Lollapalooza 2005 was a frustrating ride. From shitty weather to transportation obstacles to a mixed bag of music, the experience was often underwhelming. Yet thatÕs not to say there isnÕt plenty to report.
In the spirit of CityBeatÕs Best of Cincinnati picks, I give you my Best of Lollapalooza 2005. Much is left out (namely my commentary on attendeesÕ attire, which grew more and more indulgent and condescending) and much was missed (hey, 60 bands over two days on five stages, people). This is the low-down as I saw it.
Best re-creation of Death Valley: The sweltering second-day heat combined with Grant ParkÕs dusty baseball fields and dried, trampled grass transformed the lakefront space into nearly unbearable desert-like conditions. My Pumas are beyond repair.
Best re-creation of their studio sound: The Killers, who played to perhaps the largest crowd of the weekend, delivered clean and catchy versions of their ubiquitous singles and not-as-effective filler from their big-selling debut, Hot Fuss. And while their attempt to cloak straightforward New Wave Pop with more subversive influences comes off lacking to these ears, the Vegas quartet left many a patron satisfied.
Best backstage quotes that came to fruition: While eavesdropping on an interview with Zia McCabe, I overheard the Dandy Warhols keyboardist say her band wants to be successful enough to only play summer festivals for the rest of their career. She went on to say that they were interested in touring with Widespread Panic. Based on the WarholsÕ meandering, often frustrating late-Sunday set, her curious goals appear within reach.
Best pre-show ritual: Spoon frontman Britt Daniel changed shirts twice in a makeshift press tent prior to the bandÕs Sunday afternoon set. When the Austin-based quartet took the stage an hour later, Daniel had changed into yet another of his patented button-ups. Wardrobe anxiety aside, Spoon delivered one the best sets of the weekend, drawing from a variety of the bandÕs stellar catalog. When Daniel sang, ¨I wonÕt hold you back/I wonÕt force my will,Ó he was lying: SpoonÕs songs do nothing if not hold back, forcing their will via stripped-down, concise song structures and passionate yet understated playing. After two days of formulaic guitar/keyboard/affected frontman Rock, SpoonÕs minimalism came off golden.
Best affirmation of aloofness: Perry FarrellÕs sanity has always been in question, and his incredibly lame band intros did little to quell that notion. His Arcade Fire preamble included a rambling speech on global warming (¨global warming has been around since É uh, at least the Industrial RevolutionÓ) followed by an admission that ¨IÕve never seen them live, but IÕve heard themÓ; he praised Billy IdolÕs ¨chart-topping successÓ and gave him props for his long-gone Punk roots; and when introducing The Pixies, he came up with this insightful bit of info: ¨Bono from U2 loves these guys!Ó (And he even pronounced the singerÕs name ¨Bow-Know,Ó as in Sonny and Cher)
Best label showcase: Long revered independent label Merge Records stole the show Sunday with back-to-back performances by their two best bands, The Arcade Fire and Spoon.
Best attempt at subversion that fell flat: I must admit to knowing very little about (The) International Noise Conspiracy. The Lollapalooza program mentioned that the Los Angeles Times called them ¨RockÕs most politically radical band.Ó Curious, I caught their fest-opening Saturday morning slot. Between a barrage of straightforward, unimaginative Hard Rock songs, their frontman delivered several didactic screeds that commented on everything from the unfortunate existence of ¨broken-upÓ bands on the Lollapalooza bill to his admirable yet wildly inarticulate hatred of President Bush to the various evils that plague the world. They closed their set with a song called ¨Capitalism Stole My Virginity,Ó which clearly should be renamed ¨Capitalism Stole My Intellect.Ó The kicker: theyÕre Swedish.
Best VIP area perk(s): Unlimited bottled water and witnessing the fuss — by both press and male musicians — over Canadian sister duo Tegan and Sara. Coming off like a pair of coy Suicide Girls, the twosome caused a noticeable reaction from typically nonchalant (at least outwardly) Lollapalooza VIP dwellers.
Best lack of diversity: Sixty bands, and all the organizers could come up with were three female-fronted artists and five Hip Hop acts (three of which performed on the ghettoized ¨Planet StageÓ)? Note to Perry: If there is a next year, please fix this oversight. I have no desire to attend another disheveled white-dude convention.
Best inducement to daydream: M83Õs lush cinematic soundscapes are so majestically epic I found myself thinking of an as-yet-to-exist film starring Zooey Deschanel, set in a utopian society where lame bands fear to tread. More remarkably, they actually sounded human.
Best explanation of LollapaloozaÕs move toward the mainstream: By any standard imaginable — let alone the so-called ¨alternativeÓ lineups of its past — Lollapalooza 2005 clearly moved toward less challenging fare. G Love & Special Sauce? A late-period Liz Phair? OK Go? Billy Idol? Dashboard Confessional? Weezer? When asked about this populist-friendly trend at a Saturday morning press conference, Perry Farrell had this to say: ¨Now that I can see clearly, IÕm not afraid of the mainstream. The mainstream is not such bad people.Ó Uh, enough said.
