When I was a freshmen in high school, a certain Perry Farrell had the genius idea to bring a group of alternative musicians to the world stage. This was 1991, when alt rock comprised the biggest selling, widely regarded, top selling acts of the nation. Perhaps we can think back to such fringe alternatives to radio as NIN, Soundgarden, Rage Against the Machine, or Farrell’s own Jane’s Addiction; underground though they were. All headlined that year.
OK. So it wasn’t a tough idea for him to come up with, but it was sorely needed. There was not another act like it at the time, and it paved the way for a slew of festivals including HORDE, OzzFest, Woodstock ’94, Lillith Faire & the Warped Tour.
I, of course, saw none of these festivals as I was a freshmen in highschool with no car and no friends who could get me there… And broke to boot! But I wanted to, dammit. I wanted to. Well, thanks to my friend Gatzby, who I hadn’t even heard from in forever, I got to live my high school dream this weekend in Grant Park in Chicago. Lollapalooza 2007, baby!! You heard it right. And let me tell you all… It was everything I could possibly have hoped for.
Dom and I went down Friday afternoon, arriving just in time to catch most of Blonde Redhead’s sonic magic. Never heard of ‘em? Well, until they released an album called 23, I hadn’t either, but honestly… 23! How could I resist checking them out?! Their sound is ethereal. Haunting. Mythic. It’s what people think of when they try to think of the half remembered song playing in their dreams the night before. Assuming, of course, that your dreams contain the music of a spacey Japanese woman and two Italian twins. Mine does. How sad that I missed the first 10 years of their career. Glad I didn’t miss this highlight.
Next up, Dom recommended The Black Keys, a power blues two piece who did not disappoint. Standing in Grant Park, ringed by the Chicago skyline, listening to the most ferocious slide guitar this side of Hound Dog Taylor, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. So this is what people mean by “city living”, eh? Take away the massive traffic kludge that surrounds, penetrates, and binds Chicago together, and what you’ve got is quite an amazing place. Need I mention that throughout the day we were surrounded by 1,000′s of the Midwest’s finest female music loving representatives, in midriff baring and far more daring atire? “Mmmm,” I thought to myself, “hottiez.”
We grabbed some food and wandered to find spots for the headliner – Daft Punk. While waiting, I watched the end of LCD SoundSystem, who, it should be noted for posterity, have one of the best names ever in the history of ever. Also, they make music. And it’s pretty good, too… Daft Punk took the stage atop a lighted pyramid wearing their trademark crazy robot masks. They crowd grooved. It undulated and moved. Without a hint of embellishment or hyperbole I can say that we danced to the beat of one of the greatest touring DJ acts in the world. Definitely a major highlight of the weekend.
We drove home that night, and in a surprising and almost totally unexpected move, got drunk. Not smashingly, rip-roaringly drunk, mind you. Not earth-shatteringly metropi-Zeused, either. But certainly good and drunk. Drunk enough that by the time I awoke the next morning, there was not enough time to get back to Chicago in time for Aqueduct. How SAD!! I wonder if he played “damn it feels good to be a gangsta”. Apparently he’s been known to do just a crazy ripping cover live.
Day 2
I turned to ask Dom who we should see today, but in a puff of light, he magically transformed himself into Andy, who recommended we see The Roots. Good recommendation. The Roots annihilated the stage and all who dared approach. The show opened with a groove that went down easy, like Powers whiskey. By the end, it was like slamming Tequila. Their guitar player, dubbed “The Lord of The Strings” shredded through a solo. That’s right shred. Philly soul style. By way of NYC, apparently. Their horn section featured a man dubbed “Tuba Gooding Jr.” Towards the end, they blew the lid off the groove from James Brown’s Super Bad. To nobody’s surprise, The Roots are FUCKING AMAZING live.
We listened to a bit of Regina Spektor’s act. Her voice is magnificent. We wandered through Chicago’s Millennium Park, where words could not prepare me for the strange awe I felt staring at a statue of what appeared to be a giant reflective silver jelly bean. Not for the last time, I wished to know this city just a little bit better. Downtown has a romance and charm seldom celebrated by Milwaukeeans. The image gets tarnished by the Chicago representatives met at any Cubs / Brewers outing, but it shines nonetheless when the time is right.
Back inside the festival gates, we listened to DJ Klever & DJ Craze teach the crowd what it means to rock a party. These guys spun spectacular new life to venerable classics and scratched hot new cuts. Who knew House of Pain had that kind of impact? We wandered to hear Muse, though neither of us knew what to expect. Perry Farrel introduced the show dressed fittingly in a sparkly gold ringmaster’s jacket. It turns out that we should have expected symphonic production, visceral beats, Liberace inspired piano, and lock-step perfect drops to blistering heavy metal coupled with a light show that elicited euphoric visions previously unheard of while in a legal state of mind.
Another day spent, we again drove back to the MKE, stopping only for a pleasant meal at a 24 hour restaurant in Chi-town where the beautiful immigrant waitress possessed an accent that could be described simply as “musical”. Sadly, the real world pushed it’s pesky reality and responsibility my way the next day preventing me from seeing a number of fantastic acts in the early afternoon. With Dom now transformed back to his original form (through a series of events I’ve yet to hear a satisfactory explanation for) we managed to catch only the second half of My Morning Jacket’s set. They played with the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra. I quite liked the arrangement. In a moment of total synchronous perfection, we did hear Modest Mouse play almost the entirety of Float On while sitting in the car waiting in line to park.
PJ
The headliner of the festival was Pearl Jam. Pearl Jam, celebrated as one of the single greatest live forces on the planet Earth. Pearl Jam. Creators of the 12 times platinum selling Ten. Perhaps you remember hearing a song or two off the album at the time of it’s release? Did it rock you, or merely remind you that it was prototypical rock music?
Oh, how I wish I could say that they defied my expectations and blew me away. Perhaps the sound was off. Perhaps they simply didn’t have enough time to get into the show… After all, they started at 8:15 and left the stage at 9:23, not returning for their first encore until almost 9:30. Surely these veterans of the world tour stadium circuit had more life in them than that! Yes the songs were awesome. They sounded exactly as they should, for the most part album perfect. Sure, I got to hear Eddie Vedder preach to me that I shouldn’t patronize accused ecological pirates BP/Amoco. Hey! He even made up a song about it to help us remember (“Don’t Go! To BP Amoco! Don’t Go! To BP Amoco!”). ((Never mind that BP has a license to commit their brand of Lake Michigan polluting eco-terrorism, given them by the state of Indiana… Leading a logical thinker to conclude that boycotting IN would be a far more sensible and rational act… )) But something fell flat for me on this final show. Pearl Jam, the mighty machine, simply wasn’t that entertaining. Sad, really. Still and all, a worthy experience. Perhaps they are simply better suited for independently sponsored self-sufficient touring and four hour shows. After all, there’s just something alarming about seeing Eddie V & Co. preaching against the establishment while standing on “The AT&T Stage”, with crowds drinking Vitamin Water © and Bud Light, huddling about the jumbo-tron of the relatively less crowded “MySpace Stage” a quarter mile away.
Still, the crowd could not have been better, and one guy walked through the dense assemblage holding four beers and quickly stopped directly in front of me. “Wow! I have no idea where my friends are…” he said. “Well, you have beer, we’re your friends!” the stranger next to me said. The guy thought about this for a moment and said “yeah! Here you go!” He handed a beer to me, the stranger, and whoever was on his left. We said a cheers and drank to seeing PJ in Chicago. Then he went on his way…
THANKS GATZBY!!!
