who, playing along like it was second-nature, eagerly pretended to catch them. During their last song, one called Ola Kala, the entire crowd, nearly every single person, moved along, arms sweeping the sky slowly side to side, to "Don't be afraid... Don't be afraid... 'Cause everything is gonna turn to be okay.... Don't be afraid..." I've adopted that moment, memorizing every dumb smile in that crowd and on my own face, even Becky grinning with arms folded, the two of us standing in a cloud-shadowed field in Chicago - I go to that place any time I think, "I hate my life," and I smile.
  


• Break. Leaving I'm From Barcelona, pleasantly surprised that Becky wasn't hitting me for dragging her into that little lovefest, we realized that there was no band that interested either of us for some time. So it was time to hit up those low-priced food booths and peruse Green Street.


• Aqueduct. There's only so much time you can spend staring at hemp bags, however, and eventually I led us toward Aqueduct's stage. I knew and still know next to nothing about him/them. Halfway into the first song though, Becky was turning to me with furrowed brow and pursed lips speaking angry sarcasm without saying a word. I didn't think it so bad: a mix of funky pop with keyboards, bass, and drum. [It was right around the start of that first song that we spotted some festival workers carting in boxes marked "RAIN PONCHOS," and looking at the threatening sky and then at each other, we decided: good idea.] So we sat a bit longer on the pavement with the rest of the crowd along the side, me - trying to groove along to Aqueduct, Becky - deciding to leave and get a drink. And then he pulled out some song with lyrics about, "People don't change, bitch. Don't even try." Ugh. Yeah, maybe Becky was right.



• Cold War Kids. Next on the program was a choice of either Stephen Marley (saw him at Vegoose 2006, and okay, I get it: reggae, whatever), Silverchair (the Hanson of grunge is apparently still around), and Lady GaGa (who? No.). So we spent about 15 minutes trying to track down those elusive rain ponchos. They had to have gone somewhere, but the vacant stare of the girl at the official store told us we were on our own to find them. Giving up for the moment, we found a tiny spot to stand amongst the throng of people awaiting the Cold War Kids at the small Citi stage. The small grass lawn in front of us was littered blanket-to-blanket with people, the pathways next to us packed, and the area in front of the stage and as far back as we could see: like sardines. Was there something I didn't know? I had recently gotten their album Robbers & Cowards but had so far still only liked the single Hang Me Up To Dry. This crowd implied that some kind of musical genius was about to stroll on stage. There were people in the trees! waiting to sneak a peek at these apparent post-modern gods. Becky suggested, "Well, there really aren't that many other choices right now." Good point. It was this or Motion City Soundtrack. Not good. The band eventually wandered out and began to play for their appreciative crowd and I thought, "Hm. Yeah." And then it started to rain. "This will be so appropriate once they start playing Hang Me Up To Dry," I chuckled to Becky, who had already started scanning the crowd for ponchos. After spotting 2, then 3, blue ponchos with a Playstation logo, we made a bee line for the nearby Playstation tent (along with about 50 others who had the same realization at the exact same time.) Poor Playstation guy, he was nearly run over by a horde of poncho-crazed concert-goers. And by the time he had handed out his last two, the rain was barely a trickle, Cold War Kids were still playing their mediocre tunes, and Becky had decided to wander off through the art installations. I hung on at the Citi stage, waiting to hear the only song I cared about, which, as it turns out, is just so-so live.



• Matt & Kim, again. After the Cold War Kids had cleared out and Becky had returned, we grabbed some chocolate-covered strawberry kabobs and stood trying to decide our next move. Next up at this stage was CSS, but a man came out and addressed the crowd, saying that CSS had run into plane problems so Matt & Kim would be coming back for a second set to fill in for them. What?! Awesome. We knew where we'd be for the next hour or so. Matt & Kim's second set was even more fun than the first: confident, completely amped, a few more beers into the day, and with a crowd of stalwart and newly converted fans ready to cheer them on. "I'm Matt and this is Kim, and this is so cool!" When they launched into their infectious single of sorts, Yeah Yeah, for the second time that day, Becky and I were ready to sing along.





