Lollapalooza 2010: Reviews from Day 2

 
12:21 p.m.
While some think this year's lineup weaker, certain fans see benefits in having fewer hard choices. Kevin Porter, who came to the festival from Baltimore with his wife and daughter, believes this year is better than last for that very reason. "This year has a much more consistent lineup. Last year there were so many artist conflicts that broke our heart." Ouch. (BG)

12:35 p.m.
Four-man Chicago collective Only Children stand together behind a table like would-be “America's Got Talent” judges — a trio of laptops and a mixer set in front of them. The group opens with a drugged-out, ambient cut that samples the double-rainbow guy (if you don't know who that is, hit up Google immediately) and sounds something like a “Little Fluffy Clouds” for the YouTube generation. From there, things get more predictable, the crew weaving together a danceable mix of sampled R&B, disco and hip-hop beats. The visuals throughout are minimal; a cult-like slogan occasionally flashes onscreen behind the group (“Only Children: Let go, join us”), the group employs moderate use of a smoke machine (which, in the light of day, simply makes it appear equipment is malfunctioning spectacularly) and a pair of confetti guns momentarily transport the smallish crowd inside a freshly-shaken, multicolored snow globe. One lingering question: How essential is it to have four dudes onstage? Throughout the set, members wander into the wings and move into the crowd to hand out swag (frequently leaving just two guys manning the equipment), yet not once does the sound drop out or change. (AD)

1:05 p.m.
Minutes into the set, Harlem (below) suffers a broken guitar string but it's nothing the enjoyably off-the-cuff trio can't handle. Free of any plans, the band calls out songs a second before playing them and sees no need to spend any time in tuning instruments. Everything is kept simple, including the minimalist drum set, anchored by a giant bass drum that looks as if it served time in Bozo's marching band. A few random pieces of concrete hold it in place. Bassist Jose Boyer wears a T-shirt that, akin to the intentionally cheesy fake tuxedo shirts, depicts the front and back of a bikini-clad woman on each respective side. Harlem's laissez-faire humor extends to the clattering songs, crude basement-noise ditties that sound as if they stripped off the basic elements of British Invasion 45rpm singles. "Disappear," "Irresistible" and "Faces" function as on-the-fly excuses for self-effacing fun and direct invitations for meaningless romantic flings. Michael Coomers and Curtis O'Mara switch places on guitar and drums, joking that they've built a new band, but there's no audible difference. One-liners and zingers fly. If they wanted, these guys could charge admission for their witty stage banter alone. Musically and visually, Harlem refreshingly comes across as a middle finger in the face of seriousness and professionalism, and it feels great. So does the trio's sweet revenge on the disarmingly clever "Someday Soon," on which a targeted protagonist is warned "Someday soon you'll be on fire/And you'll ask for a glass of water/And I'll say no." Intended or not, it's a worthy modern update of the blues standard "Asked for Water (She Gave Me Gasoline)." Inspired. (BG)
 

1:13 p.m.
Don’t like the band? We can change! That’s pretty much Harlem’s attitude. On my way to Butler Field to catch Wild Beasts, but I love the clatter that Harlem is making so I stop to listen. They play the songs in ramshackle bursts, as if to end them before they overstay their welcome. Then one of the band members blurts, “One more tune and we’re going to switch spots, and it’s a whole new band.” I agree with Bob’s post above – can’t not love these guys. (GK)

1:31 p.m.
Wild Beasts singer Hayden Thorpe is a Lolla believer. “In the U.K., where we’re from, they have festivals where everyone huddles together and shivers,” he says from the stage. “But this is an amazing setting. This is how it should be done.” Was that a diss of Glastonbury? On record the quartet can come across as wispy, but live they set up a solid foundation of looped and live beats plus percussive bass for their falsetto vocals to float over. Reverb is the rule of the day, as the band toggles between narcotizing lullabies and more emphatic dream-pop excursions. (GK)

1:47 p.m.
Mid-‘90s retreads Blues Traveler open with “Run-Around,” its biggest hit. Then there’s a granola-fattened version of Sublime's “What I Got,” complete with lots of solos. Same goes for a limp, watered-down take on Radiohead's “Creep,” which substitutes flowery harmonica blasts for the original's jagged edges. “You, Me and Everything,” bloated with treacly keyboard fills, finds John Popper singing “I get a little wild,” but the group's meandering harmonica jams do anything but. (AD)