Best confirmation of a painful and unfortunate decline: Based on the songs she played from her forthcoming album, Liz Phair remains in a baffling creative freefall. Never an inspired live performer, her Saturday afternoon set was remarkably similar to a George Bush press conference: banal generalities delivered with shocking ineffectiveness. One Sheryl Crow is enough.
Best indifference to SundayÕs hell-on-earth heat: The members of OK Go wore polyester suits and ties during SundayÕs opening slot. Dedicated they are; smart they are not. Wait, IÕm talking about their songs, right?
Best baffling hairdo: J. Mascis, ever a man of little grooming talent, kept me intrigued throughout Dinosaur Jr.Õs largely effective and ungodly loud set: Is his still-long, unkempt hair prematurely gray or is it dyed? Whatever the case, my favorite moment was their gloriously messy cover of The CureÕs ¨Just Like Heaven,Ó marked by Lou BarlowÕs heinous, deep-throated yelp during the chorus. Mascis apparently still has contempt for everything, as his ragged versions of old-school Dino songs, complete with inspired guitar excursions, attested. Rage on, boys.
Best leap in crowd size: ChicagoÕs The Ponys, who played an enthralling, equally sweaty show at The Comet last summer, delivered a set of moody, Post-Punk rockers that more than held up against the work of their better-known peers.
Best optical illusion: I ran into an alarmingly slight Ben Kweller in the VIP area. IÕm not sure what I was expecting, but 5-foot-5 and 135 pounds? He looks at least two inches and 20 pounds heavier on his album covers. By the way, Ben, Ashley Olsen wants her jeans back. And, yes, I do feel badly having missed your set.
Best DIY moment: The Arcade Fire setting up and tuning their own equipment before their much-anticipated set. I saw these guys play a revelatory show at the Southgate House last fall, and was curious as to how they would do in a radically different setting. The answer? Just fine. Hitting the stage with rousing opening staple ¨Wake Up,Ó the Montreal-based collective showed no signs of wilting amid the avalanche of hype — not to mention SundayÕs 100-plus heat — following the release of last yearÕs debut full-length, Funeral.
Best mistake: Choosing to catch Weezer over a recently reunited Digable Planets. ThatÕs not to say the boys didnÕt deliver their typical batch of catchy guitar Pop. But choosing to see a band IÕve witnessed on several occasions over one of the weekendÕs few Hip Hop acts was something I rued the moment Rivers Cuomo threw off the last of many detached ¨thank youÕs.Ó.
Best confirmation of lameness: IÕll buy a six-pack for the first person who can convince me that Primus is anything less than a joke. I know Republicans who are more compelling.
Best big sound from two guys: AkronÕs The Black Keys, whom IÕve seen on numerous occasions in much more intimate environs, were as solid as ever, delivering a fine batch of greasy Garage Rock that had a seemingly dumbstruck crowd in rapt attention.
Best band: The Pixies have been a large part of my existence for nearly two decades. I once listened to Doolittle every day for six months straight. To say it was the soundtrack to my life is an understatement — it was my life. Yet, for a variety of reasons, I had never witnessed a Pixies live show. When it was announced they were getting back together for a full-blown reunion tour, I had serious reservations. Why tarnish their ever-growing legacy? Can they pull it off musically? Are they in it for the money? Every reservation was obliterated upon the opening chords of ¨Bone Machine.Ó Easily the highlight of a largely underwhelming weekend, The Pixies hour-plus set took me places I hadnÕt gone to in some time, each blissfully obtuse song bringing back memories of girlfriends past, long-junked cars, Luis Bunuel films, my first trip to New Jersey. During the set-closing ¨Where is My Mind,Ó I finally scanned the crowd. They were just like me: giddy.
Best OC-inspired crowd: Death Cab for Cutie closed the weekendÕs festivities with an earnest set that had virtually every teenage girl in attendance in rapture. IÕve seen them two times now, and IÕve come away frustrated each time. Frontman Ben GibbardÕs voice, though supremely genuine, is much too modest, a trait that works on the bandÕs studio efforts but leaves one wanting more while sitting amid a mound of trash and burnt grass, dehydrated from a day in desert-like conditions. Similarly, their nuanced, ebb-and-flow Pop Rock structures, especially those from the enthralling Transatlanticism, come off muddled in a live setting. No matter, Death CabÕs introspective approach was a welcome reprieve from such blustery Lollapalooza acts as The Bravery, whose singer bragged after a crowd-surfing interlude, ¨This one goes out to the girl who grabbed my dick real hard.Ó
This article appears in Jul 27 – Aug 2, 2005.