Lollapalooza | 08.01 – 08.03 | Chicago
By Team JamBase Aug 6, 2008 • 11:40 pm PDT
Lollapalooza :: 08.01 – 08.03 :: Grant Park :: Chicago, IL
Friday – 08.01.08By: Robyn Rubinstein
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Lollapalooza has a much different feel today than the traveling alternative music circus it began as in 1991. It has aged and matured with us, and yet still kept its finger on the pulse of innovation, change and revolution. Perhaps it was this year’s stellar lineup, or politically charged atmosphere with multiple artists giving repeated Obama endorsements, but something in the air crackled this time around. Maybe it was just me feeding off the giddiness that ensues when I get to have my annual summer fling with my crush city. Whatever it was, Lollapalooza 2008 was electric, charged by the city of Chicago, and powered by the distant glimmering light of hope and change at the end of the tunnel.
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My next move was an easy one – turn around and proceed to the AT&T Stage behind me. The front rails of the stage were already lined with rabid Radiohead fans, who only had six more hours to wait. In the meantime, there was Brooklyn’s Yeasayer, a band whose star continues to rise with each new music blogger who declares this band the next TV on the Radio. The last time I saw them was at the Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco, a club only slightly larger than my living room. I was definitely curious to see how the multi-ethnic, ethereal intensity would translate to a significantly larger festival setting. Not surprisingly, they delivered much of the same power and harmonic complexities on a large stage as they did on a small one. Frontman Chris Keating, whose live performance is so impassioned that it sort of looks like he is having a seizure, seemed slightly off, but not enough to detract from the strength of the overall performance. I’ll cut anyone slack in ninety-degree heat with three hundred percent humidity. “Sunrise” blasted across the expansive concert field, creating the mystical alternate universe feel that this band is known for. Other highlights were “2080,” their spinning yet up-beat interrogative about what the future holds, and “Wait for the Summer,” where the modern-meets-primitive instrumentation mimicked the sounds of the season.
It was at this point that my phone decided to shit the cooler, and I got a tad apoplectic for a minute, now faced with the concept of trying to navigate the next three days of music and meet-ups without a phone (remember back in the day when we had to make plans in advance, then, actually be where we said we’d be? Oh, how times have changed). I hoofed it to the media area to get online and find the closest Verizon store. The friendly folks at the Q101 booth let me use one of their laptops while a slightly haggard looking Patrick Carney, drummer from The Black Keys, sat down on the other end of the table for an interview. When asked how he was feeling at his third Lolla, he responded, “Hot, and a little anxious. I always get anxious when I’m around this many people who are, more than likely, on drugs.” Fair enough.
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One permutation of the blues was followed by another with Cat Power. In the past, Chan Marshall was almost better known for her onstage meltdowns than her sultry, impassioned voice. I’ve never witnessed a meltdown firsthand, but personally I’m glad they are a thing of the past, because her voice warrants more than enough attention. Her set was peppered with covers, several of those from her latest album, Jukebox. Her deep tone is smoother than satin, and it was like a familiar embrace. Each cover bore her unique imprint, testifying to her skills as an arranger. Her version of “New York” sounds like the New York that I want to hang out in. No disrespect to Frank Sinatra or Liza Minelli, but I would much prefer to kick it with Marshall. Her version of CCR’s “Fortunate Son” was interlaced with the prominent “Sympathy for the Devil” riff, making it a brilliant, languid combination of the two songs.
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I had to drag myself away from The Raconteurs before the end of their set, in order to make the trek to the southern end of Grant Park for Radiohead. The plus side of leaving early was that I was able to hear some of Brazilian dance rockers CSS. Their groove was definitely infectious, as several people making the same trip as I slowed their pace to take in the brightly colored spandex spectacle. The opening bars of “Move” are nearly identical to those from “Naïve Melody” by The Talking Heads, furthering my theory that David Byrne and The Talking Heads left an indelible mark on all music that came after them. (Radiohead’s name, inspired by “Radio Head” off 1986’s True Stories, is a less potent but equally viable example.) Here, finally people were dancing, especially to fan favorites like “Music Is My Hot Hot Sex” of iPod commercial fame, their self-proclaimed love song “Alcohol” and “Let’s Make Love and Listen to Death from Above.”