2 p.m.
OK, I’m gloating inside just a bit. I just scored a Judas Priest burger at the Kuma’s Corner stand behind the Petrillo bandshell without waiting. Every time I go to the Kuma’s at Belmont, there’s a wait of at least 45 minutes. So, yes, this instant gratification is pretty exciting. In general the lines for concessions and restrooms are small and quite manageable. Logistics are much improved too, with the festival expanding to 115 acres from 80. The key move is the closing of Columbus Avenue, which essentially turns the street into one long and wide sidewalk that allows fans to travel from opposite ends of the festival without enduring the dreaded Buckingham Fountain bottleneck of past years. Still, the crowding on the north end of the festival remains an issue. It might make sense to move the northernmost stage on Butler Field to a street location on Columbus in future years. (GK)


2:17 p.m.
Warpaint write songs that, as the lyrics to one of them say, start “creeping under my skin” with trebly guitar, gauzy harmony vocals and the intricate yet powerful drumming of Stella Mozgawa (above). The quartet flirts with art-punk abstraction, but Mozgawa and bassist Jenny Lee Lindberg put a shimmy in the step of most of their songs. (GK)

2:55 p.m.
Though absent on the bill, the Hold Steady's influence on Lollapalooza '10 continues. Ex-member Franz Nicolay (he of the super-villain handlebar mustache) joins Against Me! on keyboard and accordion for its ferocious afternoon set just a day after guitarist Tab Kubler teamed up with the New Pornographers. While Nicolay's fashion sense clashes with the Florida punks (he sports a sharp dark vest/tie combo, while the rest of the band favors tattered black t-shirts and jeans), his infectious, fist-pumping enthusiasm carries over into an anthemic “High Pressure Low” and the arena-sized “White Crosses.” Singer-guitarist Tom Gable says the group is working on less than two hours sleep, but the musicians' energy doesn't wane as they slash-and-burn through brash, ginsu-sharp tunes like “Suffocation” (though the stage volume could and should have been cranked a good deal louder). While some have criticized the group for disavowing its noisy punk roots in favor of its recent, more melodic output, there's definitely something to be said for the way the crew has embraced maturity. Witness the sneering “I Was a Teenage Anarchist,” a surprisingly-complex tune that finds the band simultaneously recognizing its deep punk roots while admitting that life gets more complex the longer it drags on, Gabel singing, “I was a teenage anarchist, but the politics were too convenient.” (AD)

 
3:20 p.m.
Butler Field is packed for The XX (right). The U.K. band’s stellar 2009 album is meant to be heard in a dark room over headphones, preferably at 3:20 a.m., not 3:20 p.m. The sunshine does not alter the band’s fashion sense one bit: black hair, clothes, guitars, which suits the mood of the songs just fine. But will it translate to this huge, eager crowd? I’m standing next to a naysayer. He hears a couple of guitar notes and cautions his companion not to get his hopes up. “It’s gonna be like this the whole time, and you’ll get sick of it.” That sound — sparse to the point of being skeletal, with each guitar note reverbing against a splash of electronic percussion and spidery bass lines — is the perfect backdrop for the whispery co-ed vocals. But it does have its limits. Most of the fans are digging it, clapping along to “Crystalised” and “VCR” as if they were stadium-rock anthems. They can’t coax these shy Brits to cut loose until the closing “Infinity,” though. When bassist Oliver Sim grabs a set of mallets and starts bashing a cymbal with long-limbed strikes, he provides the crescendo to the 40-minute set. It’s a satisfying conclusion, but in the future here’s hoping the band learns to work a few more of those dramatic moments into its set. (GK)

3:50 p.m.
For those curious, ex-Hold Steady keyboardist Franz Nicolay coyly refers to his current stint in Against Me! as a “summer gig.” “The new record had more textures, and I heard they were looking for a keyboardist [to help recreate those sounds live],” Nicolay says. “I had just left the Hold Steady and my solo record was done, so the timing just worked. I've known those guys going back to our East Coast punk days. I think I played with them the first time in May, and this one is our last show for awhile.” (AD)

