The weather of Day Two, though, felt like a small gift. Overcast and cooler, rain hanging overhead but clinging to sun-blocking clouds. Now, if only it could stay just like this...
Saturday, August 4 - Day Two
- Dear and the Headlights. Making our way toward the north end stage where I'm From Barcelona would be playing in just over half an hour, we wandered past Dear and the Headlights at the all-shady BMI stage. Stopping to check them out, I listened for half a song and turned to Becky to ask, "Who are these guys? They're not bad." "Dear and the Headlights," she replied after consulting a handy pocket program. They reminded me a bit of a slightly louder Shins, with comforting and somehow familiar pop-rocky angst. And just as soon as we knew who they were, they finished up, prompting us to move on.
Matt & Kim. Okay. There's this band. It's a guy on a keyboard who yells his happy lyrics into a microphone perched atop a keyboard he plays while half-dancing upon a bench seat as a muscularly lean, short-haired girl keeps giddy, simple time on a set of drums next to him, smiling a constant 6-year-old-at-Christmas smile.
Would you listen? Oh, you would. Seeing Matt & Kim live is all you need to be sold on their, for lack of a better term, jangle pop. Their infectiously happy interactions on stage pull you in so that the entire time you're listening, you can't help but smile, despite the lack of song-writing finesse or instrumental expertise. The couple, situated dead center of a large stage, was clearly dumb-founded by the ever-growing crowd they continued to draw, Matt making comment after comment about how "awesome" this all was. And then, in an event that would become a bit too common throughout the rest of Lollapalooza, their stage experienced some kind of sound meltdown, and Matt & Kim had to make a still happy, if somewhat early, exit.
I'm From Barcelona. But there's more than one way to start the day on an upbeat note, and I thought, "Well Matt & Kim were great, but let's see what I'm From Barcelona can do." So, a bit nervous about Becky's reaction to a band she had previously called "cultish" for their hand-clapping happiness on the single, "We're From Barcelona," we wandered over to one of the only two stages big enough to accommodate a 29-person band. Their set began as a surprisingly huge crowd welcomed the Finns with loud applause and the group took positions with a man in a bear suit posting himself out in front to the left of the red-headed singer. "Wow," I thought, "Becky's going to hate me for this." And then they proceeded to play a song that has easily become one of the best songs I've heard in ages: Treehouse. By the end of the song, complete with hand movements that most of the crowd had no problem imitating, lovely lyrics, and a gorgeous melody, I was officially in love with this band. A following song, Rec & Play, just confirmed it. Prefacing the song, lead singer Emanuel Lundgren said that he had planned to bring cassettes to throw out to the crowd at a certain point but that he sadly only had enough money for 50 tapes. And as he correctly noted, "There's a lot more of you than 50." So as the lyrics, "I will throw my tapes away because this will be the one worth saving," rolled around, Emanuel threw imaginary tapes out to the crowd who, playing along like it was second-nature, eagerly pretended to catch them. During their last song, one called Ola Kala, the entire crowd, nearly every single person, moved along, arms sweeping the sky slowly side to side, to "Don't be afraid... Don't be afraid... 'Cause everything is gonna turn to be okay.... Don't be afraid..." I've adopted that moment, memorizing every dumb smile in that crowd and on my own face, even Becky grinning with arms folded, the two of us standing in a cloud-shadowed field in Chicago - I go to that place any time I think, "I hate my life," and I smile.
- Break. Leaving I'm From Barcelona, pleasantly surprised that Becky wasn't hitting me for dragging her into that little lovefest, we realized that there was no band that interested either of us for some time. So it was time to hit up those low-priced food booths and peruse Green Street.
- Aqueduct. There's only so much time you can spend staring at hemp bags, however, and eventually I led us toward Aqueduct's stage. I knew and still know next to nothing about him/them. Halfway into the first song though, Becky was turning to me with furrowed brow and pursed lips speaking angry sarcasm without saying a word. I didn't think it so bad: a mix of funky pop with keyboards, bass, and drum. [It was right around the start of that first song that we spotted some festival workers carting in boxes marked "RAIN PONCHOS," and looking at the threatening sky and then at each other, we decided: good idea.] So we sat a bit longer on the pavement with the rest of the crowd along the side, me - trying to groove along to Aqueduct, Becky - deciding to leave and get a drink. And then he pulled out some song with lyrics about, "People don't change, bitch. Don't even try." Ugh. Yeah, maybe Becky was right.
