Office1:15 @ PlayStation 3 StageReview by Derek Wright & photo by Nathan Lanthrum
 When visual artist Scott Masson started Office in 2001, he meant for it to use corporate themes such as costumes and props throughout the band’s performances … not for it to parallel homogenized, lifeless, assembly line, conglomerate slog.
Yet that’s exactly what he had when his Chicago ensemble took the PlayStation 3 stage Sunday afternoon during this year’s Lollapalooza. The quintet – which was at one time a trio, and a sextet, and a four-piece, and has featured more than 13 musicians either on the road or in the studio – saw everything wrong with Masson’s fill-in-the-blank approach to band mates actualized during the 1:15 p.m. set.
Much like disgruntled workers, Office cruised through a dozen songs with the same muscle-memory of employees working just hard enough not to get fired, entirely disinterested in forming chemistry. Only guitarist Tom Smith seemed to notice that he was performing in front of a hometown crowd at one of the largest festivals in the world. With his instrument slung low, Smith looked the part while strutting around stage and stretching out over the crowd in between sharing vocal duties. But his co-workers – including front man Masson – might as well have punched a clock before taking the northern stage.
At one point, the band followed suit with many of the weekend’s performers and made a dedication to Barack Obama… but then was unsure which tune was supposed to come next. It didn’t speak well for the members’ interest in their own gig.
The band’s entire song selection was listless and off-putting. Despite still supporting last year’s enjoyable A Night at the Ritz, the band played only four of the album’s cuts – “If You Don’t Know By Now,” “The Ritz,” “Had a Visit”, and “Oh My.” Which would be more palatable if that 2007 release wasn’t the group’s only widely-available LP. The rest, including set opener “Loverdriver,” were from 2003’s hard-to-find debut The Ice Tea Boys and the Lemonade Girls or the like.
The band’s crunching new wave-esque tunes lost all edge. Their catchy power-pop moments didn’t quite hook. Masson’s sincerity from Ritz was replaced with an utter smarminess that resonated through the afternoon show.
Maybe he was like the bulk of the crowd, upset that Canadian troubadours The Weakerthans canceled and Office’s show was moved from 11:30 a.m. But Masson should have been thankful. If he hated working so much at 1:15 p.m., how miserable would he have been a couple hours earlier?
Chromeo 3:15 @ MySpace Stage Review by Ryan Ffrench
When you’re sandwiched in a festival crowd between a shirtless dude-bro with a blunt stuffed up inside his backwards visor, a neon colored fourteen-year-old girl who probably learned about oral sex from an American Apparel ad, and a sweaty, immovable, androgynous mass in a NIN shirt, you can’t really beat a little eavesdropping. It’s a mix of people that you just don’t find anywhere else in such uncomfortable proximity. Lollapalooza, in particular, attracts an amusingly incongruous crowd—likely because it intentionally lacks the demographic streamlining that has come to define festivals like Pitchfork or Bonnaroo.
Well, here’s what I heard a lot of this weekend: “Pitchfork has ruined Lollapalooza (or music in general) by hyping up all this hipster bullshit.” I heard it from couples laying on blankets listening to Wilco; I heard it from tattooed thirty-year-olds singing along to Toadies; I heard it from tattooed thirty-one-year-olds covered in bruises from beating their heads into the metal railing during the previous night’s Rage Against the Machine show. But is it true? Has Lollapalooza become a vehicle for a trend—ironically self-aware or otherwise? I scanned through my schedule. With headliners like Radiohead, NIN, Rage, Wilco and Kanye, the festival seemed anything but an expose of superficial hipster cool. Maybe they were talking about the smaller acts? Maybe—but from Iron & Wine to Explosions in the Sky, Toadies to Mark Ronson, Brand New to Blues Traveler, G. Love to John Butler—everywhere I looked—it still seemed like a stretch. These were serious bands. The bottom line here, however, is that Lollapalooza was totally packed with all sorts of bands, from the fashionably hip to the blatantly not-cool to the unselfconsciously earnest and back again.
So, everyone: it’s OK to have fun at a Chromeo concert. You don’t have to worry about ruining music. Sure, they’re more stupid than serious and more ironic than important, but that will never stop P-Thugg and Dave 1 from calling themselves the first successful Arab / Jew duo in history—so why shouldn’t we? And admit it, there’s something appealing about a French literature Ph.D. candidate who so resolutely refuses to take himself even just a little seriously. And on a sunny Sunday afternoon, their Jackson-inspired, 80s-obsessed electro-funk got everyone in attendance to show off a little of their own fancy (or stupid) footwork—and for Chromeo, that’s all that matters.