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Friday – 08.01.08 – Take Two
By: Cal Roach
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I was still mentally preparing for a hot, sticky weekend as I drifted to the Citi Stage for Grizzly Bear‘s set. I don’t want to dwell on the deficiencies of seeing a club band on a big, open-air stage, but the group is still finding its festival feet. The songs generally came off a bit better than at the Pitchfork Music Festival a year ago, as they’ve floated further away from their folk roots into an electric reverb swamp, but the absence of acoustic guitar has lost its novelty and the climactic “On A Neck, On A Spit” stalled in its development. A year ago, the novelty of hearing this song on electric guitar made it interesting. Today, it just showed its age. Overall, the group showed an amazing degree of growth between releasing Yellow House and last year’s tour, but since then, not s’much. But on the strength of Ed Droste‘s songs, it was still a good set.
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Continue reading for Saturday’s coverage of Lollapalooza…
By: Robyn Rubinstein
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The smaller, shady BMI Stage was a pleasant change of pace from the larger sun drenched stages. Though the stage was tucked back in a less conspicuous corner, there was a full crowd for New Jersey quintet Steel Train. The group combines buoyant, poppy instrumentation with huge guitar hooks, vibrant xylophones and dark, contemplative lyrics. The end result is a balance of high energy and heartfelt emotional release. “Alone on the Sea” and “I Feel Weird” are both soaring pop-infused songs that describe the real turmoil that vocalist/songwriter Jack Antonoff experienced in a post 9-11 world without capitalizing on the potential dollars that date carries with it. Steel Train was pounding, crowd-pleasing rock ‘n’ roll delivered from a place of emotional authenticity.
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I was going to abandon my buffet style approach to Saturday and stay for the rest of Devotchka’s set when I got a text that said the special guest sitting in with Perry Farrell was Slash of Guns N’ Roses fame. Really? I left the PlayStation Stage and headed toward the newest stage addition this year, a small tent that was showcasing DJ talent all weekend, aptly named Perry’s. The complete mob scene indicated that someone huge was present, but visual confirmation was impossible. The music sounded like it was more dance party electro than anything I’ve ever associated with Slash, so I was dubious. I weaseled my way to the back of the stage and sure enough, there he was shredding guitar while Farrell spun records. DJ Samantha Ronson was also onstage, apparently spinning records, too, though the sea of people made it nearly impossible to tell what specifically was going on. When Farrell’s mic blew out on set closer “Jane Says,” he led the audience in a sing-along while Slash strummed the melody. It was a warm fuzzy moment from two of America’s favorite musical freaks.
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Okkervil River frontman Will Sheff thrashed around the stage like a man mildly possessed during their late afternoon set, and the crowd fed off his every spasm. He did bring the tempo down for an emotional version of “A Girl in Port,” where he asked everyone to pretend that they were holding lighters instead of iPhones. The vibe was near explosive for “Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe” and during “For Real” Sheff climbed the drum set while waving his guitar in one hand. It was the surprise power hour of the day.
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A friend of mine aptly declared Sharon Jones as the female James Brown. Clearly, The Dap-Kings are her JB’s, and together they are one of the hardest working acts in showbiz today. I’ve been convinced for some time that Amy Winehouse wouldn’t have received a fraction of the attention she garnered in 2007 if The Dap-Kings had not been her backing band on Back to Black. Sharon Jones can perform circles around Winehouse, and her Lolla set was no exception. The Dap-Kings are a finely tuned, smartly dressed, smoothly choreographed funk-soul machine that combines modern and retro into a brick house of funk dance music that is always an undeniable good time. Jones’ arsenal of dance moves matches her wailing pipes, demonstrating her “Tina Turner strut” during “How Do You Let a Good Man Down.” Soul singer Syl Johnson joiner her onstage for his classic “Diff’rent Strokes.” The Dap-King horns blasted soul into a largely indie rock soaked air on “Got To Be The Way It Is,” with their signature ultra cool soft shoe for an extra touch of class.
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The band stopped on three separate occasions to ask fans to back up, and, at one point, stood still for five full minutes, threatening to end early. “We’ve already had a few people hurt, and if you guys don’t help out we’re gonna have to stop,” de la Rocha gravely stated. Once the madness came to an acceptable level, the band continued tearing into “People of the Sun” and “Bombtrack.” Rage hasn’t recorded anything new in eight years but the material resonated with as much relevance as it did when it was first written. The songs instigated as much revolutionary fervor in 2008 as they did in 1993. The intensity swelled throughout the audience, gaining momentum through “Guerilla Radio,” “Calm Like a Bomb” and “Sleep Now in the Fire.” During “Wake Up,” de la Rocha went on a powerful diatribe criticizing the Bush administration and stating that while he supports Barack Obama, he wanted to warn him that “cities are gonna burn to the ground” if he doesn’t withdraw troops from Iraq and Afghanistan. And with that statement, 50,000 concertgoers screamed for anarchy. The encore was a hard uppercut of “Freedom,” with De La Rocha reminding the audience that “your anger is a gift,” followed by the swift right hook of “Killing In The Name,” which created a complete frenzy. It was an angry, inspirational, violent, exhilarating set of music unlike anything else I’ve ever been a part of.
