Day 1:
I love the smell of live music first thing in the morning, that sweaty, smoky, stale beer, pot filled air, smells like rock-n-roll. My brother and I exit the car at one end of Grant Park and begin walking the ¾ of a mile to the far end of the venue where the media tent is located. As we’re walking, and walking, and walking it dawns on me that flip-flops may not have been the best choice in footwear. On a good day I walk about 500 yards, mostly between the couch and the fridge, and here it is 15 minutes into the first day and I’ve already got a mile under my belt. There’s little doubt it’s going to be a long weekend, and I don’t mean watching the "Lord of The Rings" long, I mean visiting your great grandma in the old folks home long.
Lollapalooza at first glance is completely overwhelming, especially for an overly-prepared OCD guy like myself. My three pages of spreadsheets with highlights circles and notes outlining what bands I want to see and interviews I need to conduct, immediately goes out the window when I see the size of the venue. Proximity is going to be the driving force behind what bands I get to enjoy this weekend, because my fat ass isn’t making a mile sprint in the Chicago heat just to hear the Shins play “New Slang” when I can just as easily hear Matisyahu play “Chop ‘Em Down” and only have to move 100 feet. Okay we’ve established my laziness, now it’s time to buck up, focus, and head out to the first stage, which happens to be right beside the media tent, cause that’s how I roll baby.
The Subways take the stage and we get the first of what seems like a thousand “How the fuck are you Lollapalooooooooza”, that we will hear over the next three days. Riding the success of their platinum single “Rock & Roll Queen”, the Subways Josh Morgan said “I think tonight’s going to be our best gig”. The early day slots at festivals always seem to be hit and miss, because let’s face it, most bands have a hard time finding their groove in the mid-day heat. This was not the case for the Subways who thrashed through their set list as if they had just consumed a case of Red Bull.
The first band is in the books, and their energy must have been infectious, because I decide to make the trek back across the venue to check out Aqualung. While the temperatures are cooler than last year, the sun is pretty relentless and the Matthew Broderick line from Biloxi Blues repeats over and over in my head “It’s hot, Africa hot, Tarzan couldn’t take this kind of heat”. Providing a stark contrast in style to the Subways, Aqualung delivers his airy vocals and orchestral melodies to a subdued, but attentive crowd. Listening to intense, mellower music works in the clubs, but when you’re standing on hot pavement you need something that will make your feet move, and mine did just that straight over to the food area.
After inhaling an Italian sausage like I was Tony Soprano, it was time to find some shade at one of the side stages. Local, unsigned, singer-songwriter Cameron McGill made the most of his first Lollapalooza appearance, delivering a heartfelt set to a crowd who seemed a million miles away from the rest of the madness. Set amongst large trees and backed by Lake Michigan this stage was the perfect refuge from the heat and pounding guitars that were just across the park.
Lollapalooza at first glance is completely overwhelming, especially for an overly-prepared OCD guy like myself. My three pages of spreadsheets with highlights circles and notes outlining what bands I want to see and interviews I need to conduct, immediately goes out the window when I see the size of the venue. Proximity is going to be the driving force behind what bands I get to enjoy this weekend, because my fat ass isn’t making a mile sprint in the Chicago heat just to hear the Shins play “New Slang” when I can just as easily hear Matisyahu play “Chop ‘Em Down” and only have to move 100 feet. Okay we’ve established my laziness, now it’s time to buck up, focus, and head out to the first stage, which happens to be right beside the media tent, cause that’s how I roll baby.
The Subways take the stage and we get the first of what seems like a thousand “How the fuck are you Lollapalooooooooza”, that we will hear over the next three days. Riding the success of their platinum single “Rock & Roll Queen”, the Subways Josh Morgan said “I think tonight’s going to be our best gig”. The early day slots at festivals always seem to be hit and miss, because let’s face it, most bands have a hard time finding their groove in the mid-day heat. This was not the case for the Subways who thrashed through their set list as if they had just consumed a case of Red Bull.
