Lollapalooza – 3 Day Music Festival in Chicago

 

 

 

My name is “T-Bag” Ludlow. I’m a 24-year-old native of Chicago-land and my bike is a hardtail Sporty chop. Yes, I’m living the good life.

 

 

Lollapalooza is a three-day music festival hosted annually in Grant Park. It basically drowns out anything else going on near the lake. Previous experience with the festival reminds me of the big-name bands, awesome bar food and beer, and all of this surrounded by the embrace of the scenic Chicago skyline. I found out that there was a wristband I could borrow for Friday and there was no reason for me not to go. By the time Friday afternoon rolled around I was more than ready to get the bikes on the road and head towards the party.

 

Chicago is a world-class city. The summer here is a paradise that doesn’t seem to end. The roads that take you into Chicago, however, are as smooth and relaxing as performing surgery on yourself with a tuna can lid. Pothole-ridden I-290 has a common speed of about 80 which matches the IQ level of the drivers when event traffic meets the Friday rush-hour traffic. When I am on my bike and I can see the Sears tower, I expect to be cut off, so I typically try to stay ahead of traffic. My cousin James, who had the tickets and my dad’s Softail, also learns this quickly. I’m grateful he found out before the day ended in the E.R., arguing with gunshot victims over which of us looks worse.

Having friends in the city has its perks, and we are able to park in a gated area behind a friend’s apartment in the Ukrainian Village, which is just a quick bus ride to the concert. Things can disappear in minutes in certain areas like this, either all at once or piece-by-piece, like a decaying animal. Since I can put my hardtail in the back of a truck easily with two other people, I presume anyone else can too. Gated parking is a plus in this particular area.

 

The first surge of concert-goers is pulsing through the gates at Grant Park as we arrive. The first thing I notice is a sea of beautiful young women everywhere. The next is that they are all wearing tank tops and high-waisted cut-off short shorts, almost without exception. Exactly how high the cuts were on these homemade shorts seemed to depend on the personality of the girl. Some planned for the Chicago heat even more seriously than others, which I was grateful for. 

Lollapalooza, when compared to other music festivals, is always ready to show recent changes in music trends, especially pop music. It is a festival that is guaranteed to both have a band be “discovered” there, and to also have some of the biggest names on the radio and charts at that time. The crowd consists of all ages in attendance, but it would seem that the majority of us are in our twenties, yes, for better-or-worse and we are in the driver seat of the pop-culture bus. My pick for this year’s breakout band would have to be Crystal Castles.

One genre that stands out to me is dubstep music. Maybe it’s that the DJ on stage plays his tracks with as much difficulty as I do on iTunes during my morning shower. Maybe it’s that all dubstep songs seem to use the same grinding, tug boat, WAHH as the ‘chorus’ and the same whistles for accents. Maybe I didn’t bring the right drugs. For any of these reasons, the dubstep scene seems strange to me despite my honest attempts to sit through a couple sets of Steve Aoki or Monsta. However, I respect the energy and excitement that the true fans bring to these shows.

 

Later, on one the main stages, Queens of The Stone Age put on a show that reminds me that rock and roll is not lost on my generation. This is a band known for hard-hitting guitars and drums, impressive time changes, and eerie haunting melodies.  I imagine Druids chanting at Stonehenge in between spells to summon demons. I was not at all surprised to learn that they would be playing Sturgis a week later. Queens display what happens when you mix hard rock and childhood nightmares.

I have no idea how we ended up in front of the stage for Lana Del Ray. This is more of a phenomenon than a concert for me. Del Rey is a very attractive fair-skinned woman that could be a young Nicole Kidman with a tangy late-‘60s style. Her music is soft and slow- with climaxing up-lifters. Her melodies appear to make the heart of every woman in attendance pump rainbows and MDMA. This crowd is one notch shy of Beatlemania. 

 

James and I push our way through the crowd curious to see the girl who gets so much airplay recently. The stage is tucked back father away than all the others. Lana is wearing a long wispy red dress made out of silk (or something dry-clean only), so the whole scene is something like Fantasia meets the legend of the Island of Feminism. 

At some point I feel a thud in my back, and turn around to see a beautiful young blond with tears welling up in her eyes. She apologizes immediately, and I am wondering what for. 

“Its my favorite song!” she cries, literally.

“For sure. Can you see past me?” I ask. Being 6-foot tall and blocking the view of a 5’6” girl at a Lana Del Rey concert makes me feel more than out of place.

“It’s her birthday!” says her equally cute, but louder friend before the first blond can answer. It’s always one of their birthdays. That’s also not a bad thing.

“Why didn’t you say so!” I replied as enthusiastically as if she made it into astronaut training camp. “Do you want to go up?” She gasped as she cupped her hands to her mouth and nose, and I could see the tears start to well up again. This is a typical, often adverse, (albeit expected) reaction to my advances, but in Lana Del Rey Land, this means I am now a hero.  One would think I just saved her litter of puppies from quicksand.

I crouch down as she hops up onto my shoulders and I grab her thighs. As I stand up, she is light, and definitely athletic. I wonder if I can just walk off with her now, like a Viking, and send Lana a ‘Thank You’ e-card for the loan. Mere minutes later another young girl jabs me. 

“Do you have another friend?? I want to go up too! We’re friends!” Her chunky sidekick asks.  This is where my fun begins.

“Oh, Hell yeah. I bet this guy would help you out. He’s a champ.” James is a champ, and is strong from soccer training. However, she is about James’ size, and I would wager weighs a little more than him. He is also obviously not paying attention. 

I push his shoulders down while the heavier girl of the two mounts him ungracefully. He stands up, and the girl sways on top of him, looking like a tree house you are no longer allowed to play in for structural reasons. She doesn’t notice James’ shaky footing on the soft and muddy ground. James shoots me a look of both confusion and frustration. I am absolutely delighted.

A second song starts and I look over at James, who is now quite distracted. The girls hold hands above us and sing along, bleary-eyed. They are completely confident in the integrity of their improvised perches. James starts to sweat. For the girls, I am a dream-maker- a slightly sweatier and muddier Walt Disney. For James, I am just an asshole.

Eventually, Lana announces her last song. Every woman at the show yells as if Lana will beam back up into space and they only have this last precious moment together before the Earth implodes. I can’t help but snicker. The blonde on my shoulders touches my cheek and brushes my hair back, unexpectedly, maybe checking if I can see the stage. I am starting to realize she thinks I love this music. I look over at James. His girl is screaming like an actress in the Conjuring (great movie btw). I start chuckling when I see a bead of sweat drop off the peak of James’ nose. He is soaked and fading fast.

It is a hot and humid Chicago night here at Lollapalooza. I notice Lana Del Ray extend her finale with a violin solo, which brings more screams. I relax, and try to remember how the hell I got myself into this. James is soaked with sweat and I am laughing my ass off.

“I hope we’re not tiring you guys out,” the bubbly blonde asks.

“No. We can do this all night,” I say.

I had no idea when this concert ended, but deep down it didn’t matter to any of us. The night had turned gorgeous from the cloudy afternoon. The bikes were safe and it was still early. The clouds part and let a little moonlight through to add to the light of the Chicago skyline. Lollapalooza had been a success.