Live @ Lollapalooza Day Two, August 5
Here's Day Two. Quickly!
After missing the early train home the night before, we vowed to keep our travel affairs in better order for Saturday. This basically meant waking up at the seemingly inhuman hour of 9am and hopping the 10:30 Metra out of Downer's Grove. On the train, we consulted our schedules while trying to figure out how many of our fellow passengers were headed to the festival. Krystiana and Alex decided to make Nada Surf their first act of the day, so I was left to my own devices to start the day. When we arrived at Grant Park, I had some food and watched Sa-Ra do a relatively harmless "Parliament without the hair extension or rhythm section" impression.
Though their set was unimpressive, I have to give Sa-Ra some credit. After all, who else would have the balls to put Dumb Donald from Fat Albert on the mic?
Since I had some time to kill before seeing Cold War Kids, I stopped by the shade of the BMI stage just in time to catch St. James. I think I was one of maybe a dozen people in the audience, which must've been disheartening for the band. For the record, they weren't bad. A little singer-songwritery, but my head bopped a couple of times.
Unfortunately, the Cold War Kids were my first disappointment of the day. I don't think I had unreasonably high hopes; I didn't really have any hopes. I liked the tracks I heard back in January, and just wanted them to live up to 1/3 of the blog hype generated on their behalf. For whatever reason, though, their sound just didn't translate well from studio to stage.
This is Nathan Willet. He sings. He also looks like one of my neighbors from freshman year. His name was Kevin. On the first weekend of school, he got drunk and broke his hand by falling out of his loft. That story has nothing to do with Cold War Kids. I'm just stalling for time.
Aside from Willet, the rest of the band was hard to photograph. Most of the time, they appeared to be locked in combat with their instruments or, as is the case in this particular shot, taking bows. The photo-related frustration might've been half the reason I left so underwhelmed.
With my hipster debunking out of the way, I headed over to the Q101 stage for the Go! Team. They were introduced by Beatle Bob, consummate St. Louis scenewad and all-around snappy dresser. With his reputation as an inconsiderate spaz well-documented , it's good to see him being well compensated for his behavior.
The Go! Team brought the first real energy of the day, and I'm not sure the audience was ready for it. Though Ninja tried her best to light some fires in the crowd, no one seemed very interested in busting any moves. I did all I could, bringing out my patented "overweight white boy bob-and-sway", but I'm sad to say I just couldn't salvage things.
While the audience wasn't keen on participating, they did appear game for a rousing round of silent appreciation. Ninja probably thinks we're all totally lame.
Doing the Standing Still took some major energy, so I decided to have a lie down during Built to Spill. It was a good choice; Doug Marsch's songs had just enough sonic thickness to keep my attention, even when I was half asleep in the grass.
By the end of the set, fans started to clear out significantly. So, after working up the energy needed to hop up, I snaked through the now-sparse crowd until I found myself at the barrier just in time to catch the last couple of songs. Some write-ups I've read described Built to Spill's performance as "low energy" or "predictable". All I can say is that they must've been watching a different show.
Since I'd stumbled into such a prime spot, I decided to make the most of it. Sonic Youth was next on stage, and front row spots only meant skipping Calexico, performers to whom I felt no personal attachment. Here's where I get ambivalent, though: while I loved the chance to see Sonic Youth live and up close, I'm not sure I picked the best time/place to see them live for the first time. With an hour timeslot and a new album to push, the band's set skewed heavily towards the new stuff. The good news? Rather Ripped sounds like something I should buy, eventually. The bad news? No "Teenage Riot"! Or even "Dirty Boots"! I mean, I don't mean to sound like one of those "just the hits, ma'am" fans, but gimmie something I can scream along to! If the Flaming Lips can do "She Don't Use Jelly" for the eleventy billionth time without flinching (which, of course, they can), then anyone can.
Is it weird that I'd still totally sleep with Kim Gordon?