- Cold War Kids. Next on the program was a choice of either Stephen Marley (saw him at Vegoose 2006, and okay, I get it: reggae, whatever), Silverchair (the Hanson of grunge is apparently still around), and Lady GaGa (who? No.). So we spent about 15 minutes trying to track down those elusive rain ponchos. They had to have gone somewhere, but the vacant stare of the girl at the official store told us we were on our own to find them. Giving up for the moment, we found a tiny spot to stand amongst the throng of people awaiting the Cold War Kids at the small Citi stage. The small grass lawn in front of us was littered blanket-to-blanket with people, the pathways next to us packed, and the area in front of the stage and as far back as we could see: like sardines. Was there something I didn't know? I had recently gotten their album Robbers & Cowards but had so far still only liked the single Hang Me Up To Dry. This crowd implied that some kind of musical genius was about to stroll on stage. There were people in the trees! waiting to sneak a peek at these apparent post-modern gods. Becky suggested, "Well, there really aren't that many other choices right now." Good point. It was this or Motion City Soundtrack. Not good. The band eventually wandered out and began to play for their appreciative crowd and I thought, "Hm. Yeah." And then it started to rain. "This will be so appropriate once they start playing Hang Me Up To Dry," I chuckled to Becky, who had already started scanning the crowd for ponchos. After spotting 2, then 3, blue ponchos with a Playstation logo, we made a bee line for the nearby Playstation tent (along with about 50 others who had the same realization at the exact same time.) Poor Playstation guy, he was nearly run over by a horde of poncho-crazed concert-goers. And by the time he had handed out his last two, the rain was barely a trickle, Cold War Kids were still playing their mediocre tunes, and Becky had decided to wander off through the art installations. I hung on at the Citi stage, waiting to hear the only song I cared about, which, as it turns out, is just so-so live.
- Matt & Kim, again. After the Cold War Kids had cleared out and Becky had returned, we grabbed some chocolate-covered strawberry kabobs and stood trying to decide our next move. Next up at this stage was CSS, but a man came out and addressed the crowd, saying that CSS had run into plane problems so Matt & Kim would be coming back for a second set to fill in for them. What?! Awesome. We knew where we'd be for the next hour or so. Matt & Kim's second set was even more fun than the first: confident, completely amped, a few more beers into the day, and with a crowd of stalwart and newly converted fans ready to cheer them on. "I'm Matt and this is Kim, and this is so cool!" When they launched into their infectious single of sorts, Yeah Yeah, for the second time that day, Becky and I were ready to sing along.
- Snow Patrol. A mere half hour separated the end of Matt & Kim from the start of Becky's secondary reason for being at Lolla at all: Snow Patrol. So leaving the dynamic duo just a bit before they ended, we headed back toward the massive Bud Light stage where I'm From Barcelona had made me a believer. This time, the crowd was growing by the second and soccer chants were flying into the air at uneven intervals, Irish flags dotting the field. The set was what I had expected it to be, neither converting me to fandom, nor making for a horrible time. It was just pleasant, if a bit dull, the way you expect bands like this to be. There were the melodic poppy bits, bouncing the crowd like whack-a-moles for entire songs, and there were the lighters-in-the-air anthems with audience sing-alongs missing only the karaoke screen. I guess if it works, why not? Becky clearly enjoyed herself, hands together, as if in prayer, a pose she strikes as she sings along to something she loves. It was nice to finally see her so thoroughly pleased. The rain had returned meanwhile, and during a particularly nice moment of audience chanting, light drops began to glitter the thick air above our heads with coolness, and I thought, "Well, there are certainly worse ways to end a day."
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After Snow Patrol ended their set, we headed, along with thousands of others, toward Spoon's stage on the other end of the park. As we reached it, the rain had begun to fall a bit more heavily, and I briefly donned that blue Playstation poncho I had pined for before realizing that standing around in a poncho is the quickest way to feel like an idiot. We stared out at the sea of people already cluttering the field in front of the already-begun Spoon show, and decided, yeah, let's head back to hotel for room service.
{Day Three to be continued.}
