Black Lips

12:15 @ Bud Light Stage

Review by Derek Wright

Atlanta’s Black Lips don’t play rock ‘n’ roll. They play rock ‘n’ tumble. Or rock ‘n’ flail. Or rock ‘n’ repulse. The bluesy foursome has built its reputation as much on the lineage of Nuggets and Mersey punk as it has on its disgusting stage antics.

So when the quartet sauntered onto Lollapalooza’s Bud Light stage, the large festival crowd wanted to know one thing: “Are these guys full of shit?” The rumors of rock star debauchery and tendencies for mid-set vomit, urine, and other bodily fluids are one thing in a dark club in the middle of the night. But not just after noon on a weekday. Not outside. Not in almost 90-degree weather.

And that’s exactly the scenario the band faced during the festival’s first real “destination” set, a Friday gig that easily featured the day’s biggest name up through that point.

It took less than a song for the thousands of skeptics to get their answer: “No.” The Black Lips really are like that. Yet, had vocalist Cole Alexander actually said so out loud, it more than likely would have been an inaudible slur. Before the band had finished opener “I Saw a Ghost (Lean)”, guitarist Ian Saint Pé had spit directly into one of the festival’s videographer’s lenses and knocked over his microphone enough times to need a replacement. Not to be outdone, Alexander topped off at least one beer and convulsed about the stage with enough force to shake loose his feather hairpiece.

Dressed like the gang of ruffians in Ernest Goes to Camp, the Georgians crammed 16 of their garage rock songs into the hour-long performance. Although tunes such as “Oh, Katrina” and “Bad Kids” were identifiable, the band all but exhausted its recent catalog: each of the Black Lips’ two 2007 albums clock in at about half an hour.

Like a modern-day 13th Floor Elevators, the group parlayed trippy microphone effects into banter about finding God through psychedelic drugs. At times the members rolled around on the stage as if they were in the middle of hallucinogenic seizures; at others they sat with legs folded calmly like they were nursing off the night’s hangover. They might have been doing both.

Between Saint Pé smashing a bottle on the stage to play a makeshift slide guitar, and Alexander and bassist Jared Swilley bouncing into one another and knocking their tuning a bit further out of whack, the midday performance was an orchestrated mess. It was sloppy. It was self-defacing but somehow self-serving.

It was the proof that so many wanted. After all, there are plenty of people who can’t tell the difference between real and fake vomit until they step in it for themselves – even in the middle of the afternoon.

Rogue Wave

3:00 @ Kidzapalooza Stage

Review by Ryan Ffrench

After an otherwise solid set was somewhat tainted by extraneous sound leakage from a neighboring Manchester Orchestra performance, I decided to check out Rogue Wave’s brief set over at the Kidzapalooza Stage, which, as I had been told, was offering mostly acoustic, curse-word-free variations of surprisingly adult-oriented bands all weekend. So after a soft and tender Jeff Tweedy had packed up his back-yard recliner, Zach Rogue shuffled out onto the small but picturesque stage with an amused grin creeping across his generally impassive face. Was he smiling at the fact that mega-star Tweedy had just warmed up the crowd for him? — or was it because that crowd was predominantly six year olds wiping face paint from their eyes? Either way, he appeared relaxed and more comfortable than I have seen him look on stage in years.

The unusual double billing provided a unique opportunity for Rogue Wave to delve into material typically absent from their live performances. The result: quieter, quirkier tracks showcasing the band’s sense of humor that seemed like playful winks towards their most die-hard fans—chaperoned or otherwise. Rogue was having an especially good time with Out of the Shadow’s “Postage Stamp World”, laughing through its tongue-in-cheek chorus, “You can all get in line/and lick my behind”, before immediately assuring concerned parents that things were PG-13: “We’re talking about stamps, kids. You lick stamps.”

It all felt a bit behind-the-scenes, a bit impromptu and improvised—like someone had rented Rogue Wave to play at their kid’s birthday party. And, in the context of an over-big festival, where the distance between artist and audience is literally a gaping chasm filled with muscled security guards (except during Girl Talk’s Sunday set, of course), it was a very welcome change of pace.