I left Sonic Youth's set disillusioned, in search of something to brighten my spirits. Fortunately, the prescription for my funk was warming up at the Q101 stage just as I began in that direction. The Smoking Popes' set had everything a great festival set should have: a small, but interested crowd, band members who're actually enjoying themselves, and a setlist that plays to the strengths of the occasion. I'm not sure how many people in the audience were diehard fan and how many were, like me, hearing the Popes for the first time. What I do know is that everyone who walked away from that performance on Saturday left as a Smoking Popes fan. I think I speak for the music community at large when I say, "Welcome back, boys. It's good to have you".
Matt Caterer was kind enough to mug for all the cameras on his side of the stage. The Popes are working on a new album, slated to come out on Victory Records some time in the not-too-distant future. Man... why'd it have to be Victory? Now I gotta break my geas about never buying anything remotely associated with Hawthorne Heights. Shucks.
My love for the Smoking Popes had it's price. By the time I returned from their set, the entire left side of the park was full of people who all seemed way to excited for their own good. Turns out, however, that their energy was warranted: the Flaming Lips' live set brought the house down. While the balloons and the streamers, the Santas and the spaceballs, are all standard when you're reading about them, actually experiencing them live is an entirely different story. Wayne Coyne surveyed the scene in his off-kilter ringmaster sort of way, and owned the crowd from the very beginning. I've never seen anything like the feelings of positive energy that seemed to enfold everyone around me. It was like everyone forgot about the heat and the dirt and the exhaustion and the $10 gyros and, for one hour of a dusky Saturday evening, just got together and had a meaningful collective experience.
Everyone except for that one bitch who had her boyfriend hoist her up so she could pop the giant balloons with the end of her Marlboro. After a couple of offences, she was literally booed away from her spot.
After nearly tearing up druing the "Do You Realize??" singalong, I figured that was my cue to pack things up. I left the park to the sounds of the New Pornographers in the distance, and the rumble of trains overhead. It was a good day to be in Chicago.
Day Three later today.
After missing the early train home the night before, we vowed to keep our travel affairs in better order for Saturday. This basically meant waking up at the seemingly inhuman hour of 9am and hopping the 10:30 Metra out of Downer's Grove. On the train, we consulted our schedules while trying to figure out how many of our fellow passengers were headed to the festival. Krystiana and Alex decided to make Nada Surf their first act of the day, so I was left to my own devices to start the day. When we arrived at Grant Park, I had some food and watched Sa-Ra do a relatively harmless "Parliament without the hair extension or rhythm section" impression.
Though their set was unimpressive, I have to give Sa-Ra some credit. After all, who else would have the balls to put Dumb Donald from Fat Albert on the mic?
Since I had some time to kill before seeing Cold War Kids, I stopped by the shade of the BMI stage just in time to catch St. James. I think I was one of maybe a dozen people in the audience, which must've been disheartening for the band. For the record, they weren't bad. A little singer-songwritery, but my head bopped a couple of times.
Unfortunately, the Cold War Kids were my first disappointment of the day. I don't think I had unreasonably high hopes; I didn't really have any hopes. I liked the tracks I heard back in January, and just wanted them to live up to 1/3 of the blog hype generated on their behalf. For whatever reason, though, their sound just didn't translate well from studio to stage.
This is Nathan Willet. He sings. He also looks like one of my neighbors from freshman year. His name was Kevin. On the first weekend of school, he got drunk and broke his hand by falling out of his loft. That story has nothing to do with Cold War Kids. I'm just stalling for time.
Aside from Willet, the rest of the band was hard to photograph. Most of the time, they appeared to be locked in combat with their instruments or, as is the case in this particular shot, taking bows. The photo-related frustration might've been half the reason I left so underwhelmed.
With my hipster debunking out of the way, I headed over to the Q101 stage for the Go! Team. They were introduced by Beatle Bob, consummate St. Louis scenewad and all-around snappy dresser. With his reputation as an inconsiderate spaz well-documented , it's good to see him being well compensated for his behavior.
