Lollapalooza turned Grant Park into a musical amusement park over the weekend — part DisneyWorld, part Times Square — while a diverting hodgepodge of 130 bands and artists vied for the attention of an estimated 160,000 concertgoers on nine stages. Pearl Jam’s headlining set Sunday concluded three 11-hour days in the midsummer heat, humidity and rain.
In its third year on the lakefront, Lollapalooza was in many ways the embodiment of the new corporate festival, where everything’s a brand and has a sign and a slogan to prove it. But it was also a well-run affair that ended on a musical high.
Amid lots of filler — the festival would’ve benefited greatly from a leaner, more carefully chosen lineup — there were a dozen fine performances, and one landmark event. On Sunday, Modest Mouse played off the yin-yang tension between Isaac Brock’s salty vocals and Johnny Marr’s jingle-jangle guitar, Lupe Fiasco plowed through the stifling heat with a set that matched the promise shown during his 2006 Lollapalooza cameo with Kanye West, Amy Winehouse delivered credible but by-the-numbers neo-soul tunes, and rising Swedish stars Peter Bjorn and John were sabotaged by sound problems.
Pearl Jam played to what appeared to be the largest Lollapalooza audience ever; it filled Hutchinson Field and spilled north to Buckingham Fountain. Chicago native Eddie Vedder led the Seattle quintet through a set heavy on hits, including an extended “Even Flow,” punctuated by a fireworks display in the southern sky while festival founder Perry Farrell, Lance Armstrong and Dennis Rodman looked on from the wings. The singer also called for a boycott of a petroleum manufacturer for polluting Lake Michigan, and led the crowd in a guitar-driven chant: “Don’t go BP Amoco.”
But the weekend belonged to Iggy Pop and the Stooges, who seized the festival by the throat Sunday afternoon and didn’t let go until 250 fans joined them onstage.
Audience members raced past overwhelmed security and joined Pop for a chaotic refrain: “No fun to be alone.”
“The Lollapalooza dancers,” Pop laughed, as the near-riot finally peacefully dispersed. The Stooges’ blend of proto-punk, garage-funk and outsider hedonism was embodied by the writhing, wriggling Pop, who pranced onstage like a wild animal just released from its cage, his dirty blond mane whipping in the wind.
Pop’s stage-crashing populism stood in contrast to the pricey catered cabanas that flanked the main stage (see story below). But fans who paid regular price ($195 for a three-day pass; $80 for a single day) weren’t treated like paupers. For one thing, they had a closer view of the bands than the cabana-dwellers, and they had access to a shaded wine bar and concessions including chocolate strawberry kabobs ($5) and chorizo empanda ($5), items which were not on the menu at Altamont in 1969.
Lines for food, beverages and bathroom facilities were minimal, and most garbage cans were emptied and replaced before they could overflow. It’s expected the event will funnel about $1 million into city-park improvements.
Texas promoters C3 Presents also invested in beefing up the sound system, particularly on the northernmost stage, a trouble spot last year. Though some issues with sound bleed remained between closely aligned stages, most of the performances came across with booming clarity. With the city skyline as a backdrop and Lake Michigan immediately to the east, Lollapalooza affirmed its status as one of the more inviting destination festivals in North America.
As drummer Patrick Carney of the Black Keys put it: “This is one of the only festivals where you can walk across the street, hop in a cab and be on your way to a neighborhood bar.”
Lacking was a drop-everything-to-see-it headliner (Daft Punk, the French deejay duo that headlined Friday night, came closest to fitting that description). But the lineups afforded plenty of opportunity to be surprised by music they otherwise wouldn’t normally see.
Psychedelic pioneer Roky Erickson performed a rare set in which his piercing voice sliced through the Texas garage-rock roar of his band. Swedish mega-group I’m From Barcelona made its U.S. debut, complete with kazoos and a song about chicken pox. The Yeah Yeah Yeah’s Karen O provided star power to burn, albeit of the most subversive quality, with her tender-to-terrifying vocals and flashy-trash strutting. A handful of Chicago-bred acts made new converts, none working harder than South Side rapper Rhymefest, who veered into Led Zeppelin territory with the metal-tinged “Force of Nature.”
And at least two Nirvana covers proved transcendent: the Polyphonic Spree infused “Lithium” with giddy optimism, and Patti Smith transformed “Smells Like Teen Spirit” into an anti-war anthem.
Diversity was lacking, with only a handful of non-Western acts, a situation worsened when Brazilian band CSS had to cancel its Saturday set because of flight delays. Those that did perform, in particular Nigeria’s Femi Kuti and Mexico’s Cafe Tacuba, affirmed their prowess as live bands. Hip-hop too was under-represented, though Philadelphia crew the Roots filled the northern lawn with fans for a set augmented by a horn section and high-stepping favorites such as “The Seed (2.0).”
Collaborations were few, though Pearl Jam’s Vedder did join Ben Harper for a version of Bob Dylan’s “Masters of War” on Friday. But, as usual, the out-of-the-way Kidzapoolaza stage was where to go to see high-powered guests in unusual settings. My Morning Jacket’s Jim James dropped in Saturday to sing “The Rainbow Connection,” and Patti Smith steered away from some of the graphic anti-war imagery she offered on the same stage last year and instead performed a prayerful “Ghost Dance” and “People Have the Power.”