The Black Keys

4:15 @ Bud Light Stage

Review by Elliot Cole & photo by Nathan Lanthrum

Akron, Ohio’s The Black Keys took the stage at what was seemingly the warmest part of the day. The heat was exacerbated by the fact that the Bud Light Stage offered absolutely no source of shade, making for a grueling, sun-drenched midday time slot. But when the duo blasted into their set, something miraculous happened: it got even hotter. Whether it was the thick, heavy guitar or southern-tinged rock stylings, the crowd was melting under the weight of the combinative heat wave.

Singer/guitarist Dan Auerbach, sporting an orange beard that would only be trumped by Iron & Wine’s Sam Beam, rocked and wailed his way through an occasionally jammy set that included crowd pleasers like “Strange Times”, “Your Touch”, and “Strange Desire”. Along with drummer Patrick Carney, The Black Keys make more sound that a duo should, balancing heavy bass notes, crunchy guitars, and satisfyingly messy drumming that could make Jack White jealous. Auerbach’s six-string was drenched in distortion, filling in any musical gaps that a two piece would normally have.

As the performance wore on, heat became more of a factor. Even the most loyal of fans sat and fanned themselves, but Auerbach – dripping from his sweat-saturated hair – wailed on stage without determent. Tracks off of Attack & Release and Magic Potion were especially well received by the audience, but the set list spanned the breadth of the Keys’ five-album catalogue. Unfortunately, many of the songs ran into each other, lacking distinction in the hazy wave of sound. The set, perhaps because of the exhausted crowd, became redundant at times, despite the commitment of the band members to rock through the heat. The performance’s more mid-tempo songs also struggled to keep the quasi-interested crowd’s attention (a recurring trend throughout the festival).

The band’s sound is entrenched in sloppy loose hi-hats and untidy resonating chords, but, ironically, the most memorable part of the set is how tight The Black Keys sounded. Every note seemed in place, despite any efforts to replicate the muddled sound of 1970s rock ‘n’ roll. As The Black Keys wound its set to an end, cloud cover mercifully intercepted the sun’s rays, bringing massive applause. It was only fitting: once The Black Keys shut off the amps, they might as well be shutting off the heat.

Gogol Bordello

4:15 @ AT&T Stage

Review by Derek Wright & photo by Randy Cremean

If Eugene Hütz ever takes his eclectic band back inside dingy clubs, he’d be doing a disservice to festivals worldwide. Promoters need Gogol Bordello just as much as the gypsy punks need those large venues. The band embodies everything about open-air concerts, and does so knowingly and affectionately.

Commanding Lollapalooza’s AT&T main stage less than four hours before Radiohead headlined Friday’s lineup, Hütz and his expansive nonet roamed the huge structure with the same spastic enthusiasm that he exudes in his intimate DJ sets or during interviews.

Shirtless and hiding behind a sticker-covered acoustic guitar, Hütz struck a memorable figure: his trademark handlebar mustache still popped from between his shoulder-length locks. His blue pants sported a patch and numerous jangling belts. The Ukrainian born singer happily snarled his way through 11 songs, including crowd favorites “Wanderlust King” and “American Wedding.”

His eight band members squeaked, squealed and squawked alongside the charismatic front man. Whether it was fiddle from the outfit’s second most recognizable member, Sergey Ryabtsev, or the revved-up dancing of Elizabeth Sun and Pamela Jintana Racine, the collective rambled through the hour-long set much like the nomadic Eastern Europeans who so much of their music stems from.

In fact, this sensory overload is the same reason Gogol Bordello albums can be exhausting and difficult to listen to. In close quarters – on headphones, or car stereos – there’s no escape from the buzz-saw vigor. But outside, there’s relief. The music can become secondary to the dancing; the noise can be a background for the visuals, and the crowd can get lost in their own Hula hooping, Frisbee games or anything they want. When Hütz and Co. isn’t forced to be absorbed all at once – like in a small rock club – the music becomes the perfect soundtrack to an intense outdoor party.

In turn, few acts can captivate tens of thousands so effectively without being the concertgoers’ collective favorite band, with the sheer size and demeanor of the nine-members group working to its advantage.

Combining songs from last year’s Super Taranta!, such as the reggae-tinged “Tribal Connection” and the album/set opener “Ultimate,” with tunes from 2005’s Gypsy Punks: Underdog World Strike, Gogol Bordello blended its seemingly random performance into a cohesive chaos that could work this beautifully in only a few settings.

And both Hütz and Lollapalooza promoters knew that.