Saturday – 08.02.08 – Take Two
By: Cal Roach
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I was thankful for every time I didn’t have to walk half a mile to the other side of the fountain, so seeing Foals at the next nearest stage was convenient; their dance-punk-plus-horns debut, Antidotes, is just different enough to stand out from the latest British trend. However, a drummer for this sort of music really has to be able to keep a steady beat, and this deficiency proved extremely distracting during what would otherwise have been a pretty typical U.K. rave-up. I missed the horns, but gems like “Cassius” and “Balloon” still came off pretty well, and Yannis Philippakis‘ Robert Smith-esque vocals were compelling, if not particularly distinctive.
For the complete opposite, The Gutter Twins played next on the southerly main stage, and Mark Lanegan had never looked so uncomfortable. His smoky reeds are so intimately effective on the debut album by this project with ex-Afghan Whig Greg Dulli (and on pretty much all of his records, for that matter), but live, at least here, he seemed to be forcing himself to project out into the festival crowd as though he was afraid we wouldn’t hear him. Around the time they started “Idle Hands,” I finally realized why Saturnalia wore thin after repeated listens: this band is grunge’s Velvet Revolver, oozing with slick rock tunes but without much substance to live up to its members’ considerable talents. The band was competent, but the performance was just lackluster overall.
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I’m going to break myself of the habit of telling people that EITS sound like Mogwai. In bare-bones song structure, there are similarities for sure; they’re both definitive of post-rock. But live, EITS develops its songs more melodically, whereas Mogwai tends more toward waves of layers and all-out noise. Explosions got more overtly heavy than I’d heard before, approaching Neurosis-weight, and these guys provide all the visual intensity you can handle just in their faces. Their sound has become more their own even as they gradually push its boundaries, and this set was a definite highlight of day two.
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Battles, another Pitchfork alum, may have somehow gotten even wackier, though, and honestly, better. My buddy turned to me and said, “These guys are not boring.” That, in its most complimentary possible sense, sums up Battles. How does kitchen sink post-industrial glitch jazz sound? So scattered, it’s a miracle that it’s so danceable, and even melodic at times. It’s a tribute to the skills of these musicians that you couldn’t really tell if the departures were improvised or very intricately planned detours. Whatever the case, the band explored its whims even further afield, and they were even more interesting.
While The Gutter Twins rest on a throne of grunge cred, Toadies are still playing (and even writing) unabashed grunge songs. So, why does it feel so refreshing? The clang of that classic ’90s guitar, even on the new songs, served as a reminder of how bland guitar rock is on the radios of today. “We’re that one band,” quipped vocalist Todd Lewis before cranking into the group’s one big hit, 1994’s “Possum Kingdom,” but this set suggested they may still be more than that. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt and call them “uncompromising” instead of “stuck in the ’90s,” and see what the group’s next album (No Deliverance, due August 19) can do.
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Continue reading for Sunday’s coverage of Lollapalooza…
By: Robyn Rubinstein
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Iron & Wine was a beautiful and delicate respite in the heat of the day three sun. I was dubious about Iron & Wine on a large festival stage like this, afraid that the mellow tone would knock the wind out of tired, downtrodden sails. The layered complexities and slightly psychedelic nature of Sam Beam‘s arrangements were far more captivating than I gave him credit for. Though Beam’s voice was soothingly gentle, his full backing band, including violin and lap steel guitar, created a vibrant yet subdued musical backdrop. “White Tooth Man,” “Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car” and “Wolves” were all stirring examples of how exceptional American folk-rock can be, especially when delivered with such deliberate yet understated warmth. I asked Beam if he preferred the large festival gigs to smaller more intimate shows, such as his upcoming October show at Bimbo’s 365 Club in S.F. to benefit a friend with cancer. “I like it all,” he replied with an easy going smile. “It would get boring if we did the same thing all the time.”
In an attempt to try something completely different and unknown, I decided to check out Flogging Molly, a band that many festival attendees said they were most excited to see. After ten minutes in the raucous, beer soaked crowd, I decided Irish punk was not for me. Before I extricated myself from the scene, I had my second Irish step dancing sighting of the day, this time a group of three twenty-something guys. Feeling gratified in the repeat performance, I wandered off, wondering if the step dancer from Chromeo knew these guys.
