Of the two recent major music festivals in Chicago (Lollapalooza and Pitchfork) Lolla is the loud, obnoxious big brother to Pitchfork’s quiet, arty little brother.
Storming into Grant Park like Hannibal across Europe, Lolla flew its corporate flag proudly, and over 225,000 heeded the call. 2008 was another undeniable success for mad genius Perry Farrell, the Willy Wonka of the pop world, with fewer injuries and drunk/drug related arrests than previous outings.
My Lolla weekend officially began at The Metro around 12:30 am Sat night as a visibly weary but exuberant Broken Social Scene took the stage. Standing amidst bleary-eyed Lolla survivors reeking of overpriced beer, I was seemingly the only bright eyed and sober member of the audience.
Coming almost directly from their Lolla performance, the cast of more than 10 BSS members, including a very hoarse Amy Millan of Stars, charged through a set of old standards, plus some standouts from the new album by guitarist Brendan Canning. The songs still need some roadwork, but the band was clearly inspired by the new material. Closing out the night with a beautiful rendition of “Lovers Spit” by a lone Kevin Drew, I left satisfied and ready for the long day ahead.
As I arrived at Lolla early Sun afternoon, I headed directly for the media tent and was pleasantly surprised by the buckets of water and free booze. With the increasing number of VIP tents each year, full of so many perks for those willing to shell out the extra cash, the general public is treated like peasants gouged for all they are worth.
The big rumor this year was that Obama might be introducing Kanye West to close the night, and my plans immediately changed. I would have to catch that opening, and bail on my plans to get close for NIN. This is the curse of Lolla, as I no longer have the energy to trek repeatedly across Grant Park between headlining stages. Did I mention that the music seemed too loud this year? How old am I? I immediately walked to the AT&T stage for the 2:15 pm Brazilian Girls set, whose electro fused Siouxsie meets Bjork sound was pleasant as I sat on a small patch of grass and lamented how much my feet hurt from the night before. God bless those kids in front of me, dancing and spinning in the dust and living Lolla like it’s their first festival. Had I become so jaded?
After some more free water from the oasis of the Media Tent, I decided to stick to the south end of the park to catch Chromeo, more due to laziness than curiosity. I was shocked when the Canadian duo turned in the surprise set of the day, suddenly realizing I was surrounded in a sea of thousands losing their minds to the greatest tongue-in-cheek 80s funk revival I had ever seen.
As joints were lit and smuggled booze flowed, band mates Dave One and Pee Thug turned their vocoded vocals, key-tairs and digital beats from novelty into a cutting edge momentum that had hipsters, hippies and anyone with a pulse smiling and shedding all inhibitions and pretensions. With the watermark set high, I lumbered over to the north end of the park to hopefully meet up with some separated friends, for the past hour trying in vain to send out a response to a barrage of text messages with no luck. For an event sponsored by AT&T, the black hole of cell-phone reception was a nice irony as people literally bumped into each other with their noses buried into phones.
I decided to set up for the 5:15 Flogging Molly show, as the crowd prepared by guzzling beers and energy drinks, amping themselves into Irish hooligan mode. Having never devoted much attention to the band, I was amused to see lead singer Dave King had a fiery crop of red hair and was indeed Irish. The set was played at a bar band on crack rollicking speed, the crowd responding with raised fists and body surfing. If any crowd was likely to repeat Rage’s violence, it was this Motley bunch, but the chaos was nicely contained, with security doing their part and King keeping the proceedings celebratory as opposed to inflammatory.
Allowing my gullibility to get the better of me, I made the long slog back to the AT&T stage for Kanye, catching Mark Ronson’s set as I waited. The British producer “it” boy did a fun, cover laden set of old soul hits and 80s and 90s guilty pleasures. With the live instrumentation and his solid backing band, the set was indeed fun, but devoid of any originals my attention wavered, but I do recall a marginally well-received version of “California” by Phantom Planet closing the set.
As the sun slowly set, the sky filling with ominous dark clouds, the anticipation surrounding Kanye and the “will he/ won’t he” appearance of Obama intensified. As the minutes ticked past the 8:30 scheduled start time, the crowd became noticeably antsy, and I wasn’t putting it past Kanye to pull another Bonnaroo breakdown. Ten minutes later, the show suddenly started, with no introduction or Kanye rhetoric of any kind. And, sadly, no Obama. But as the opening strains of “Good Morning” hit the crowd, I was caught up in the swell of civic pride as West dedicated song after song to the city. As I walked out of Grant Park, I couldn’t help smiling as my phone blew up with missed texts from my friends at NIN, telling me I was missing, “the most life-changing show ever.”
-Drew Fortune
Photo of Kanye West by Kevin J. Bradley