Lollapalooza 2006 - Day Two
By: Music Staff |
Thursday August 31, 2006 |
| Kanye West was mad, stating angrily to his sound crew, "Y'all gonna embarass me in front of my city?" [when technical problems came to a head.] |
| We're going to begin Day 2 the same way we did with Day 1. Brett Hickman, aka
"The Captain," got there first.
Coming in during Coheed & Cambria, I was determined to catch a little bit from a lot of acts, but of course my aspirations failed me as I ended up seeing most sets by just a few artists. I was there with the family (my son was happy to use his pay from summer work for something fun), which turned out to make the experience a helluva lot more enjoyable than being the wandering critic I was the day before. So I caught bits of: Coheed & Cambria who sounded like they were rockin' hard, my son saw far more of them. A little of Built To Spill, a smattering of Lyrics Born who brought some nice lyrical flava, more Particle than I needed, a visit to chicken on a stick (which my wife generously shared with me). I was bummed to have missed both Wolfmother and Peeping Tom. Then it was a healthy walk back to the AT&T stage to face a MAMMOTH crowd assembled for Gnarls Barkley. Now the park was far more crowded earlier in the day when we got there compared to Friday, but the amount of people who showed up for Gnarls Barkley was just staggering in comparison to the day before. The genre hopping funsters, featuring Cee-Lo Green on vocals and Danger Mouse on keys (along with an impressive backing band that included former Nine Inch Nails drummer/producer Chris Vrenna) showed up decked out in tennis whites to the tune of Queen's "We Are the Champions." It wasn't long before it was apparent that Cee-Lo's voice was strained. He put forth a lot of energy and the band's music, though hardly the stuff of festival fare, made for compelling listening. High energy versions of songs off of the band's debut, St. Elsewhere, such as "Go-Go Gadget Gospel," "Just a Thought," and covers of Violent Femme's "Gone Daddy Gone" and The Doors' "Who Scared You" made for a rather up and down, dark and light set. While my wife and I watched Gnarls Barkley our son was apparently checking out Calexico and Sonic Youth at the same time Static Multimedia's Jennifer Wagner and Carrie J. Sullivan ("Sully") were. We now go to their part of the story. So Sully and I (Jennifer Wagner) make up and I have a huge espresso and a bonghit and get my day rolling...ahhhhhh. The residuals of last night's anger and watching strangers fucking took their toll, and I rubbed a nice slow one out with this little purple vibe I got in San Francisco awhile back. Again, ahhhhhh...ready to go. My day's agenda consisted of locating and interviewing crossover rap sensation Common, with whom my editor had set up a ten minute thing somewhere downtown around noon. After that it was back to Lollapalooza for day two, and I was pretty much hell bent on making it in time for Sonic Youth. More music and drinking and thoughts of fortune. I saw Condi Rice on the news crap herself over questions of Israel and Lebanon and existing in fear-induced denial about Iraq becoming another Iran. What a freaking tool. Then I bathed and whatnot, sort of carefully pruning because of Common, in case, you know, he thought I was hot maybe (he never did mention my being hot). The interview operation was like Colombo...I was instructed to call a certain number at a certain time and a location would be disclosed. The time to place the call came while I was on the red line downtown, just prior to losing signal going underground. I found out where Mr. Common was located, was told to call that number again at another certain time, and followed those instructions. Shortly I found myself sitting next to the impossibly sexy star in a hotel suite and had my ten minutes. In fact, I think I got eleven and a half, and what a rewarding, densely-packed talk it was. My cubicle for my day job was just across the river from the hotel, and though I didn't have to work, I hopped over there to stash the interview recording and leave a Common autograph on a colleague's keyboard. She is a big fan and I was a little self-congratulatory about that, I must admit, imagining her delighted surprise when she saw it resting there Monday morning. (As it turned out, she thought the note was from a stalker. She's really hot, I can see her with a stalker. But tragically she crumpled up the autograph and threw it out and it got taken by the cleaning crew before I could tell her what it was. So much for that surprise.) Anyway. Back to Saturday. The free tequila thingie was still going on at the Hard Rock Hotel and that was right around the corner, so, guess what. Four fast ones later I was on the bus heading south to Grant Park when Sully called, informing me that she was squatting at a Thai restaurant nearby hunkered down with a green curry and a bottle of chardonnay, gearing up for the afternoon. Realizing I had yet to eat that day, and probably should, I joined her. More wine than noodles got into my belly, however, and on top of that tequila I was feeling quite fine. I'd been looking forward to Sonic Youth for quite a while, I'd seen them about five years back