4:05 p.m.
Gogol Bordello (below) might call New York City's Lower East Side home, but the multi-cultural gypsy-punk collective's music often sounds like it emanates from some great, global junkyard. Singer and band founder Eugene Hütz, shirtless and sporting fringe-laden arm bands reminiscent of the Ultimate Warrior, appears possessed as he leads his bandmates (who all look crazed, colorful and more than a little grungy) through high-energy, carnival-esque songs like “Tribal Connection” and “Trans-Continental Hustle,” which opens with a windswept harmonica line that has me thinking Charles Bronson's “Once Upon a Time in the West” outlaw is hidden in the wings and itching to pounce. Even better is the double-time, caravan-thrash of “Immigraniada (We Comin' Rougher),” which delivers exactly as its title promises. (AD)
 

4:45 p.m.
Vince Lawrence, one of the architects of Chicago house music in the ‘80s, is checking out Perry’s stage, where Perry Farrell himself is holding forth. Lawrence isn’t overly impressed with the Lolla godfather singing along with a DJ mix of Jane’s Addiction’s “Superhero.” But he says he was impressed by the previous night’s headliner, Lady Gaga. “It was on a Michael Jackson level in some ways,” he says of Gaga. “To stand there for about four minutes and not show anything except a silhouette at the start of the show, then to drop the curtain and stand for another two minutes doing nothing, and the crowd is going crazy — not many people can do that.” Lawrence also thinks the elaborate theatricality of the show is a significant milestone for a festival performance. “That was not something you throw together overnight. There was a lot of thought and effort and money that went into that. You have to appreciate what she’s trying to do in terms of spectacle.” (GK)

5:11 p.m.
"These songs are about what happens when a woman meets a much younger man and they can't have a future together. But don't worry, the kids are safe as long as I'm on this stage," clarifies Chrissie Hynde from the Kidzapalooza stage. She's true to her word. Nothing the Pretenders vocalist performs is inappropriate for the wee ones, but the rather sleepy set could afford some edginess. Suppose a rendition of the Pretenders' "The Adultress" is out of the question? Hynde, who is accompanied on acoustic guitar by Welsh singer-songwriter JP Jones, remains content to weigh in on love songs that concern matters of life partnership and longterm commitments, mature issues that resound with the "bigger kids" in attendance. The Ohio native is in great voice, her timbre laced with longing, smokiness and come-hither toughness, but the tunes are overly laidback and dull. Not worth the 45-minute scheduling delay. (BG)

5:15 p.m.
Grizzly Bear is just finishing and Metric is about to go on. Result? A massive traffic jam of humanity at the north end of Lollapalooza. As in past years, Butler Field is Congestion Central at the festival, the place where fans go to crawl. The struggle to find an open piece of turf is worth it, though. Metric continues to expand its parameters as a live act, and today stamps them as future arena-rock stars. The key is having the right album to tour behind. The 2009 “Fantasies” is loaded with potential anthems, and Emily Haines and company wring out every drop of possibility from “Help I’m Alive,” “Satellite Mind” and “Gimme Sympathy.” Haines is a long, lean blur of motion, somehow managing to sing, play guitar and keyboards, and lead an imaginary aerobics class. Guitarist Jimmy Shaw lays down a buzzing carpet of notes behind Haines, and then steps up for an old-fashioned epic solo on “Gold Guns Girls.” (GK)

5:24 p.m.
Oh, the pain. Davey Havok is on his knees, acting out ache and rejection. The A.F.I. singer doesn't miss a chance to play thespian, as he and his bandmates seem to be rehearsing for potential roles on an episode of "Vampire Diaries." Indeed, everything about A.F.I.'s presentation appears premeditated and calculated, down to the group's flavor-of-the-month goth rock and Hot Topic pop-punk (band pictured right). The visual preening, bleeding-heart melancholy and manufactured rage reach a low when Havok attempts a purging scream on "Love Like Winter" and, laughably, falls short. There's a thin line between this sort of put-on posturing and that of boy bands such as the Backstreet Boys, one of the only differences being that A.F.I. possesses colorful tattoos and louder guitars. "Silver and Cold" triggers emo whininess and "Miss Murder" doubles as a high-school fight song, complete with a bleacher-stomping refrain. Too bad the band even sounds sloppy. Was that in the script? (BG)