The Go! Team brought the first real energy of the day, and I'm not sure the audience was ready for it. Though Ninja tried her best to light some fires in the crowd, no one seemed very interested in busting any moves. I did all I could, bringing out my patented "overweight white boy bob-and-sway", but I'm sad to say I just couldn't salvage things.
While the audience wasn't keen on participating, they did appear game for a rousing round of silent appreciation. Ninja probably thinks we're all totally lame.
Doing the Standing Still took some major energy, so I decided to have a lie down during Built to Spill. It was a good choice; Doug Marsch's songs had just enough sonic thickness to keep my attention, even when I was half asleep in the grass.
By the end of the set, fans started to clear out significantly. So, after working up the energy needed to hop up, I snaked through the now-sparse crowd until I found myself at the barrier just in time to catch the last couple of songs. Some write-ups I've read described Built to Spill's performance as "low energy" or "predictable". All I can say is that they must've been watching a different show.
Since I'd stumbled into such a prime spot, I decided to make the most of it. Sonic Youth was next on stage, and front row spots only meant skipping Calexico, performers to whom I felt no personal attachment. Here's where I get ambivalent, though: while I loved the chance to see Sonic Youth live and up close, I'm not sure I picked the best time/place to see them live for the first time. With an hour timeslot and a new album to push, the band's set skewed heavily towards the new stuff. The good news? Rather Ripped sounds like something I should buy, eventually. The bad news? No "Teenage Riot"! Or even "Dirty Boots"! I mean, I don't mean to sound like one of those "just the hits, ma'am" fans, but gimmie something I can scream along to! If the Flaming Lips can do "She Don't Use Jelly" for the eleventy billionth time without flinching (which, of course, they can), then anyone can.
Is it weird that I'd still totally sleep with Kim Gordon?
I left Sonic Youth's set disillusioned, in search of something to brighten my spirits. Fortunately, the prescription for my funk was warming up at the Q101 stage just as I began in that direction. The Smoking Popes' set had everything a great festival set should have: a small, but interested crowd, band members who're actually enjoying themselves, and a setlist that plays to the strengths of the occasion. I'm not sure how many people in the audience were diehard fan and how many were, like me, hearing the Popes for the first time. What I do know is that everyone who walked away from that performance on Saturday left as a Smoking Popes fan. I think I speak for the music community at large when I say, "Welcome back, boys. It's good to have you".
Matt Caterer was kind enough to mug for all the cameras on his side of the stage. The Popes are working on a new album, slated to come out on Victory Records some time in the not-too-distant future. Man... why'd it have to be Victory? Now I gotta break my geas about never buying anything remotely associated with Hawthorne Heights. Shucks.
My love for the Smoking Popes had it's price. By the time I returned from their set, the entire left side of the park was full of people who all seemed way to excited for their own good. Turns out, however, that their energy was warranted: the Flaming Lips' live set brought the house down. While the balloons and the streamers, the Santas and the spaceballs, are all standard when you're reading about them, actually experiencing them live is an entirely different story. Wayne Coyne surveyed the scene in his off-kilter ringmaster sort of way, and owned the crowd from the very beginning. I've never seen anything like the feelings of positive energy that seemed to enfold everyone around me. It was like everyone forgot about the heat and the dirt and the exhaustion and the $10 gyros and, for one hour of a dusky Saturday evening, just got together and had a meaningful collective experience.
Everyone except for that one bitch who had her boyfriend hoist her up so she could pop the giant balloons with the end of her Marlboro. After a couple of offences, she was literally booed away from her spot.
After nearly tearing up druing the "Do You Realize??" singalong, I figured that was my cue to pack things up. I left the park to the sounds of the New Pornographers in the distance, and the rumble of trains overhead. It was a good day to be in Chicago.
Day Three later today.