at a midsized club here in Chicago and was bit quite thoroughly through the flesh. I had no clue that I was in for Kim Gordon sounding like shit, frankly, and looking pretty bad as well. The no-wave post punk pogo nymph was just not doing it, and I'm not sure why. Perhaps it was simply that they were performing in daylight, outdoors. To say their music and sunshine don't get on well is like saying the same about Islam and...you get the gist. The most energy she squeaked out was a cut from this year's Rather Ripped, "What a Waste," where she tautly wrapped her sad mouth and her gnarled sensibility around the lyrics; "What a waste/you're so chaste/I can't wait to taste your face." Moore and Ranaldo's signature synchronicity was off, with the single exception of their performance of 1987's "Schizoprhenia," making a valiant yet unsuccessful attempt to redeem the show that afternoon. Note - strobes are useless in the sunshine. "Tourquoise Boy" was dragging, frankly, until the guitar bridge. Then it got all distorted and crunchy, and then it got boring again. What should have been both ethereal and momentous turned out to be quite plainly lackluster. Sul and I were pretty damn dejected, and left the Bud Light stage with heavy hearts to make our way south to catch the Smoking Popes at 5:30. We were just really down about the SY set, our little heads sagging, feet dragging. It took a full fifteen minutes to get from one side of the campus to the other when the crowd was in full swell, as was the case at that moment, so we resigned ourselves to the trek. However, we were surprised by a sound coming from the small PlayStation stage as we were passing by. Like suffering gazelles smelling the first drops of seasonal rain on the Red Sea coast, our heads perked up and looked over in cautiously optimistic unison. Thump, bounce, energy, lust. It was Blackalicious, our heros. We ran over and joined the comparatively intimate crowd and threw our arms in the air with gusto. The rains came. Gift of Gab and Chief Xcel on the positive tip treated us to some high-octane cuts off their 2005 release, The Craft. The vibrancy and drive of the set completely smacked my attitude back right and put a bigger grin on my face than my post-masturbatory smile from earlier that morning. And it's still just funny to watch white people dance to hip hop. I'll say it till I fall over dead. Back to Brett... My son raved (at least for him) about Sonic Youth, which shocked me quite frankly. I never would have figured he would like them, but then again, I don't and he's a teenager, so it all makes perfect sense. The main thing was to be at the area of the Bud Light stage for The Flaming Lips' performance. Unfortunately that meant being subjected to the horror that was the Dresden Dolls. The Dresden Dolls, for those not in the know, are a male/female duo who do themselves up in cabaret makeup and attire, playing eclectic indie-rock with just drums and keys. Lead singer/keyboardist Amanda Palmer complained of her dress bothering her or something, took it off, apparently showing some boob in the process (from what I hear...I wasn't watching that closely). Palmer's shrill voice became even more shrill as their grating set went on and on and on. One has to wonder how a band with an extremely narrow fan base got such a prime spot at the festival. They would have been better served with a half-hour at the beginning of the day. The Dresden Dolls' set was absolutely the worst performance I saw all weekend (but there is still one more of the previously stated three worst to come). Over to Wagner who was watching The Smoking Popes while I caught The Dresden Dolls. The Smoking Popes were a perfect follow-up. They maintained Blackalicious's confident optimism, the energy was high, and the sound was straight up professional. I expected a lot out of their performance, and unlike the crestfallen crush from Sonic Youth, the Popes delivered, signed for their own package, and saw themselves out with a playful wink. As I watched the brothers Caterer turn out momentous punk stylings iced with a lounge-act croon and heard the crowd respond to their big hit "Need You Around," I couldn't help but get a little nostalgic. See, I used to be Josh Caterer's boss at Jam, a local concert promoter. His wife was my employee first, I inherited her when I started, and she brought on her hubby to help out for a while. I recalled a couple of loooooong theological discussions whilst setting up a new computer system, and his generally awesome attitude, and how every day when I indicated it was time for the staff to start answering customer phones he'd say brightly, "Let 'er rip!" He was a great guy, and a good employee, and his wife is a gorgeous pain in the ass (= nice one). What a couple. Anyway, I went down memory lane a bit, as did the Popes that afternoon, and some newer material was laid out for us as well on that sunny day, "I Know You Love Me," a hint to a relatively recent, head-spinning spiritual transformation. I hope we see a lot more of these guys; they've been sorely missed. Now back to Brett (Goddamn is this exhausting or what?) So we let our son venture into the cordoned off photo pit area to snap some pics of The Flaming