6:19 p.m.
Social Distortion is in the midst of its signature song, the hardscrabble "Ball and Chain," when the band offers up a subtle rearrangement that ups the poignancy. Rather than hit listeners over the head as it has in the past, the tune utilizes a gospel organ backdrop and settles in, the weathered feel and slower pace appropriate for the narrative pleas. Little else about the veteran California punk-rock group has changed, and that includes leader Mike Ness. Wearing a plain white T-shirt, black pants and polished loafers, paired with myriad tattoos and a graying beard, Ness resembles a dishonorably discharged sailor that's ready to brawl and booze. No, Ness and company aren't pretty, fitting for a group whose bad-luck tales of gambling, women and fate resonate with biographical certainty. Social Distortion's rockabilly-fused music punches and kicks, slashes and burns. The band doesn't look for sympathy or pity, and instead storms through a career-spanning set that places survival as the key priority. Ness is a man's man, unafraid of political correctness (a cover of the Rolling Stones' misogynistic "Under My Thumb" seethes with vitriol) or sobriety ("Sick Boy" lives up to its "beer-drinking, pirate sing-a-long" billing). Most importantly, Social Distortion plays with savage conviction, doing Johnny Cash proud on a rough-and-tumble rendition of "Ring of Fire" that Ness introduces with a history lesson. "Let's face it, people. If it wasn't for good black music there wouldn't be any good white music," he declares while explaining why the Man In Black is his hero and, in the process, utters some of the truest words spoken at the festival. (BG)

6:20 p.m.
Spoon, playing largely as a quartet here, spends much of its early evening set trying to sound infinitely smaller. Embracing a spartan aesthetic that would be the envy of many a modernist painter, the Austin-based crew crafts minimalist indie rock gems like “I Turn My Camera On,” which somehow molds bobbing bass and bare-bones snare drum into an ear-catching groove. The stripped-down feel is echoed in the band's wardrobe; singer-guitarist Britt Daniel, dressed in a white t-shirt and matching jeans, plays the good cowboy to his bandmates black-clad villains. The frontman opens the set alone with a barren, acoustic “Me and the Bean” before the rest of the crew rolls in for a strutting “Nobody Gets Me Like You" — all terse guitar and pulsating synths. “The Underdog” and “You Got Yr Cherry Bomb” find Spoon further expanding its palate, incorporating a three-piece horn section that gives each tune a loose, soulful swagger. The group also covers Wolf Parade (“Modern World”) and delivers a stunning “The Ghost of You Lingers,” which builds from little more than staccato organ, Daniel's honeyed rasp and buzzing electronics that crackle through the mix like heat lightning. (AD)
 

6:40 p.m.
Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes (above) inspire an epidemic of tree-climbers. At least eight fans literally go out on a limb to better observe the group’s well-attended set at one of two festival stages on the west side of Columbus Avenue. Sharpe looks like he went recruiting at a hippie commune, but he didn’t find the same quality of musicians as that other, better hippie-commune band, the Polyphonic Spree. The Magnetic Zeroes’ limitations as musicians — lots of one-note trumpet solos and a lot of songs that capture the same twinkling, jingling, Up with People vibe — make for a set that feels slight and samey, and never quite achieves the anticipated lift-off. So many people, so few ideas. The stage backdrop depicts the Emerald City from “The Wizard of Oz.” But Sharpe (a k a bushy-bearded Alex Ebert) never finds the yellowbrick road. (GK)

6:49 p.m.
San Diego's Slightly Stoopid — every festival is stuck with one of these bands. Slightly Stoopid is Incredibly Stoopid on "Officer," the dreadful combination of vanilla reggae, half-baked ska and heinously rhymed lyrics playing the soundtrack to a frat party no one would want to attend. Compared to last night's uplifting reggae performance from Jimmy Cliff, this is a bad joke. (BG)

6:55 p.m.
Attending his second Lollapalooza, Peter Ostrovski, 24, of Boston, says that, while the event has run smoothly, the now-larger festival might cover too wide of an expanse. “It can take 20 minutes to walk from one end to the other,” he says. “If you want to [switch stages] you're really making a commitment, so you kinda just end up camping out. Two years ago, Perry's [stage] was much closer, now it's way across the street, so I haven't made it there as often.” One thing he did enjoy? “Lady Gaga. I don't make it out to many pop shows, so that was cool.” (AD)

7:40 p.m.
Cut Copy, playing to an enthusiastic crowd, kicks off an hourlong dance party as the sun sets. The members of the Australian synth-pop quartet, who dress like clean-cut corporate accountants, dance in herky-jerky motions like “Seinfeld's” Elaine and write songs about broken hearts and satellites, might seem like unlikely dance-rock savants, but their set is a relentless blur of cooly detached vocals, pulsating synths and pounding drums. That said, there's not much variety in the group's robotic sound—an element mirrored in the accompanying 8-bit light show. A celebratory “Lights and Music” sets the digital tone for the evening, with the band breaking ranks only for “So Haunted,” a shimmering tune colored by wide splashes of cymbal. (AD)