• Snow Patrol. A mere half hour separated the end of Matt & Kim from the start of Becky's secondary reason for being at Lolla at all: Snow Patrol. So leaving the dynamic duo just a bit before they ended, we headed back toward the massive Bud Light stage where I'm From Barcelona had made me a believer. This time, the crowd was growing by the second and soccer chants were flying into the air at uneven intervals, Irish flags dotting the field. The set was what I had expected it to be, neither converting me to fandom, nor making for a horrible time. It was just pleasant, if a bit dull, the way you expect bands like this to be. There were the melodic poppy bits, bouncing the crowd like whack-a-moles for entire songs, and there were the lighters-in-the-air anthems with audience sing-alongs missing only the karaoke screen. I guess if it works, why not? Becky clearly enjoyed herself, hands together, as if in prayer, a pose she strikes as she sings along to something she loves. It was nice to finally see her so thoroughly pleased. The rain had returned meanwhile, and during a particularly nice moment of audience chanting, light drops began to glitter the thick air above our heads with coolness, and I thought, "Well, there are certainly worse ways to end a day."

After Snow Patrol ended their set, we headed, along with thousands of others, toward Spoon's stage on the other end of the park. As we reached it, the rain had begun to fall a bit more heavily, and I briefly donned that blue Playstation poncho I had pined for before realizing that standing around in a poncho is the quickest way to feel like an idiot. We stared out at the sea of people already cluttering the field in front of the already-begun Spoon show, and decided, yeah, let's head back to hotel for room service.

{Day Three to be continued.}

Lollapalooza 2007 (Part One in Which Jenny Rambles for Five Hours)

It should come to no surprise to anyone who knows me that I'm only just now recalling my thoughts on the Lollapalooza experience from... what... 2 weeks ago. That's just how I roll.

In any case, I should give a small disclosure here that at the moment, I'm singing along {at the top of my lungs - sorry neighbors} to Treehouse by I'm From Barcelona, who I'm officially naming co-winner of Lollapalooza. That may tint my perspective on all things palooza. But more on that later...

I think key to the experience is: 1) a compatible festival-goer and 2) a fantastic hotel that's not so far away from Grant Park, because God knows, if you've been standing in the Chicago August heat for 10 hours, the last thing you want to do is walk 2 miles. Luckily for me, Hotel 71 turned out to be a lovely choice. The view from our 29th story room provided a breathtaking vantage of the Chicago river (shown left), and the room itself was enormous. [Though compared to the 1/5 sized room that Tony and I shared in San Francisco just a day before, my sense of scale may have been skewed.]

But as for Lollapalooza itself, a quick rundown of the logistics before it's on to the music.

• Chicago in August, and I don't know if you know this, but it's like death. The entire weekend of the festival was dressed in 90-95 degree temperatures with 80% humidity, and for a girl from the desert who's used to scoffing at 90 degrees from the safety of her dry 110 degree summers, experiencing that kind of humid discomfort is a mighty humbling experience.




• To their corporatizing credit, AT&T (the bastard fathers of the Perry Farrell lovechild called Lollapalooza) displayed genius marketing know-how, erecting a tent featuring, sure, cell phone charging stations and access to the internet and the company's Blue Room website, but also FOUR HUGE AIR CONDITIONING UNITS. Needless to say, it was the place to be. Had I not any sense of human decency and concert-going ethics, I may have stayed in that tent the whole weekend. They were playing the big sets on widescreen flat panels, for crying out loud.


• Compared to most other festivals, Lollapalooza is a marketing exec salivating all over his new Armani suit. When you have a "Myspace Stage", that's when you should realize something may have gone wrong with the dream. For those managing to look past the brand names, there were some redeeming points in the consumerist venue: Green Street, for example, a collection of booths offering eco-friendly wares such as hemp messenger bags and guitar straps recycled from old car seat belts; exhibits from student and upcoming artists, which provided a nice respite from the hectic schedule of stage-hopping, featuring my favorite of the group, the "safety bunnies" shown above by artist David Todd Trust; and the surprisingly low-cost food tents. (Chocolate-covered strawberry kabobs at a music festival? Awesome.)

• The setting for the fest couldn't have been better (humidity notwithstanding) with the Chicago skyline as its backdrop and beautiful Grant Park as host, welcoming music lovers past Buckingham Fountain into its north and south wings.

But what of the music? Well. That all depends on who you are, as I'd find out as the sets progressed.

The very primary reason I was there was due to the fact that I was born in July. No really. I'm a Cancer, a very typical family-oriented, giving, and moody Cancer. So when my sister asked me to go with her to Chicago so that she could see two of her very favorite bands (Pearl Jam and Snow Patrol) play in a city to which she'd never been, I said, "Sure!" despite the fact I had no knowledge of the rest of the lineup. I'd consider myself a fan of fairly unknown, indie bands, but even these, such as The Rapture, were more familiar to me than most of the lineup. The 1900's and Electric Six, anyone? Anyone?