Lips, who were happily setting up their own equipment as usual, with singer Wayne Coyne waving, smiling and chatting with photographers and fans. It wasn't long after the awful Dresden Dolls ended that the Lips began. Wayne started out by hopping into his big clear ball and was rolled out into the crowd to their (and his) delight. When Coyne rolled back onto the stage and exited from the sphere, he began shooting guns filled with confetti streams into the crowd as the band kicked into "Race for the Prize." Sexy alien women, men dressed as Santa claus, Coyne in his snazzy suit, Michael in his skull costume and Steven...was he in an astronaut's costume? Yeah. And then there were the giant balloons scattered into the crowd and the animated (by air) balloons behind drummer Kliph. It was a freakin' party, so much so that the music almost was an after thought, which has its positive and negative connotations. I mean, no matter what, the whole scene that ringleader Coyne spins is quite enticing, but, aside from a few items, if you've seen it once, it begins to lose its magic in subsequent viewings. But the music, at least at first and particularly on "Free Radicals," matched the energy of the party favors. Then Wayne's voice started to give out on him and the weak middle portion of their set featured songs from the fairly tepid new album, At War with the Mystics, and things began to go downhill. And though they perked up with "She Don't Use Jelly" and "Do You Realize?" it was too little too late. Jennifer Wagner was checking out Common during this time... All perked up and giddy from the Smoking Popes set, I headed back south to the press tent where our little stipend of beer was just being laid out. I had time to down one in very unladylike fashion, complete with belch and mouth-wipe on forearm. I introduced myself to a handsome, funny guy who writes for local paper the RedEye, and cajoled him into agreeing to go on a date with me. He said I was charming later...so clearly he has quite a low threshold for being charmed. We have yet to find the time for said date, incidentally, and I kept calling him Rich. His name is not Rich. Common was taking the AT&T stage just then, so the flirting got cut short and I headed over to watch more crackers bounce to more hip-hop. He was my friend, Common, I figured - after all, we'd spent eleven and a half minutes together earlier that day. What a show. The surge from Blackalicious to the Popes to Common simply continued mounting as Common and his adorable DJ engaged the crowd with a non-stop lyrical flow that was peppered with anti-Bush admininistration sentiments. This was in addition to the calls to maintain a smart, strong mentality in the face of the powers' thirty-year trend of patronization and greed. He covered his repertoire old and new, an unsurprising focus on 2005's acclaimed record Be with a noted lack of attention to the prior album Electric Circus, which took a hit from his fan base from the previous Like Water for Chocolate. It was a very fun, energizing set, and as I mentioned, it kept up the happy hyper feel of the afternoon as it rolled into night time and Kanye West. The family hopped on over to the opposite end of the park and I dismissed seeing the New Pornographers yet again (I've seen them around 6 times in four years) for some water and a comfortable viewing spot for Kanye West in the press tent (as the crowd had swelled to twice the size that Gnarls Barkley drew). As he stated, the Captain took on Kanye as Sully and I parted Lollapalooza for the evening, looking for trouble with a girlfriend already planted at a wine bar up north. We found it that night, trouble, but that's a story for another time. This evening is wrapped up with Kanye. Kanye West delivered a set that was entertaining despite numerous sound problems. West was mad, stating angrily to his sound crew, "Y'all gonna embarass me in front of my city?" when technical problems came to a head. West's mic was never loud enough to match his enthusiasm which was strongly evident in what he was saying and how he said it. His DJ even pulled a miscue that didn't help matters and nothing was straightened out until near the end of the set. That said, with cameo appearances by Common ("Get 'em High"), Rhymefest (the rapper's own "Brand New"), Twista (a few tracks), a couple tracks with GLC ("Drive Slow" & "Spaceship") and two with Kanye protege Lupe Fiasco (the closer "Touch the Sky" and earlier, Lupe's own "Kick Push" which found the young rapper skateboarding back and forth across the stage), the show succeeded in spite of its technical problems. Lupe brought a particularly big smile to my face, as I had the opportunity to interview him at Vice's Intonation Festival back in June and he is the warmest, friendliest person I've yet to meet in the business. Unfortunately, were there zero to few of these problems Kanye West's set had every bit of potential to be the stuff of legends. Instead, the crowd, estimated at around 50,000 strong, got a solidly performed show. Worse things have been known to happen. I can still hear "Touch the Sky" reverberating off of the buildings of Michigan Avenue as my family and I hailed a cab. Until we meet again tomorrow... |