The first band is in the books, and their energy must have been infectious, because I decide to make the trek back across the venue to check out Aqualung. While the temperatures are cooler than last year, the sun is pretty relentless and the Matthew Broderick line from Biloxi Blues repeats over and over in my head “It’s hot, Africa hot, Tarzan couldn’t take this kind of heat”. Providing a stark contrast in style to the Subways, Aqualung delivers his airy vocals and orchestral melodies to a subdued, but attentive crowd. Listening to intense, mellower music works in the clubs, but when you’re standing on hot pavement you need something that will make your feet move, and mine did just that straight over to the food area.After inhaling an Italian sausage like I was Tony Soprano, it was time to find some shade at one of the side stages. Local, unsigned, singer-songwriter Cameron McGill made the most of his first Lollapalooza appearance, delivering a heartfelt set to a crowd who seemed a million miles away from the rest of the madness. Set amongst large trees and backed by Lake Michigan this stage was the perfect refuge from the heat and pounding guitars that were just across the park.
Looking at my schedule I see that it is time to feel like an old man chaperoning a high school dance, so I head back to one of the main stages where the teenage girls gathered to swoon over Panic! At The Disco. The first of several 80’s retro sounding bands slated for the first day, took the stage in full circus-chic fashion. Members of the Lucent Dossier Vaudeville Cirque join the band on stage to provide artistic visuals, and also interact with the band members throughout the performance. To their credit they succeeded in walking the tricky line between theatrics and absurdity.
I’ve always been more of a Motley Crue rather than Depeche Mode kind of guy, but I found myself enjoying the rebirth of what we old folks used call “Alternative” music. I saunter across the field to see the Editors. Despite a relentless touring schedule they manage to energize the crowd mainly through the exaggerated antics of lead singer Tom Smith. Smith is one of those guys whose voice and body don’t quite match up. To hear this deep booming voice come of out of someone with a Justin Timberlake sized body, took a song or two to get used to. When asked why they consider themselves a “non-rock-‘n’-roll band”, bassist Russell Leetch explained that they liked to focus on the music and what they do on stage rather than the being known for what goes on backstage.
With the 80’s retro bands in my rearview mirror it’s now time to get my rock fix, luckily The Raconteurs are sound checking. From the first notes Jack White plays on his guitar the crowd seems to sense they are going to see a great show. Whether they are cranking out their radio hit “Steady As She Goes”, which seems to come at you from every angle or being one of several bands to cover the over-exposed Gnarls Barkley’s summer hit “Crazy”, every moment of their guitar driven set is sonic gold. There were several great performances on the first day of the festival, but none brought the house down like The Raconteurs. If I were an elementary school teacher their set would earn the illustrious check/plus in my grade book.
After some stretching, and lots of water, I head out of base camp, AKA the media tent, to work my way to the Violent Femmes, who somehow have made an entire career out of ten songs, then past Death Cab for Cutie and eventually home. Feeling like Mike Tyson’s punching bag, I slump into the car and try to mentally sort through the days highlights.
Day 2:
Good morning Uncle Erik! Oh yeah, my brother has kids, and they wake up early, and by early I mean even Amish parents would tell them to go back to bed. After crushing my Niece in a couple games of Crazy Eights, I am dressed and ready to head out for day two. As we arrive back downtown, I seriously start to question whether I am going to make it through the day. In the back of my mind I know that a couple of great gigs will get me back in the game, and that’s precisely what was offered up by the live music Gods.
Skateboarder turned singer-songwriter, Matt Costa, opens the second day of shows with the perfect hangover set. Quiet and melodic enough to get the musical juices going again, without offending the pounding the ears took the day before. This moment of tranquility lasts until mid-afternoon when Wolfmother takes the stage and unleashes their take no prisoners brand of classic guitar rock. They single-handedly set the bar higher than any band that played before them, and arguably anyone who will play after them. My inner rock child was smiling with its hands raised and locked in the devil horn position.
Skateboarder turned singer-songwriter, Matt Costa, opens the second day of shows with the perfect hangover set. Quiet and melodic enough to get the musical juices going again, without offending the pounding the ears took the day before. This moment of tranquility lasts until mid-afternoon when Wolfmother takes the stage and unleashes their take no prisoners brand of classic guitar rock. They single-handedly set the bar higher than any band that played before them, and arguably anyone who will play after them. My inner rock child was smiling with its hands raised and locked in the devil horn position.
