Saturday - 08.02.08
By: Robyn Rubinstein
 Dr. Dog |
I decided to take a buffet approach to day two – sample as much of everything as possible without throwing up. One of the nicer Chicago summer days I've encountered began with a perfect breeze, blue skies and Philadelphia band Dr. Dog. Dr. Dog is often compared to The Beatles or The Beach Boys, and while I can see where those comparisons stem from, especially on songs like "The Girl" and "The Old Days," I think those easy pigeonholes are not accurate. To me, they are a cocktail of psychedelic rock and yacht rock, with a dash of pop-y folk. Their set was easy and smooth yet up-beat and compelling. It was comfortable and easy to listen to but definitely not easy listening. "The Beach" was the only exception to the smooth sailing vibe, with its darker blues tinged warning about fate and karma.
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.
 Steel Train |
Colorado quartet Devotchka is one of the most original bands around today. Best known for creating the Grammy award winning soundtrack to Little Miss Sunshine, their live performance is easily as fun, if not more than the movie. Their instrumentation is immense, including trumpet, double bass, violin, percussion, drums and piano. They are also taking the traditionally less cool instruments, like sousaphone, accordion and Theremin, and making them awesome. The sound is almost impossible to describe, since it is a complete fusion of Eastern European folk, mariachi, bolero, punk and indie rock. Early in their career they were the backing band for burlesque shows, having toured with Dita Von Teese. That sensual sense of fancy combines with intelligent arrangement to create an entirely new sound. No easy feat. Lead vocalists Nick Urata's voice is rich and comfortable like an overstuffed love seat upholstered in velvet. "Head Honcho" could be the theme song to a cowboy movie set in the Balkans. "Transliterator" combines slower symphonic piano and violin verses with pulsating, drum infused choruses illustrating the frustrations of idle talk. "You better mean what you say/ Why don't you say what you mean/ I never get anywhere/ I get the space in between/ Beautifully mutilated/ Insanely antiquated/ I will admit I almost always underestimate it."
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.
 Perry Farrell & Slash |
It's a good thing that there was a Kidapalooza at the festival, because Spank Rock's set was no place for children. This was a definite triple XXX affair. Baltimore MC Spank Rock (Naeem Juwan) commanded an insta-dance party, instructing "all the white girls to shake it 'til my dick turns racist." Joined onstage by Amanda Blank and Santogold there was copious bumping and grinding, but his female cohorts skillfully spit rhymes just as raunchy as his. Crowd pleaser "Bump" drew a resounding cheer for the line, "I keep it dirty/ not like Fergie/ Fuck the Black Eyed Peas."
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.
 Broken Social Scene |
Canadian super-group Broken Social Scene is the true definition of a collective, where the sum is far greater than its parts, and considering the skill of the individual parts, the sum creates an indie dance rock force to be reckoned with. With 8-10 players onstage at any given time, the risk of improvisation gone awry seems high, but the skill and intuition of this group pervades all else, creating a hugely layered gripping sound. Their set opened solidly, with classic BSS cuts like "Pacific Theme" and "Cause = Time." They were joined by Stars frontwoman and occasional BSS member Amy Milan about four songs in, at which point things started to head towards the stratosphere. Milan's voice seemed to invigorate the band even more, leading them into fiery versions of "7/4 Shoreline" and "Fire Eye'd Boy." Another occasional member, Apostle of Hustle's Andrew Whiteman also graced the stage for "Love Is New," an irresistibly funky cut from the latest in the Broken Social Scene Presents series, Something For All Of Us, by founding member/bassist Brendan Canning. Guitarist and primary vocalist Kevin Drew aptly described the song as "before dinner disco." Mid-"Frightening Lives," Drew implored the crowd to vote for Obama, just as he did at Bonnaroo (no bong reference this time), reminding everyone that when America votes we vote for the world. This was one of many Obama plugs throughout the weekend, which continued to fuel rumors that he was going to make an appearance. "Major Label Debut" encapsulates everything I love about BSS: raucous guitars, pounding drums and sensitive lyrics. "Forced to live like it's a curfew/ translation means I love you." Once again, the only disappointment was a surrounding crowd of surly hipsters who were apparently too cool to dance.
