Lollasphere Diarypalooza: Sunday

And on the third day, God created land and sea and brought together a Muslim and a Jew on the Myspace stage in the afternoon. Dave 1 sayeth unto the masses: “Our name is Chromeo / and we are in control,” and also assured them of their status as gangstas. Verily they danced, and God saw that it was good.

Welcome to Sunday at Lollapalooza. My cousin has informed me that Lollapalooza is an actual word. Sure enough: Webster defines it as a slang noun meaning, “one that is extraordinarily impressive.” Dictionary.com claims it has uncertain origins in America between 1900 and 1905. I now challenge you to call the next extraordinarily impressive person, place, or idea you see a lollapalooza.

After I’d had my fill of the good times at the Chromeo show, I saw a couple songs from Black Kids, who don’t seem like they’re having as much fun as they were when I saw them in early spring. Reggie Youngblood seems like he’s come off the starry high of his band’s immediate and resounding rise to prominence. The exuberance is down, but he’s still capable of sounding like (ready?) Robert Smith (quota filled) leaving his baggage on the dance floor.

It was not until four o’clock on Sunday that I wandered into the Whole Food’s sponsored “Green Street” section of the grounds, and waiting that long was an enormous mistake. Here’s what I ended up getting in free stuff from the incredibly generous booth in the center (keep in mind, this was in two visits, one at four and one at six): ice cream, sherbet, an American Apparel t-shirt, chips, and chocolate. So, umm, not the most rock-n-roll use of my time, but who cares about Blues Traveler anyway?

“Are you ready?” asked Saul Williams, dressed in space-age war paint and feathers. We told him that we were but he was skeptical: “We’ll see about that.” After an absolutely smoldering rendition of “Niggy Tardust”, he said, “We on this stage know race is a social construct, and we can see past it in our lifetime.” A couple thousand white people roared approval. At one point, he took his wireless mic and spent a song wading through the crowd, literally putting himself on a level with his fans. Kanye West stood watching from beside the stage, where he was mostly out of sight and only minimally distracting. He would have done well to take notes; you're not about to catch Saul Williams attempting to rhyme syrup and berserk.

Girl Talk, playing the same stage as Williams, attracted approximately four times the number of people the stage was designed to accommodate. I’m sure it was a fun show. What I could see from my vantage point behind a tree and under constant barrage from opportunistic elbows and shoulders seeking a better spot was a stage filled with dancing and confetti and toilet paper shot from leaf-blowers. I, in the exact opposite mood Greg Gillis would have liked for me to be in, wondered if the reason this guy is so immensely popular is that he gives the image-obessed cool kids an excuse to unravel and go insane to the same top 40 stuff they call crap at all other times. From what I hear, he ended the show surfing through the crowd on an inflatable raft to Journey. I left early to get a good spot for The National.

My animosity disappeared with the opening guitar notes of “Start a War”. The sun was setting over the Chicago skyline when The National took the stage. Wistful and warm, this is the kind of music that inspires blissful sing-along with eyes closed. The crowd was enraptured, filled with the kind of feeling that caused them to gladly step aside to allow late-comers a closer view. Those looking for boozy warmth would have done well to save their money and just hang around for “Fake Empire”, which inspired the same feeling.

Kanye West, it seems, played the exact opposite show from his Bonnaroo disaster. It was exactly on time and largely without frills. He had a sort of pit orchestra wearing masks on raised platforms behind him, who effectively brought his production genius to life. There were one or two bizarre (though completely expected) moments of titanic ego, but there was also some genuine hometown magic as well. “Good Morning” was every bit the perfect live introduction, and an extended “Good Life” was the most purely enjoyable seven-ish minutes of my weekend.

What a lollapalooza! And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Diarypalooza: Friday
Diarypalooza: Saturday

[Kiernan Maletsky]