After Wolfmother rocked the faces off of those in attendance, many of those with their ears ringing walk across the field where the masters of all things costume, Gnarls Barkley, proceed to get to work on their booty’s. The crowd erupts as Cee-Lo and his band of groovy guys and gals take the stage in impeccable tennis whites. Rob and Amber, of Survivor fame, were seen sitting on the side of the stage feeling the R&B flow. Most of the set inspires mild head-bobbing, until the much covered hit “Crazy” when the grassy field became an all out dance floor. If you like people watching, this was the place to be, because it never gets old watching white people dance.
Now that my face was rocked off and my booty had been shaken, it is time to once again refuel at the food tent. After downing a couple hot dogs faster than Kobayashi on the 4th of July, I am off to enjoy the surreal world of Flaming Lips singer Wayne Coyne. I can only describe a Flaming Lips show as what it would be like if you could get into Willie Wonka’s head and then go to his happy place. Large blue balls danced against the Chicago skyline, as several Santa Clauses and aliens gyrated on either side of the stage. Confetti and streamers littered the sky as stage hands dressed as superheroes helped Coyne into a large plastic bubble that he used to surf the crowd. When I asked him about his stage show Coyne said “We just try stuff and if it works we go fuck that’s cool, but we never really know what’s going to work”. On this particular night it all worked and walking away from the stage was like climbing out of Alice in Wonderland’s rabbit hole. I had to turn and take one last look just to make sure what I just saw actually happened.
Checking the schedule once more I see that I have one more band, and then I can sign off on the second day of Lollapalooza 2006. This year’s festival was all about making choices, and the bigger names didn’t always deliver the best performances. This was the case with Saturday’s headlining acts, the hip-hop media darling, Kanye West and the lesser known Spanish idol Manu Chao. While 90% of Saturday’s attendees were watching a ho-hum set by West who was upset with the audio quality provided by his hometown, the other 10% arguably saw the best show of the weekend. Manu Chao may not be a household name in the US, but his blend of Latin, reggae and punk had the crowd in a constant state of motion. He made the most of his rare North American appearance and the crowd responded appreciatively trying to savor every precious moment of his time on American soil. Even though at times I felt like the only gringo at a Spanish wedding, the music transcended the language barrier and everyone came together to share a euphoric experience. Gracias Manu Chao, gracias.
Day 3:
Sunday is here and while others more pious than myself head to their respected places of worship I am once again in the car headed to my holy place for this weekend, Grant Park. What looked so large on Friday, has become almost a second home to me over the three days, and with a sun burnt face and sore legs I am off to see if the Frames can help me get my groove back. As I make the walk over to the stage, it is easy to tell which fans have are here for the first time and who has been here all weekend. The newbie’s all have the look of wonder and expectation, while the veterans have the 1000 yard stare.
The Irish band the Frames seem to be the musical panacea that the weary members of the crowd need to carry on. The charismatic lead singer Glen Hansard gets the crowd involved early, before they have time to zone out, and he keeps them involved throughout the show. The best moment of the set comes when music super fan Beatle Bob steps from the shadows to join the band on stage. Having Bob join a band onstage is similar to Roger Ebert giving a film the thumbs up. Bob and Hansard engage in a game of old dance craze mimicry that brings a moment of levity and bonds the crowd with the cast on stage. As Beatle Bob exits Hansard remarks “I believe that was quite the honor”.
Since it’s the last day, time to check out some of the non-musical aspects of the festival. Over at the Mind Freak area they are having an egg tossing Battle Royale, while a cast of characters behind the tent is applying more face make-up than Kiss. In talking to the director, we find out that a flash mob is getting ready to take place in a few minutes, just one of the many strange events that is scheduled for this area. Over the course of the weekend, there has been everything from improvisational comedy to film festivals. Within the past year my brothers hugging of trees has become stronger, so we stroll through Causapalooza checking out some of the various social and environmental groups.
