Sunday - 08.03.08
By: Robyn Rubinstein
 Pee Thug - Chromeo |
The Canadian duo Chromeo describes itself as "Hall & Oates riding on 22's." I like that tagline, but during their afternoon set on Sunday I pictured guitarist Dave 1 and keyboard-moog master Pee Thug suiting up to rumble with Morris Day and The Time. Either way, Chromeo brought contagious '80s electro-funk to a sweltering Sunday crowd. No amount of heat or humidity could stop the party once they launched into addictive, synthy tracks like "Tenderoni," "You're So Gangsta" and "Fancy Footwork." Pee Thug's keyboard skills were tight enough that he knew he could play the whole set shirtless, sharing his man boobs with the crowd, yet still be a sexy beast. There was something about their set that encouraged everyone to let their freak flag fly, the best instance of which was a seemingly standard Chicago resident Irish step dancing to "Bonafied Lovin'"
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.
 Danger Mouse - Gnarls Barkley |
Gnarls Barkley took the stage in costumes that looked like real estate agents taking Catholic school kids on a field trip. Keyboardist-producer-mastermind Danger Mouse and vocalist Cee-Lo were decked in gold jackets, while the rest of the band sported vests and shorts. Like their latest album, The Odd Couple, their live set dripped with a '60s pop soul feel, so much so that I found myself longing for go-go dancers suspended in cages to complete the mood. They might have clashed with the costumes, but they would've fit the mood perfectly. Danger Mouse exuded nothing but super smooth ultra cool as he hunched and bobbed over his keyboard. Cee-Lo's voice in concert is stunningly huge and compelling, especially on "Going On" and "Who's Gonna Save My Soul." The crowd erupted at older favorites "Crazy" and Violent Femmes cover "Gone Daddy Gone," which, as Cee-Lo reminded the crowd, "always gets the party started". The highlight of their set was a brilliantly re-worked version of Radiohead's "Reckoner" (check it here).
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.
 Mark Ronson |
Lolla marked the last show of a sixteen month run for guitarist/producer Mark Ronson, and he blew it out accordingly in an all-star, guest laden funky throw down. Like The Dap-Kings, Mark Ronson is another artist without whom Amy Winehouse would be nothing. His dynamic performance proved that he is much more than a behind-the-scenes guy, and he richly deserves his own spotlight. Flanked by a four-piece string section on one end of the stage and The Haggis Horns on the other, Ronson played rhythm guitar and directed the festivities with the energy and demeanor of an eighteen-year-old. True to his album Versions, Ronson and his extensive list of friends took "a bunch of covers of indie rock songs with trumpets on [them]" and reinvented them as funk tunes. Liverpool's Candie Payne and Chicago rapper Rhymefest turned Britney's "Toxic" into an entirely new beast, as did vocalist Kenna with Ryan Adams' "Amy" and The Haggis Horns with Coldplay's "God Put a Smile Upon Your Face." The Radiohead covers just kept coming when all of Phantom Planet joined Ronson for "Just." The set closer was a seething version of "Stop Me" by The Smiths that morphed into The Supremes' "You Keep Me Hanging On."
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
 Brazilian Girls |
As I walked out of the Metra tunnel onto Michigan Ave., John Williams' Star Wars theme song burst into the air from some unknown source in the direction of Grant Park. I considered this a good omen.
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.
 Sam Beam - Iron & Wine |
The Weakerthans reportedly did not make it to the fest due to "bus trouble," which turned out very convenient for Office, who was unable to perform its opening slot due to some sort of technical difficulties, so the Chicago quartet filled in at 1:15. The set was a somewhat awkward blend of American indie attitude and power-Britpop. It really seemed like nothing more than a bunch of friends who happen to play instruments and decided to throw a band together, even though the group has been operating for eight years. Having shifted through myriad styles, this group now needs to settle on something that it can genuinely call its own. As is, it's certainly not terrible, just unremarkable.
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.
 Black Kids |
4:25 p.m. 80-some humid degrees. Walking across a huge, crowded lawn, strewn with blankets, shoes and people. The sound from the distant stage surfs the wind. Suddenly, despite the surrounding skyscrapers, I finally felt like I was at a festival. G. Love wasn't exactly blowing my mind, but that's not necessarily his aim. He figures your mind is already blown, and he and his Special Sauce can just sneak in and party. It was working on Sunday, filling a familiar gap that had been vacant thus far. The guy is the hokiest frontman you can imagine but can still be taken somewhat seriously. And a man should have his fun, in whatever form he loves most, and it's clear that G. Love has found that. Besides, who couldn't use a little "Peace, Love & Happiness" at this point?
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.
 Lollapalooza 2008 |
I had to catch a bit of Flogging Molly, however, en route, the sound of Saul Williams sampling "Sunday Bloody Sunday" wafted at us; wait, he's actually "singing" the whole song? The sound produced a lot of smirks along the walking paths, but I have to admit it intrigued me. Festivals: you can never see everything. Case in point, two rollicking tunes and Flogging Molly's set was over for me. Rats.
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.
 Nine Inch Nails |
I suppose if L&R just didn't do it for you, if one just weren't up for that type of bombardment, maybe the differently-gothic indie pulse of The National was perfect. The Boxer really is a great album, but I'm still not convinced that Matt Berninger has grown into his live vocal, and it's especially patchy outdoors; deep, grumbly voices don't go over so well in this environment. And the group's subtlety left me jonesing for guitar after L&R. When the effects of the previous set had worn off, The National's quieter energy absorbed me somewhat, and then "Fake Empire" finally grabbed me. The last time I'd seen it played, it bored me, so I was happy to see it get its due. And, of course, Berninger came unhinged on "Mr. November." Then, before I could even digest, Trent Reznor was coming onstage behind me.
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.
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