Black Kids3:30 @ Citi Stage Review by Elliot Cole & photo by Randy Cremean
 “You’re making me nervous,” said Ali Youngblood when eyeing the large crowd that had gathered to see if the buzz around her band is justified. With a recently released full-length, the, uh, kids of Black Kids can no longer hide behind the curtain of possibility, making sets like their Lollapalooza performance a pivotal moment to either impress the crowd or face the risk of being written off altogether.
Predictably, the audience was divided into two factions: dancing hipster fans and skeptical arm-crossers with an eye for impending judgment. Black Kids catered towards their fan base (they were the ones generally dancing up a storm in brightly colored clothes, looking like an American Apparel store caught in a tornado) by offering up a dose of tracks from the Wizard of Ahhs EP that gained the band so much momentum in the first place. “I've Underestimated My Charm (Again)” and “I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You” were met with mass approval, but, unfortunately, the rest of their songs fell on mostly deaf ears.
Reggie Youngblood showed a suave, dancing persona that was a welcome complement to the band’s sassier moments, while sister Ali’s enthusiasm was unavoidably endearing. Still, for a pop band based on catchy lyrics, the crowd was entirely too passive towards the band’s newer material. Songs off of Partie Traumatic, released in late July, were viewed mostly as filler by the unfamiliar audience…mere minutes wasted in waiting for the aforementioned “I’m Not Gonna Teach…”. Black Kids wisely – or annoyingly, depending on your vantage point – waited until the end of the set to break out their buzz-worthy single, anteceding it only with the closer, “Look at Me (When I Rock Wichoo)”.
It would be wrong to say that the band was overwhelmed by the crowd; the kids were bouncy and, to be fair, Black Kids sounded better than they do on record. Still, the group faces an awful catch-22: they rely on uncrossing arms and developing a party atmosphere to make their sound successful, but the casual listener won’t start dancing until the party is already underway. Ultimately, they failed in producing the festive sensibilities that their initial EP hinted at, and, with it, were unable to uncross the arms of a thousand skeptical Pitchfork readers.
Saul Williams 5:00 @ Citi Stage Review by Elliot Cole & photo by Randy Cremean
 Sure, for all of his strengths – including poetry, MCing, acting, and screenwriting – singing is not the strong suit for Saul Williams. Get over it. Saul Williams still put together one of the most compelling, thoughtful, and overly entertaining sets of Lollapalooza; it was a performance that was both sonically and visually stimulating at all junctions.
Feathers were dispersed to the crowd before the set, with Williams sporting face paint and his own mohawk/headdress of teal, red, and black feathers (think a Native American hipster from the future). The rest of his group was similarly vested, ranging from spacesuits to neo-Phantom of the Opera garb. The eccentricity of the outfits was only matched by the unwavering liveliness of the entire four-piece. With Williams spitting out hyperactive lyrics and his backing band providing the occasional shriek, the set was audibly challenging (let’s face it, Saul isn’t for everyone), but unparalleled in its showmanship.
With rock star flair, Williams drew in the crowd, clutching its attention and keeping up a consistent energy level that most acts couldn’t match for a song, no less an entire set. From stage dives to writhing on the floor, Williams dazzled with his electric stage presence, capturing an audience that was, in part, biding time for the oncoming block party that is Girl Talk. Williams also ensured that the set would be unique to the Lollapalooza crowd, adding bits of poetry and political commentary (“Race is a social construct!”) between his tracks.
The songs themselves offered a gratifying industrial crunch, testament to his recent work with Trent Reznor. “Convict Colony” and “List of Demands” drew raucous applause, as did a decent cover of U2’s “Sunday Bloody Sunday”. Williams’ daughter Saturn helped out on the vocals for about half the set, which was either regarded as cheesy or cute, depending on who you ask (we’ll go with the latter). As always, Saul’s art is a lens for his message, but the political leanings of his set didn’t seem too trite or too heavy. It was, like the performance as a whole, inspiring.
While talking about the difficultly of choosing between Kanye West and Nine Inch Nails on Sunday night, Williams explained, “My whole purpose in creating music is making music where you don’t have to choose.” He’s the only performer that can claim to have elements of both in his music, no less both fan bases. For the time being, however, the crowd had chosen to latch onto Saul’s fluid mix of hip hop prowess, rock star sensibility, and political rally fervor, and they couldn’t have made a better choice.