Cat Power

5:15 @ PlayStation 3 Stage

Review by Elliot Cole & photo by Nathan Lanthrum

Chan Marshall slinked on stage in an oversized red T-shirt that hung gently off of one shoulder. Now more steadfast in soul renditions than her own minimalistic indie sensibilities, Marshall – better known by her stage moniker Cat Power – crooned her way through the Memphis-laden tracks of The Greatest and Jukebox, doing her own originals as well as takes on Janis Joplin and Frank Sinatra, amongst others. With a backing band of four musicians (a far cry from her sets with the enormous Delta Blues Band), Marshall, petite as she is, still managed to offer a vocal density that was both compelling and entrancing.

For all her vocal prowess, however, the set was mired in sound problems. None of the musicians seemed to be happy with the monitors on stage, which led to the most interesting element of the set. Would the old Marshall-- previously known for her neurotic tendency to cut sets and songs short when she was displeased with the performance-- reveal herself and sabotage the show? Or would the modern Cat Power, a professional and composed figure imbued with savvy and grace, win out?

Perhaps, at one point and time, the set would have been in jeopardy. But in 2008, Cat Power no longer hinges on the anxieties of Chan Marshall, instead hanging its hat on her soulful, more extroverted stage presence (which can only be described as “cat-like”). True to form, the new Cat Power took everything in stride, working towards adjusting the vocal levels without much more than a two minute delay. (It should be noted that the PlayStation 3 Stage also gave The National and Okkervil River similar sound problems.)

To a certain degree, Cat Power’s newfound lack of volatility is saddening. We like our Chan Marshall to be slightly on edge, capable of the achieving great beauty and great disappointment within a 10-minute span. Nonetheless, the new, polished Cat Power knows how to put on a show, and the indie-turned-soul princess delivered in full.

Grizzly Bear

5:45 @ Citi Stage

Review by Ryan Ffrench & photo by Randy Cremean

Either Barack Obama sang onstage with Mates of State and everyone witnessed a previously unthinkable moment in American political history, or Grizzly Bear are nowhere near as popular as their prodigious talents merit them to be. Where was everyone during this prime-time, prime-stage set? Actually, to answer that: I really don’t care, because it allowed us to walk up within 20 feet right before the show started and experience the performance to its full.

Grizzly Bear’s songs are intricate, nuanced and challenging—not qualities that make them ideal outdoor festival material, I will admit—but they are also bright and sunny à la Brian Wilson at his late sixties best—and in this sense, they made for a winning, and, at times, profoundly memorable performance. Culling material from Horn of Plenty and the Friend EP, as well as the career defining Yellow House, Grizzly Bear created a sound that was simultaneously vast, subtle and viscerally engaging—a remarkable feat considering the wind-blown sound system, outrageously hot sun, and a buffet of other festival-related distractions.

From up close, their arrangements unfold in such a way that only enhances their mysterious appeal: how can “Lullabye” be both so restrained and so epic? How is “Knife” so melodically complex and yet still so insistently accessible? How does Chris Taylor make his voice do that?

But there are no secrets or gimmicks lying behind this kind of song craft. These songs still sound fresh and dynamic over two years after their release because Droste’s melodies refuse to go where conventional compositional theory says they ought to. Daniel Rossen’s guitar work sounds that dense because he knows his chord inversions inside and out. The vocal harmonies work so perfectly because, well, everyone in the band’s singing is pretty much perfect. I don’t know if it takes seeing them play live to realize all this, and I swear, I’m not on Warp’s payroll—but Grizzly Bear are just one of those bands that make you forget about the crowd, the heat and the $200 ticket; they are a band whose music is not merely ‘interesting’ or ‘good’ or ‘different sounding’; it is music that catches you in a moment and holds you there, oblivious to your surroundings—until you’re audacious enough to call it something like ‘transcendent’.

Bloc Party

6:15 @ AT&T Stage

Review by Elliot Cole & photo by Randy Cremean

Bloc Party is, in many ways, the quintessential festival band: they are catchy, engaging, and hyper, and after a marvelous Austin City Limits set in 2007, the group had my unwavering attention. Being “the band before Radiohead”, however, has its disadvantages. Bloc Party played to a passive crowd that wasn’t overly receptive to the group’s slightly messy live set.

