While I will really truly miss this festival, and try to relive some of my favorite moments that happened over the last three days (What’s up Common!?), I will not miss the sun burn, the scorching heat on Saturday, dear God I thought I was at Coachella for a moment, or the random asshole that would scream into my ear like a train whistle roaring through a tunnel.
THE BEST
Hands down, Matisyahu, tore through his set like a tornado in a trailer park. Not one person was left in the crowd that didn’t feel his power on the stage. His band was with him every step the way, even Perry Farrell, who was perched above the stage in the private viewing area reserved for other artists, and radio winners, had to jump out of his seat to give it up to the man that laid down the law, Hassidic Jew style. So impressed, he personally asked him to perform an encore. While at times his set did get a little preachy, and some of the words to his songs were unpronounceable for a person that has not spent his life in the temple, his beat boxing skills had to be what earned this man the captain’s orders to play beyond his allotted time.
THE BOLD
I wonder what Jared Leto was thinking as he stood on top of the light towers looking down on all us simple people who don’t have a record deal or a movie in the works. Could it have been, “How the fuck did I get here?” Or was it “fuck it, I’m jumping!” Either way, 30 Seconds to Mars, did what so many live acts forget to do today, perform. He earned the crowds approval with his relentless hustle to entertain us. Either by climbing up the stage, jumping so far into the crowd security couldn’t keep a hold on him, or even by tossing two boxes of popsicles into the crowd. In the true essence of a rock star, he got it done by any means. The music was spectacular of course, but so is so many other bands’ that never make it because of lame front men, that’s while I’ll say, Jared makes Mars. So, say what you will about the reason for Mars’ fame, Jared Leto makes you forget that he’s Jared Leto. He actually transforms into something that I believe only Marilyn Manson has done in the last seven years, he became danger.
THE BEAUTIFUL
Now I know all you faithful readers out there want to hear about how the headliners of, Lollapalooza, ripped apart the other contenders for the crown of the best band to hold court in our city by the lake. I also know that Perry cleared out the entire schedule after 8 pm so that the entire crowd could come and fully appreciate and support not only these pop culture icons, and purveyors of modern American music, but close personal friends of his that he himself in front of a few thousand people, proclaimed as, “the best band in the world.” What you may not know judging on the smaller size of their crowd is that, Blues Traveler, who I really never really liked as a band before, poured their heart and soul into a performance that stole everybody’s attention from Chicago’s very own, Wilco. While I’m taking anything at all away from, John Frusciante’s, incredibly talented guitar playing, the fat man himself, John Popper, tore into his harmonica like it had bar-b-que sauce on it! I would really like to pit the two bands together to see who could jam longer. All took epic solos on both sides, and both had singers that really laid it down with some thick mojo that oozed over the crowds hyping them into a heart stomping, crowd surfing frenzy. Yes, The Red Hot Chilli Peppers do have more hits, more lore to fill VH1’s behind the music, and a way bigger fan base, but in terms of just music, Blues Traveler put up a straight flush to their full house. Both walked away delivering their all, but maybe because Popper and his crew have more to prove, they proved more.
In a recap of the last three days in Grant Park, so many good bands showed up to play, that I’d pity anyone that did ANTHING else this weekend, bar none. Partied at the Playboy mansion? We had more cinnamon, chocolate and vanilla dipped honies than any single man could deal with. Hung out in Amsterdam? I probably got six good contact highs. That means it was free grass and no plane trip to the slow in the head. Was the $145 price tag too steep for you? The iPod in my head is going to be filled for weeks! That means no more Nick Lachey crap stuck on repeat. Whatever your excuse for not showing up, change the attitude for next year, because if Perry is the man to do it bigger and better, how in the hell are they going to top Kanye, the Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Gnarls Barkley, 30 Seconds to Mars, Matisyahu, and the Flaming Lips on one bill? I don’t know, but I really can’t wait to find out.
Until then, you know where to find the unbeatable coverage for all your music needs in Chicago baby, and the journalist that brings it to you.
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