Lollapalooza 2008 Entertainment Art Grant Park Chicago, Ill. August 1, 2008

Navigating the disorganized press check-in, long entry lines and often contradictory security measures on the first day of Lollapalooza was not entertaining (one star out of four). Finding a spot on the field only to be brushed aside by ill-mannered festival goers--also not entertaining (no stars, just suburban yahoos). Relentless heat and probable sunburn; I’ll subtract at least two stars right there.

Once in the gates, I made my way for the nearest shade and took in a few songs by The Dream Jam Band on the Kidz Stage. The group played agreeable folk pop and dressed a bit like the B-52s. I then moved further into a tree covered area and caught the tail end of the Led Zeppelin worship practiced by New Jersey’s The Parlor Mob. Up next was the energetic rock of Austin’s Electric Touch and things were looking up. Recharged, I left the comfort of the shade and made my way past some fair trade booths and into an unintentional sound war involving Louis XIV and The Kills, all on my way to see Gogol Bordello.

The colorful gypsy punk (Balkan thrash?) band was easily the day’s highlight—highly entertaining and artful to boot. Led by the charismatic Eugene Hutz, Gogol Bordello drove the barbequed bohemians in attendance into frenzy with a demented mix of Eastern European, Spanish and French musical stylings. Accordion, violin and acoustic guitar all figured prominently in the band’s sound, as did banshee wails, hand percussion and, by the end of the set, a bright red fire bucket beaten like a snare drum.

From a visual standpoint, Gogol Bordello had style for miles. Fluorescent female dancers saluted and spun; the gray fiddle player rocked a beret and Slayer t-shirt; Hutz’s mustache, alone, was a thing of wonder! On-stage shenanigans projected onto two large screens, backed by the hazy steel skyscrapers that make up Chicago’s skyline—four fucking stars!

After Gogol Bordello’s set, I headed for the porta-potties then grabbed a beer and hot dog (short lines for all of the above—is there a star rating for convenience?). I found some shade and attempted, in vain, to check my voicemail (no bars=no stars). From there, it was back into the baking sun to listen from a distance to Cat Power (pleasant live versions of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son” and her own “The Greatest”) and jockey for position for what would be, for me, the final set of the day.

Like Gogol Bordello, The Raconteurs, an indie super group of sorts led by Jack White and Brendan Benson, turned in a set that managed to be both entertaining and artful. Highlights included a blistering “Level,” the Appalachian stomp of “Old Enough” and a slightly seasick “Steady as She Goes.” By the time the band reached “Rich Kid Blues,” people were filtering out of the crowd, presumably to find a spot to watch Radiohead.

Alas, I didn’t stick around to see Oxford’s finest, as the thought of a seat on the train ride home (and a shower and meal once I got there) was too good to pass up.

Ultimately, my experience at day one and my only day of Lollapalooza was positive. I saw some great music, found shade when I needed it and ended up with something to write about—even if I had to get my head around the star system. Maybe next year I’ll make a go for two days.

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