Girl Talk6:30 @ Citi StageReview by Derek Wright & photo by Randy Cremean
 There are career-defining performances, and then there are career-altering ones.
The Beatles weren’t defined by “The Ed Sullivan Show” in 1964, but it certainly set the course for the rest of the band’s career. The Who’s path wasn’t so much redirected by a 1979 concert in which almost a dozen people were trampled to death in Cincinnati, but that tragedy came to characterize the group’s aggressive, assaulting style of hard-hitting rock ‘n’ roll.
Yes, there are gigs that come to identify a band’s entire existence (Oasis at Wembly Stadium), and there are ones that just change where an artist is headed (Radiohead in Chicago’s Grant Park in 2001). Although it’s too early to know whether Gregg Gillis’ Sunday evening slot at this year’s Lollapalooza will define the laptop artist, it undoubtedly has redirected his course.
Slated on the Citi stage at 6:30 p.m. – the weekend’s last performer on the structure – Gillis, aka Girl Talk, was faced with the problem of turning his crowd-fused routines into a festival-worthy show. After years of mashing up Top 40 radio staples into cut-and-paste tracks in dance clubs the world over, the 26-year-old has only a year of festival experience under his belt. Much of Gillis’ shows rely on his interaction with the crowd--including getting nearly naked and grinding on the floor, à la his memorable New Year’s Eve show in 2006 at Chicago’s Empty bottle.
Gillis’ dilemma of reaching festival audiences isn’t new: it’s an old quandary, such as last year’s Montreal Jazz Festival, in which he strapped his computer to his chest and performed entirely amongst the crowd. With each idea, the fests have lacked the urgency and excitement of those inside gigs. No matter how great the music, how engaging Girl Talk’s onstage antics, the setting is inherently cold. And unless something was to change, this year’s Lollapalooza would be no different.
However, Lollapalooza promoters should have considered both the success of Gillis’ June release, Feed The Animals, as well as his festival track record in the city. In 2007, the Chicago Police Department shut down Girl Talk’s performance at the Pitchfork Music Festival because a crowd that rivaled the size of that night’s headliner’s squeezed in to watch the side stage.
The Citi setup this year was not only an auxiliary stage, but also one without cross traffic, due to its proximity to security fences and food tents. Thus, those leaving earlier performances were left to fight their way through the thousands of people pushing their ways to the front while waiting for Gillis, hours before his Girl Talk time slot.
A half-hour before his scheduled concert – and unbeknownst to the stage security – passes were given to about 50 fans at random, which granted the ecstatic revelers access to dance alongside Gillis on the high-rise stage. Assuming, of course, that they could dodge the two stagehands, who were wearing faux police uniforms and using altered leaf blowers to dispense more than 100 rolls of toilet paper and confetti over the crowd while also blowing up gigantic “G” and “T” balloons.
It became the best of both Girl Talk worlds – a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd moving as individuals as well as a larger singular organism like in those club performances, but also a colossal open-air slot at a venue large enough to hold tens of thousands. This was the performance that he had been aiming for during the past year while trying to discover how to bring the intimacy of underground rooms to the scope of summer festivals.
And it stayed this way for the hour of music that mixed samples from his most recent LP, with 2006’s Night Ripper and tunes released in the past month new enough only for his live sets. The remarkable performance sent the dancing crowd to near-riot levels, with photographers being evacuated from the media pit after minutes for safety concerns, as well as the main stage’s security crew leaving Gnarls Barkley’s neighboring show to aid with the ever-growing Girl Talk crowd.
The sweat-drenched horde climbed trees, light poles and even unsuspecting strangers to get a better view or weasel their ways closer. Some even scaled the security fences and rushed the backstage area while attempting to sneak in with those fans lucky – and safe – enough to get bracelets to join Gillis next to his prized laptop.
With 5 minutes remaining, the man of the hour grabbed the mic and asked all the dancers to leave the stage. Cueing up a few of Feed The Animals’ closing samples, two more stagehands brought the now boxer-clad Gillis an inflatable vinyl river raft. After thanking the audience one last time, he gave his computer a final check and dove into the sea of thousands and was carried overhead until he disappeared triumphantly somewhere at the back of the euphoric thousands.
He won’t return the same.