 
8:45 p.m.
Phoenix lead singer Thomas Mars (right) is rightfully wowed by the enormous audience gathered to watch the band's headlining set. With searchlights beaming skyward across the park, the Versailles six-piece lock into “Lisztomania,” a catchy mix of chiming guitars and muscular percussion (man-machine drummer Thomas Hedlund is a constant revelation). While previous night's headliner the Strokes thrive on detached cool, the French crew exudes an approachable, boyish charm. And, while not overly dynamic, it successfully gets the crowd moving with a string of hip-shaking guitar anthems: the polyrhythmic “Consolation Prizes,” a slashing “Long Distance Call” and a dark, synthetic “Fences,” which finds Mars flashing a pinched falsetto. But the set really takes off with a near-epic “Love Like a Sunset,” which the band approaches much the way a trainer might approach a technically-flawed fighter: by breaking it down to its most basic elements (by the song's midpoint, guitarists Laurent Brancowitz and Christian Mazzalai are the only two left playing, plucking out notes as though they're engaged in casual conversation) before rebuilding it. For the encore, Phoenix pays tribute to its countrymen in electronic duo Air, Mars singing a verse of the lush, romantic “Playground Love” accompanied only by dreamy guitar, before closing with a celebratory, dance-heavy version of “1901.” (AD)

9:10 p.m.
As has become tradition, Green Day invites a fan to come on stage and sing its 1994 breakthrough hit, “Longview.” Tonight’s choice nails it, and singer Billie Joe Armstrong rewards him by handing his guitar to the clearly appreciative guest vocalist. It’s one of the better detours in a set full of momentum-sapping theatrics, flabby audience interaction gambits and pyro — lots of pyro. In a year when even the City of Chicago can’t afford a decent fireworks show, Green Day overcompensated with something straight out of a 1970s Kiss tour. The excess is symbolic of the type of band Green Day has become. Armstrong fondly recalls the band’s first show in Chicago, in 1990, on a bill with local greats the Effigies. The snotty little punk band that produced “Longview” has evolved into a big, bloated arena act. When the trio focuses, it still rocks reliably, and with two decades worth of hits it has enough ammunition to keep an audience that fills Hutchinson Field in an arm-waving frenzy. But the trio pointlessly stretches its set well past 10 p.m. with the sort of stadium-rock tomfoolery that punk acts of Green Day’s ilk once rebelled against. (GK)

9:23 p.m.
Ooh, the colors. Empire of the Sun emphasizes spectacle in such grand fashion that the smaller stage at Perry's is grossly inept for what the band is trying to pull off. A squadron of choreographed dancers parade about in ornamental costumes and elaborate headdresses that reference everything from "American Gladiator" to "Star Trek: The Next Generation" to the latest in Egyptian-themed bicycling body suits. They change outfits every other song. Projected visuals of scenic landscapes, brains and three-dimensional geometrical shapes complement the ornate presentation. Dry-ice fog hovers over the stage. Leader Luke Steele (that's Emperor Steele for those that buy into the artistic construct) is a vision of space-age David Bowie while walking around in a slivery get-up, singing and playing guitar. The science-fiction recreation dwarfs the smooth electro dance and mellow rave fare, much of which sounds like early Prince filtered through treated computerized effects. Despite the rare full-band appearance, pitch-perfect vocals make one wonder if it's live or if it's Memorex. Amidst the plethora of glow-sticks and writhing bodies, no one seems to care. Performing in what's nearly the equivalent of an open-air drug market helps keep folks concentrated on the Australian act's trippy sights and unaware that the music isn't very engaging. (BG)
 

10:14 p.m.
Billie Joe Armstrong (above) makes good on an earlier promise to blow through curfew. "Wake Me Up When September Ends" bookends "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" and Green Day finally finishes a marathon performance with an over-the-top fireworks show that competes with Navy Pier's display. (BG)
  
Photos by Brent Lewis, Mike Rich and Tim Harrison 

 
>>> Didn't get enough of our Lollapalooza Day 2 coverage? Click here for our live video updates from backstage Saturday.