But I'm also very open to hearing new things, and let's just say that Snow Patrol to me is a bit like elevator music (I have to say it, Becky.) My sister Becky's tastes... well, let's say they're a bit more narrow. Remember that number one key to a good festival-going experience?

Our Stage Stops
Friday, August 3 - Day One

• Helicopters. After we finally made it through the entrance, the first band we happened to wander past happened to be the first band I had ever seen in Chicago. Helicopters had been playing at the Double Door when local Jimmy was guiding us around the late night Chicago experience. So I've always felt a bit of a kinship with this Chi-town local band. They had managed to land a spot at Lollapalooza as the result of winning a Last Band Standing contest. The boys were excellent to see live again, and despite the 11:15 sun beating down on us, the small crowd that had gathered for their early set clearly appreciated their presence.


• The Fratellis. We moved on over to the aforementioned, ugh, Myspace Stage, to catch 2 songs in the set from The You-know-'em-and-love-'em-from-the-iPod-commericals Fratellis. Unlike the Helicopters' stage, which had grassy side areas blanketed in quiet shade, the Fratellis' stage was searing with sharp sun, the ground beneath us baseball field sand. And there's just no way to make that one-note Irish dancing music worth that kind of trouble. The rest of the crowd seemed to agree, standing stationary, staring ahead as if compelled to be there like it was a chore. So we moved on.


• Tom Schraeder. A 7 or 8 person one man band. Eclectic folk with a variety of stringed instruments and boy-girl vocals that reminded me a bit of Damien Rice soaked in alcohol. They were situated on the nice BMI stage: shade and grass. Beginning to see the pattern in the more favorable reviews?


• Viva Voce. I had known of VV from an old tune of theirs called Again, With Feeling and persuaded Becky it would be worth our while to pass up all of the other bands playing at the time to see them. Frankly, I can't remember a single thing about their set. I'm fairly sure I felt slightly disappointed. VV's more a studio band than anything else.


• The Polyphonic Spree. We found ourselves near the Spree's stage wishing to God that they would just stop. Becky's always despised PS with a passion for their wacky culty tendencies and off-the-wall music. I'd always thought her feelings were a bit extreme. I happen to love the song Soldier Girl, for instance. But on that day, with the speakers of the Lollapalooza Bud Light stage screaming horns and choral vocals into my ears like knife-tipped hammers, I had to agree with her. I mean, really, are they serious about those lyrics?


• Powerspace. To escape the cult of Spree, we ran back to the shade of the BMI stage where a band called Powerspace was doing what I assume they thought was playing music. Their crowd consisted mostly of confused-looking 30-somethings, 18 year-old girls with that ubiquitous middle swath of hair pulled backward from their forehead, and 19 year-old guys hoping to get said girls drunk later on. Powerspace themselves can only be described as a band desperate to be liked, an emo mess, the retarded and deformed offspring of Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance. Sadly, even the shade and grass couldn't convince me to subject my ears to that for any longer than half a song.


• Sparklehorse. Like Viva Voce, Sparklehorse failed to leave any real lasting mark in my memory despite the fact I own their album Good Morning Spider and count Chaos of the Galaxy among my top 50 favorite songs of all time. Unfortunate, really. I believe some of the reason lies with the fact that due to the crowd, we found ourselves at quite a distance from the stage and left somewhat early to get a better spot for The Rapture's set.


• The Rapture. Whoo! Alright - Yeah... Uh Huh. has been one of my favorite songs to listen to when I'm looking to move since I first heard it, so I was excited to hear these boys live. They did not disappoint. Surrounded by a crowd equally ready to bust a move, The Rapture put on a soulful and lively set of energetic new wavy music full of keyboard vigor and vim with cowbell enough to satiate even Christopher Walken.

As much as I had wanted to catch some of G. Love's set, which overlapped with The Rapture, it had been a long, hot day. Though I'm sure that to say this is sacrilegious to some, the bands rounding out the night (The Black Keys, Daft Punk, and Ben Harper) didn't appeal to either of us. So we headed back to the hotel for well-deserved showers and a Chinese restaurant dinner with locals Jenni and Jimmy.

{Day Two and Three to be continued...}

Not news.

I'm intolerably lazy.
I'm busting out all over with video and pictures and insightful reviews of things Pumpkiny and Lollafilled, but I just can't drag myself to the plate to knock it out to you.

Here's hoping for a procrastination-crippling boredom to set in.