Despite the lukewarm audience and a few technical glitches (in part because the band was playing with a replacement bassist, who was standing in for new father Gordon Moakes), Bloc Party compensates for the circumstances with a charming demeanor. Frontman Kele Okereke – picking up some Chicago cred at the festival with a Barack Obama “progress” T-shirt - reeks of charisma, and when he casts a smile over the Lollapalooza crowd, he gets a fair share of them in return. His unpretentious stage presence doesn’t exactly convey “rock star”, but it is nonetheless redeeming (after all, the pensive band has never screamed “rock ‘n’ roll attitude” at any time in its career).

The unexcited crowd and tentative band chemistry did make for a slightly toned-down performance. Okereke, who is prone to sprinting through the crowd barriers and offering his mic to fans, seemed slightly more reserved. While sing-a-longs and clap-a-longs were ever present, Bloc Party’s energy was slightly askew. In truth, there was nothing particularly special about the performance--just a nagging sentiment of “meh” amongst the crowd.

Still, Bloc Party retains its ability to be unwaveringly passionate about its music, and that passion proves to be infectious. “Banquet” and “Helicopter” played well to bouncing fans, as did the new single “Mercury”, with its digital vocal echoes. If “Mercury”, a track obviously more tech-savvy than Bloc Party’s early guitar-fueled efforts, is any indication of where the band is heading, the group is showing a notable (and welcome) willingness to branch out of their soon-to-be-cliché post-punk sound. “The Prayer” and “Hunting for Witches”, off of last year’s underappreciated Weekend in the City, also received modest attention.

As Bloc Party exited the stage, some fans applauded for their energetic performance. Others applauded simply for that fact that they were leaving, meaning Radiohead was imminent. You can’t win them all, but with Bloc Party’s enthusiasm and undeniable passion, the group is difficult to dislike.

Radiohead

8:00 @ AT&T Stage

Review by Elliot Cole & photo by Nathan Lanthrum

“This could all be a dream,” pronounced Thom Yorke, the diminutive and spastic frontman for Radiohead. He was talking about the band’s jetlag from the overseas travel, but Yorke may as well have been summing up his group’s the ethereal headlining performance. With a luminous backdrop of patterns and colors, the band swept through a set that spanned the breadth of Radiohead’s discography, from the guitar-filled The Bends to the ambient In Rainbows (only Pablo Honey went unrepresented). With a two-hour slot, Radiohead validated the endurance of fans that waited in the first rows for hours in the insufferable heat of Lollapalooza’s opening day.

The crowd seemed to be distinctly split into two factions: the devotees and the semi-interested (or exhausted) onlookers. The latter faction had to endure a surprisingly quiet set, as the sound didn’t carry far the AT&T stage. The former group, however, was treated to possibly the best performance of Lollapalooza (unless you love getting gouged in the eyes by frat boys, in which case Rage Against the Machine was probably fantastic). Radiohead played with a startling precision…each computer click, drum beat, and vocal wail in perfect unison with each other. It was more than a show: it was a production, with each actor reeling off his lines in flawless synchronicity.

Radiohead managed to put together a few songs that truly resonated with a sense of grandeur. “The Bends” was echoed by the thundering of nearby fireworks that continued through a chilling rendition of “Fake Plastic Trees”. The light of the fireworks bouncing off the Chicago skyline made for an epic experience. “The Gloaming” and “15 Step” carried a density that their respective recorded versions don’t offer, while the encore (featuring “2+2=5” and “Idioteque”) was easily the most enlivening set of two songs during the day.

Radiohead has mastered balancing an organic performance with professional accuracy that is unmatched in the modern indie scene. Yorke generally plays as if he’s slowly being absorbed into his own music. On Friday night he seemed, in his own sort of way, to be having fun with the set: he even smiled on a few occasions when he wasn’t histrionically spazzing out on stage.

Detractors will point to the set list being relatively low-tempo and, at times, sleepy, and they have a point. Some fans also complained that the visual medium of the show (the monitors featured a series of cameras that were blurred by static-y effects and distortions instead of simply showing video of the performers) made it difficult for members of the audience that couldn’t see the stage through the crowd of 80,000. Nonetheless, Radiohead’s light set up was stunning, and the band was at the peak of its game, conveying a sense of unearthly atmospherics wrapped around a certain degree of poignancy.

The buildup for Radiohead was palpable throughout the day. There was always a subtle reminder - be it another concert-goer’s whisper or an In Rainbows T-shirt - that the time for Radiohead was drawing nearer. Despite that sense of culminating anticipation, the band lived up to the moment, delivering a transcendental performance that will go down as one of, if not the, best set of the festival.