Lollapalooza – that funny word – happened in Chicago earlier this month and nothing was overpriced; minus the $60 spent on band tees. And how it felt…
Wavves brought boisterous belch-mint air, an unfortunate support act to the “saved” Mavis Staples and her insistence on a specific presence, but petition I won’t for the charm felt safe. The New Pornographers offered glitter guns and sterling recognition of a hot day and fan fascination, as the Black Keys wasted litres of water on swollen necks, taunting a moisture purged audience. Friday night’s end granted a late-to-stage-Strokes offering, one that rapidly dissolved for those fighting for air, hanging from the front fence. A battle for balance and gulp of thick air saw one pop song fused with another, all lost to us along with innocently expected comfort. Years waited, mere seconds to pass.
Stars not clear to the Chicago night visited said city early Saturday evening with a main-stage showing, as echoes of the xx devoured people’s murmurs on our way to a raucous meet of Gogol Bordello set mania. Metric’s Emily Haines paused for a brief moment of costume-change rest: white sunglasses to red – a necessity. Spoon and Cut Copy spat magic behind our picnic-perched backs, before Phoenix wooed the open-mouthed gang with Playground Love whispers in the evening’s Air.
Sunday morning Dodos presented us with rain and time to breathe, before the Cribs screamed, made noise with their toy guitars, and but for the reference of records would be indecipherable through each word and note. MGMT brought pop-bounce and the National screamed their way to the finishing line, surprisingly impressive for a non-American, uninformed to their musical wit. And the Arcade Fire. Oh, it’s been a few moments since the debut album obsession began and although those songs fell from my ears and impression, such a majestic performance was felt through each vein. The rediscovery; sure to be the greatest.
[I forgot about Friday’s Walkmen. Make sure you do not.]