After the relatively mild weather on Saturday, everybody was hoping the forecasters would be wrong again for Sunday. But when my dogs woke me up at 7:30 and it was already 85 degrees outside, I knew it was going to be a rough day. Still, it might cloud up at least, right?
Wrong. But there were a lot of bands I wanted to see so I jumped on the train and headed down to Grant Park for the second day of Lollapalooza. The CTA expanded its service for the weekend (I can’t imagine how much the organizers had to fork over for that!), so we made it downtown in record time for a Sunday.
Holy shit, it was hot on Sunday. I was pretty sure we were all going to die for a while there. But hey, Glorious Noise suffers unbearable heat so you don’t have to.
It’s hard to believe that the first Lollapalooza was 14 years ago. I was a dopey college kid who could barely drive straight when my pals piled into my mom’s Corolla and we drove across the state to see Perry Farrell’s brand new music festival. I was looking forward to seeing Ice T and Jane’s Addiction, but was most impressed by the Butthole Surfers when guitarist Paul Leary picked up a rifle, aimed it right at my face 60 rows back, and pulled the trigger. I swear to god I saw fire shoot out of the barrel and expected to feel the bullet split my skull. Good thing Leary’s a lousy shot.
This year no one fired a gun at me. But I was blown away by a couple of bands that I wasn’t expecting that much from. It’s a much different world now (George Bush, Iraq, economy, etc.), but a few things remain the same: good music still isn’t played on the radio, and young people still love to get half naked and stomp around in the dirt and listen to bands.