Smith was in a feisty mood during her main set a few hours later, growing more animated as the evening rain pounded down. “The night I was born [in Chicago in 1947] was one of the greatest blizzards ever, so a little rain ain’t nothin’,” she says. She and guitarist Lenny Kaye pushed each other like old sparring partners on “Ain’t It Strange,” and she shook her fists at the sky, her demands of “Rise up!” answered with lusty shouts of approval from the soaked but clearly stoked audience. It was the kind of performance that should’ve been saved for last on Saturday, when headliner Interpol seemed anticlimactic in comparison.
The Friday one-two punch on the southern end of the park worked much better, with LCD Soundystem playing a high-energy set that featured the abuse of several machines and many cowbells in the name of dance music. James Murphy and his gang of disco-punk mavericks achieved liftoff with the sublime rush of “All My Friends,” and, of course, played “Daft Punk is My Playing at My House.” Immediately after LCD exited, Daft Punk appeared, the helmeted French duo cocooned in a pyramid amid the type of jaw-dropping light show that by itself could sink the green movement. The deejays rang the arena-rock bells with huge riffs inspired as much by hard rock as the electro-pop of Kraftwerk.
Until the Stooges arrived Sunday and turned just about everyone else into an afterthought, Daft Punk owned the weekend’s most talked-about appearance. And how could it not, with pyramids in such short supply? Singer Josh Grier of Minneapolis band Tapes ‘n Tapes noted the void during his weekend set: “We left our giant pyramid at home. We’re just going with the flat stage today.”
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Other notable sets
Cafe Tacuba: Dressed in tuxes for the occasion, the Mexico City quartet played to a small but enthusiastic crowd waving Mexican flags, and dancing in unison to the band’s twisted avant-rock take on their country’s folk music.
Lupe Fiasco: The heat and humidity didn’t appear to affect Lupe Fiasco in the least. When the Chicago MC performed “American Terrorist” (dedicated to President George W. Bush) and “Daydreamin’,” his enthusiasm translated to the furthest reaches of the large midday crowd.
Ghostland Observatory: Aaron Behrens snake-danced while the caped Thomas Turner administered electro-shock treatments that would’ve done Suicide proud.
The Hold Steady: The Minneapolis-by-way-of-Brooklyn quintet rarely took its foot off the accelerator, revving through tunes such as “Stuck Between Stations” like a tricked-out muscle car.
Kings of Leon: The Tennesseans delivered a workmanlike set of crowd-pleasing, blue-collar Southern rock.
Femi Kuti: The oldest son of late Nigerian music legend Fela Kuti is part bandleader, part musician and part political firebrand. His five-piece horn section was the weekend’s best.
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists: A blend of reggae, Mod-era rock and Clash-inspired punk builds to a furious finish with “C.I.A.,” and its accusatory refrain of “Only you know what you’ve done.”
Stephen Marley: Bob Marley’s son has his father’s keening voice, infused his brand of reggae with similarly spiritual themes, and played a number of the legend’s hits. Breezily enjoyable nostalgia for a Saturday afternoon.
Muse: Subtlety? What’s that? One of England’s biggest bands specializes in big choruses, big guitar riffs and big ideas.
M.I.A.: She blended Middle Eastern, Caribbean, Bollywood and dance-club beats, topped by singsongy chants, clever catchphrases and surreal nonsense. Her live show sounded great but is better suited for a club than a big outdoor stage.
The Rapture: It’s quite the accomplishment when you can get an audience to dance even as it is roasting in the sun like a pig on an open spit. The New York quartet did just that on minimalist, groove-laden songs such as “Down for So Long.”
Satellite Party: Perry Farrell’s new band leans heavily on material from his old one, Jane’s Addiction, to keep the audience engaged, including covers of “Been Caught Stealing” and a set-closing “Jane Says.”
Snow Patrol: Scottish singer Gary Lightbody turns fragile relationship songs into audience-wide singalongs.
Spoon: Minimalist bursts such as “Don’t Make Me a Target” accomplish a lot with very little; it is as if the group has banned guitar solos or drum fills, and there isn’t a wasted note to be found anywhere.
TV On the Radio: The Brooklyn five-piece band balanced propulsive head nodders (“Wolf Like Me”) with mellow art rock (“Province”) during its evening set. Frontman Tunde Adebimpe cut through the band’s dense wall of sound with the power of an oncoming hurricane.
Amy Winehouse: With her black hair piled in a towering beehive, diminutive British singer/tabloid fodder Winehouse cut quite the figure during her mid-afternoon set. Unfortunately the by-the-numbers soul of “Just Friends” and “You Know I’m No Good” failed to connect.
Yo La Tengo: An unlikely jam band, the longtime New Jersey indie-rock trio framed its hourlong set with two extended excursions, with Ira Kaplan’s guitar strafing his amplifiers over the drumming of Georgia Hubley and the bass playing of James McNew.
— Greg Kot and Andy Downing
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greg@gregkot.com