The National 7:15 @ PlayStation 3 Stage Review by Elliot Cole & photo by Randy Cremean
 Brooklyn’s The National was mercifully exempt from a crowd made up of the standard Lollapalooza concert goer. Instead of sweaty, shirtless 20-somethings, the band played to a mature audience that was more full of “excuse me’s” than spilled beers. Their brooding, dense sound was represented in a slightly more rock-oriented way; the band sounds slightly more raw live (insofar as that is possible with The National). Still, the group's sense of warm intimacy purveyed through the crowd, making for the kind of set that is liable to cause the occasional goosebumps.
Singer Matt Berninger took some time to get in the mood of the show, later admitting that he felt comfortable once the sun went down. His heavy voice is entrancing and embracing at the same time, and it heavily weaved its way through Boxer tracks like “Fake Empire”, “Slow Show”, “Squalor Victoria”, and “Start A War”. At times aggressive and at times touchingly somber, the group’s set was never too slow and never too fast, finding a perfect middle ground for a crowd that was composed mostly of dedicated fans (most of the casual onlookers had already gone to line up for Sunday headliners Nine Inch Nails and Kanye West). The result was a set that didn’t feel like a festival performance, but rather a large-yet-comfortable club show.
The highlight of the show was undoubtedly the band’s rendition of “Mr. November”, a performance that was easily one of the best single songs of the entire weekend. For a band known for their slow, somber style, “Mr. November” serves as a sort of antithesis; the song is sloppy, turning the generally self-contained Berninger’s suave release into a reckless shouting. Whereas the majority of the set displayed the band’s penchant for nuance, it ended with a track that gave a glimmer into the band’s ability to let itself build into a rousing climax.
While The National may be best suited for dark, smoky chamber venues, they made the festival stage their own. In an endless weekend of heat and long walks, The National’s sweeping moodiness provided one of the few sets that you just couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Somewhere between the group’s stoic quality and humility, the band found a way to be perfectly human, warming itself to an audience that had seen more than their fair share of rock stars throughout the weekend. In doing so, The National transformed Grant Park into a small room, and invited all their friends to join.
Nine Inch Nails
8:15 @ Bud Light Stage Review by Elliot Cole & photo by Randy Cremean While Kanye West had the bigger crowd (and probably the better all-around performance), Trent Reznor and Nine Inch Nails demanded a certain degree of respect. After all, a handful of years ago, Reznor was on the brink of total collapse thanks to substance abuse and bad business relationships. Now he has found himself headlining one of the main stages at Lollapalooza, everything in his total control. In a way, it was sort of a defining moment for the band, providing the opportunity to announce, “Look where we were; now look where we are.”
The band was machine-like, reeling off the immense back catalogue of NIN with a patented, snarling accuracy. Reznor came out clad in black, his beefy frame presenting a dominate stage presence. He bit and shrieked his way through the first four tracks off of the recently released The Slip (a free download à la Radiohead), but the set didn’t formally begin until Reznor proclaimed that it was time for "the fucking pigs to march." The next trio of tracks, spanning from The Downward Spiral to The Fragile, would properly introduce the band. “March of the Pigs” was chaotic and precise at the same time, while “Closer” predictably garnered a fair share of fans cursing along. “The Frail” was particularly beautiful, but, sadly, The Fragile was mostly ignored.
Perhaps because of the 40 or so people that went to the hospital during Rage Against the Machine, the NIN performance was significantly more toned-down. The bro crowd withheld its elbowing, moshing fury, and the remainder was a set that was comfortably impressive, adorned by a gorgeous Chicago skyline and the band’s epilepsy-unfriendly light show (which, to be fair, wasn’t as good as their With Teeth tour, but stunning nonetheless).
Reznor and company managed to sneak in a few newer tracks while keeping the old standards close by. “Terrible Lie”, “Wish”, and “Gave Up” rewarded the long-term fanboys, while “The Hand That Feeds” surely pacified the new school of NIN fans. With Robin Finck returning to guitar after eight years away from the band, the performance did have a little bit of a rewarding throwback feel.
Reznor has, in many ways, become a contradiction in music. On one level, his relatively simple pop savvy (see “Only”), gigantic tours, and overall “rock” sensibilities are bred for the masses, a genuine blueprint for how to have success in modern rock. Then again, Reznor is also the defiant brat of the industry, bashing record labels and doing things his own way since his return to music. That being said, his way is conveniently accessible for the rest of us, and the result could be seen in the thousands of people singing along to every word of “Hurt” as the festival wound to a close.
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