Out of nowhere I start to hum Hava nagila, hava nagila, Hava nagila venis'mecha, and that can only mean one thing, it’s time for some Matisyahu. Reggae performed by an Orthodox Jew isn’t exactly the typical formula for mass crowd surfing, but immediately after he takes the stage the steady stream of bodies begins flowing as if on a conveyer belt to the front of the stage. One of the body surfers has on a fake Matisyahu beard, the only problem is that he is crowd surfing on his stomach. Rule number one of crowd surfing, for obvious reasons, is always stay on your back. He may have learned that lesson the hard way. Going down my checklist of things to see before I die, I notice that number 294 is to see an Orthodox Jew perform flawless beat box. I guess I can check that one off. While the main crux of the crowd sways to the rhythmic beats, it is clear that more than a few fans are setting up camp for the Red Hot Chili Peppers who play later in the evening.
The Irish band the Frames seem to be the musical panacea that the weary members of the crowd need to carry on. The charismatic lead singer Glen Hansard gets the crowd involved early, before they have time to zone out, and he keeps them involved throughout the show. The best moment of the set comes when music super fan Beatle Bob steps from the shadows to join the band on stage. Having Bob join a band onstage is similar to Roger Ebert giving a film the thumbs up. Bob and Hansard engage in a game of old dance craze mimicry that brings a moment of levity and bonds the crowd with the cast on stage. As Beatle Bob exits Hansard remarks “I believe that was quite the honor”.
Since it’s the last day, time to check out some of the non-musical aspects of the festival. Over at the Mind Freak area they are having an egg tossing Battle Royale, while a cast of characters behind the tent is applying more face make-up than Kiss. In talking to the director, we find out that a flash mob is getting ready to take place in a few minutes, just one of the many strange events that is scheduled for this area. Over the course of the weekend, there has been everything from improvisational comedy to film festivals. Within the past year my brothers hugging of trees has become stronger, so we stroll through Causapalooza checking out some of the various social and environmental groups.
Out of nowhere I start to hum Hava nagila, hava nagila, Hava nagila venis'mecha, and that can only mean one thing, it’s time for some Matisyahu. Reggae performed by an Orthodox Jew isn’t exactly the typical formula for mass crowd surfing, but immediately after he takes the stage the steady stream of bodies begins flowing as if on a conveyer belt to the front of the stage. One of the body surfers has on a fake Matisyahu beard, the only problem is that he is crowd surfing on his stomach. Rule number one of crowd surfing, for obvious reasons, is always stay on your back. He may have learned that lesson the hard way. Going down my checklist of things to see before I die, I notice that number 294 is to see an Orthodox Jew perform flawless beat box. I guess I can check that one off. While the main crux of the crowd sways to the rhythmic beats, it is clear that more than a few fans are setting up camp for the Red Hot Chili Peppers who play later in the evening.
There is a buzz in the air as fans are slowly pulled like the Millennium Falcon in the Death Star’s tractor beam towards one of the main stages for hometown favorite Wilco. Jeff Tweedy and company are surrounded by several other performers backstage, confirming that they are truly a band’s band. As they take the stage one of the loudest roars of the weekend breaks through the Sunday evening haze. The band mixes in a nice blend of new songs with old standards, but it really doesn’t seem to matter what they play the crowd appears to love them unconditionally, even when Tweedy displays the zit on his forehead he gets a rousing round of applause. The festival could have closed after Wilco and it would have been a phenomenal event, but alas there are a few more bands left on the schedule.
I have a bittersweet feeling going into the last set of the weekend, I am relieved that the long grueling three days is over, but I am also saddened that I won’t be coming back tomorrow for more. On the main stage Perry Farrell takes a moment to thank all of the hard working people who made the festival possible and to introduce the Red Hot Chili Peppers. The Peppers start strong, but end up playing an uneven set of older songs, strange covers and new songs without much in between. Despite their set list, John Frusciante is clearly a force to be reckoned with, as he steals the show with his consummate guitar licks. Near the end of the show I look out at the sea of fans, the Chicago skyline, Lake Michigan, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, and I realize what Mr. Farrell has known for years, Lollapalooza is truly something special.
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