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Gnarls’s set was solid, but the pull of mash-up DJ Girl Talk on the nearby Citi Stage was undeniable. This was a set that definitely should have been at a bigger stage, with people dancing in bushes and crowding into the landscaping to find a spot where the sound didn’t have to compete with Gnarls Barkley. The list of fluidly mixed samples was long and impressive, but my two favorites were “Running With the Devil” with Craig Mack’s “Flava in Ya Ear” and “Tiny Dancer” with Notorious B.I.G.
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Questions and rumors had been swirling around Kanye West‘s fest closing set since Friday. Would Barack Obama introduce him? Would it be another Bonnaroo debacle? Would his hometown crowd welcome him as a conquering hero or prodigal son? The opening tease of “Stronger” backed by tympanis pounding out African drumbeats confirmed what I had suspected all along – West was ready to shine for his peeps, and to bring pride and love to the Chi. “Good Morning” introduced West with a flash of orange light to thousands of fans whose love for their local boy could not be swayed. There are those that hate on West’s ego, but without the ego he wouldn’t be the superstar that he is. Believing his own hype has pushed him to be better, faster, stronger. Without his over-the-top ego, there would be no over-the-top performance with mind-blowing beats, precision rhymes, an extensive light show and incredible back-up band (essentially a mini-orchestra). The African drumbeats reappeared throughout the set, adding depth and awe to familiar tunes like “Champion,” “Flashing Lights” and “Touch the Sky.” The performance was all about the glory of Chicago, especially on songs like “Homecoming,” old school favorite “Through the Wire” and “Diamonds of Sierra Leone,” with its matching image of the diamond shaped lights of the Smurfit-Stone building emblazoned on the giant screen. There were moments of self-aggrandizing when West talked about his legacy in comparison to late greats like James Brown and Jimi Hendrix. On this night, however, it came across as far more inspirational than arrogant. If he could rise from the turmoil of his early years at 7915 South Shore Drive, so could anyone. And why shouldn’t he strive to someday be compared to Brown or Hendrix? Why shouldn’t any of us? His emotionally wrought version of “Hey Mama” brought him to his knees as he dedicated his performance to his late mother – “the woman who drove me to Chicago at the age of three and said, ‘Baby, this is where we’re gonna start our life.” His set drew to a close with a powerful rendition of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’,” further pushing the point that believing in yourself can get you to the top of the world and let you touch the sky. The strains of Daft Punk came across the audience and West finally exploded into “Stronger” with a resounding boom and flash of every light available. It was a triumphant finish for one of Chicago’s most talented, albeit temperamental, hometown heroes.
Sunday – 08.03.08 – Take Two
By: Cal Roach
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The Octopus Project took control of its day-opening slot, and there were plenty of appreciative and/or curious onlookers who quickly became enthralled in the performance. In no time, the band members’ white dress shirts were soaked through as they jumped about the stage, switching instruments and making a glorious din. They’re not as mathematical as Battles but somewhat kindred in terms of eccentricity. Most obviously notable was the Theremin playing of Yvonne Lambert, who elevates the instrument to something way beyond its usual role of novel distraction. Equal parts electronica and organic indie rock, virtually all instrumental and bordering on psychotic at times, you had to have fun if only because the band was having so much.
It’s sometimes staggering how much influence Robert Smith has had on U.K. rock. White Lies vocalist Harry McVeigh sounds like a Smith/Bono hybrid, with music to match, albeit more dance-y, but virtually everything coming out of England these days seems to feature a simplistic, agro-disco beat. White Lies are meatier than most, but still slaves to the dance-punk trend. Perhaps it’s only temporary; the band hasn’t even released an album yet. They made the most of their (delayed) half hour.
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The John Butler Trio wasted no time in amping the energy level way up, opening with “Treat Yo Mama” and a blast of lap steel guitar from Butler, then “Used To Get High,” which featured some spot-on vocal interplay from all three members – an aspect of the performance they’ve obviously been honing lately. Butler really shone on his solo guitar piece, “Ocean” – few men alone can exude that much energy. With his band, though, he’s got it all: great songs, amazing musicians and an undeniable connection between all aspects. Had we been in a house, set closer “Funky Tonight” would have brought it down, complete with a classic AC/DC ending (the band is from Australia, after all!).
Taking the long walk past Buckingham Fountain yet again, I still caught a good portion of the Black Kids‘ set, which had energy to spare but it just wasn’t in line with mine at that moment. They were very bouncy, occasionally brash, spastic and surely tons of fun for those who weren’t driven into the shade temporarily for some relief from the sun.