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.
 Rage Against The Machine |
Electricity was palpable in the air during the minutes preceding Rage Against the Machine's set. As soon as the opening riff of "Testify" hit the crowd things went from zero to bedlam in about 30 seconds. Inside, fans near the front were crushed into the barrier, sent flying over into the photo pit or swallowed by one of 8-10 circle pits. Outside, people gathered on Columbus Drive across from Grant Park took advantage of a temporarily opened gate and stormed inside the fest. At least 100 people made it inside the gates before police on horseback subdued the crowd. Back inside, "The Battle of Chicago" continued. By the end of "Bulls On Parade," Zack de la Rocha pleaded with the audience, "Please, take care of each other out there. We have enough fucked up stuff in this world between cops and fucked up politicians. We should be saving this shit for the streets instead."
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
 Scott McMicken - Dr. Dog |
Dr. Dog got things rolling for me at the MySpace Stage, a great start to the day. The band's sound is comparable to the bluesy indie model that Tapes 'n Tapes has gotten acclaim for lately, but these guys are even bluesier and more old-psychedelia, and singer Scott "Taxi" McMicken is an earnest frontman who doesn't seem to take himself too seriously. The set was a refreshing departure from any semblance of indie sass, closing with sloppy, energetic rocker "My Friend." Great stuff.
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.
 MGMT |
MGMT is riding high on the strength of its excellent major-label debut, Oracular Spectacular, and the crowd was dense and rapt for the start of the group's afternoon set. It got off to a fairly mellow start and by "Future Reflections" anticipation began to fade to distraction among much of the crowd. Andrew VanWyngarden's vocals were very indistinct, although this could be largely part of the fest-wide inconsistency at the mixing boards. But, the whole group was pretty lethargic onstage for the first half of the show. Things started to slowly heat up during "Pieces Of What," and then singles "Electric Feel" and "Time To Pretend" were what the crowd needed. I think the group still needs some time to develop a live identity, as it can't recreate the atmosphere of its recorded work so far, but I still wish I'd stayed for the end of the set (by most accounts, the best part) instead of trying to catch a glimpse of Perry Farrell and his surprise guest, Slash, halfway across Grant Park. Apparently, they'd exited the stage with a half hour left of their allotted time. Farrell returned, announced Slash, but the throng around the small tent made it impossible for me to see what was going on. After at least five more minutes of no music or explanation, I gave up. Explosions In The Sky were starting.
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.
 Okkervil River |
This year's Lolla featured a heck of a lot of artists who also played Pitchfork last year, and Jamie Lidell had been an unexpected highlight of that fest, but the needs of the body and the long walk between stages meant I was only able to catch the last couple of tunes, not enough to comment on except to say that he didn't seem quite as, uh, wacky this year.
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.
 Wilco |
Resplendent in their regal best, the men of Wilco emerged as the reigning kings of Chicago to close night two at the North end of Grant Park. Perhaps no band personifies the majestic/blue-collar dichotomy of the Windy City as well as Wilco, and each evolutionary step by the band seems to bring it closer to reconciling all the passions spread across the spectrum of Midwestern city life. Commander Jeff Tweedy has developed a rapport with his appreciative supporters that has the makings of legend AND the knowing resignation of a man aware that even his limitations have become beloved hallmarks to his fans. The band played with supreme confidence in their space cowboy suits, and the set had the atmosphere of a three-hour epic even though it was actually under two. Tweedy is clearly in control, but this version of Wilco has soldiered through four of the band's most scrutinized years, and the synergy between the players now makes for some wild, dynamic mood swings that are always satisfying, often thrilling. Wilco took its homecoming seriously and turned its set into an event that was almost as big in its own right as the whole festival. And it's that unfakeable connection between artist and patron that elevates bands like Wilco to where they are.
Continue reading for Sunday's coverage of Lollapalooza...
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