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All weekend, the gaps between sets at adjacent stage areas were consistently short, but sound quality was all over the place. Blues Traveler got short-changed. They seemed a bit muddled and not very loud, and Chan Kinchla‘s guitar was buried in the mix much of the time. “How You Remember It,” from the forthcoming North Hollywood Shootout, was a good opener, but then it got ugly. “The Devil Went Down To Georgia” was the shameless pander you might fear it would be, and Popper couldn’t consistently keep up with the beat. The song really isn’t suited to his singing, either, and the band added little pizzazz. On his own tunes, Popper’s voice sounded great, minus a few misfires, and his harmonica is legendary. The band, of course, isn’t a parody of its former self, but it seems to be morphing slowly closer to an irrelevant bar band with a unique gimmick. I won’t put anything past BT just yet, though. I hope the rest of the tour was much better for them.
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Perry himself enthusiastically introduced Love and Rockets, who were noisily hypnotic from the get-go. I came in hoping for “So Alive” and really not knowing any other songs. Love and Rockets did not play “So Alive,” but luckily all the songs they did play were at least as good as their one big hit. This was only the group’s third show since disbanding in 1999. Perhaps the diehards recognized a tint of rust or some missed cues, but nothing like that was obvious to me. This is abrasive, isolated music, with three musicians bashing away separately, a common destination the only thing holding it all together. They’ve found the common ground between goth, industrial and extreme weirdness. The band may have been a little disjointed at the beginning of the set, or maybe I was just adjusting to their volume ambush (the LOUDEST set of the weekend), but by “No New Tale To Tell” they were locked in. The song was a head rush of apathetic exuberance. “Holiday On The Moon” featured a most angular, abrasive guitar shred, followed by an ever-building sheet of tension that ended in sheer disbelief. “Kundalini Express” was so far between genres it couldn’t see land, but it was pure rock & roll. “Yin And Yang” was almost like rockabilly, but obviously, you know, not really. The last four songs were a barrage of tuneful, earsplitting insanity, especially when the black-and-white-striped bobble headed aliens came onstage and danced. First impressions like this are rare and blessed occasions, and I’ll cherish this one.
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I hadn’t seen Nine Inch Nails in years, so I’d somehow forgotten to expect the new songs to be more furious live. Reznor has the ability to project passion even in the quietest moments. He got some excellent vocal backup from his current band as well, which has seen the return of guitarist Robin Finck after a seven-year absence. Three songs right away from the most recent album The Slip, and then “March Of The Pigs,” which featured a delayed electro-thrash ending. “Closer” was a showcase for Finck, where he was primitive and so alive. “Gave Up” was when it struck me how much the 43-year-old Reznor, as a bandleader, puts so many younger men to shame in every category. The band went into subdued mode for some moody instrumental tracks from Ghosts I-IV, and then picked and chose from the past twenty years of Reznor’s career. It was hard to top “Wish” followed by “Terrible Lie,” and not just because they’re well known; they are living, breathing, evolving songs, not hits that must be doled out. Even 2005 semi-hit “The Hand That Feeds,” a song I hated until this weekend, was infused and on fire. After a scorching “Head Like A Hole,” nobody was going anywhere without an encore. Following “Echoplex,” Reznor made a gracious speech about his place in the pantheon of Lollapalooza and in music itself, ending by introducing a song he wrote for himself “then gave to a friend.” Of those of us who are familiar with Johnny Cash‘s version, I wondered who else could hear his voice alongside Reznor’s during “Hurt.” It was very moving, and there really are no better words to describe it. “In This Twilight” had to be played just so we could recover a bit, and that was the end of Lollapalooza ’08.
Continue reading for more images from Lollapalooza…
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 The Black Keys | |
 Dan Auerbach – The Black Keys | |
 The Kills | |
 Cat Power | |
 Cat Power | |
 CSS | |
 Benson & White – The Raconteurs | |
 Jackie White |
Continue reading for images from Saturday…
 Booka Shade | |
 Mason Jennings | |
 Dierks Bentley | |
 Steel Train | |
 Spank Rock | |
 Spank Rock | |
 Will Sheff – Okkervil River | |
 MGMT | |
 MGMT | |
 Sharon Jones | |
 Broken Social Scene | |
 Wilco | |
 Rage Against The Machine |
Continue reading for images from Sunday…
 Brazilian Girls | |
 Sam Beam – Iron & Wine | |
 Chromeo | |
 Cee-Lo – Gnarls Barkley | |
 Flogging Molly | |
 Perry Farrell & Slash | |
 Slash | |
 Mark Ronson | |
 Trent Reznor – Nine Inch Nails | |
 Nine Inch Nails | |
 Nine Inch Nails | |
 Nine Inch Nails |
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