Long Overdue Lollapalooza Review--Day 1

Okay, so here's what we decided to do. You see, folks, Iris has some important stuff going on in real life that is preventing her from slaving away on pics and videos. So for a while, we'll have pics and video in separate posts, just so we can let you know what all went on at Lollapalooza and NIN. This way, I can write it all up before I forget everything that happened, and I don't have to feel like a jerk asking Iris about the AV stuff. She'll get to it when she gets to it.

The disadvantage of not doing this "live blogging" style is that now I have to try to remember all sorts of details from about a month ago. Unfortunately, there was no large air conditioned, AT&T-sponsored tent with computers this year, and because I am old, I was too exhausted upon returning home each night to write anything up. But I shall do my best with my fading memories.

So, Day One. A poncho was a must because for the first time since I started attending Lollapalooza, it rained on us just about all day. However, Friday had my favorite lineup of the entire weekend, so we weren't about to let a little rain stop us. On a side note, I really think they need some sort of rule prohibiting umbrellas. They did nothing to enhance the view, and people are never good at walking in large crowds with umbrellas. Someone is bound to gouge out an eye. Ponchos are much safer (if not terribly fashion-forward) and do not obstruct views of the stage or screens.

We made it to Grant Park just in time to catch The Builders and the Butchers' set. I was instantly converted to this band when we saw them opening for Amanda Palmer, and I was certainly not disappointed here. I've described them before as Flogging Molly meets Modest Mouse. They've also been compared to Tom Waites. They boast an impressive array of obscure folk instruments, and their themes are generally dark. When I listen to their music, I get a somewhat eerie feeling, like when I'm driving in some deep backwoods area at night, and it feels like just about anything could jump out at me--deer, bear, werewolves, crazed rednecks. At the same time, their music grabs you immediately; these are not the kind of songs you have to "get used to" or know the lyrics to in order to appreciate. Their music is melodic, beautiful, primal. When they have two drummers flailing against their instruments at the same time, there is something ancient and uncivilized in me that responds. I feel at home in the strange country landscapes that they create, where branches are like arms and hands are like gnarled roots.

I bought their album, "Salvation is a Deep Dark Well," and if you ever take my advice about anything, buy this album. Especially if you're road-tripping out in the woods before summer dies. The song "Vampire Lake" is probably my favorite on this album, and it was my favorite at the show. It totally sounds like the perfect song to play over the closing credits of an episode of True Blood. (I have so many awesome ideas for that show, I know.)

I'm probably not going to get that lyrical over every band I describe, so don't get too worked up now.

While we were getting some food, we happened to catch a tiny bit of The Gaslight Anthem's set. This was a band that my husband had wanted to see (but he unfortunately was scheduled to work on Day 1 of Lolla). In addition, their set began about halfway through The Builders and the Butchers, so there was no way we could have seen enough of them to appreciate them. But listening to them in the background, I had two thoughts: 1) Who invited the Cure this year? and 2) I like what I'm hearing so far. So they will have to be a band that I explore further.

While waiting for Ben Folds, we listened to Bon Iver for a while. A lot longer than I ever would have wanted to. Now there's a certain style of indie music that I just can't deal with. Fine, grow a beard and play folk music if that's what you're called to do, but for God's sake, make it interesting. I'm no expert on this guy's music, but it was a lot of acoustic, falsetto warbling. According to Wikipedia, his latest album was written after he spent three months in isolation in some cabin in the north woods of Wisconsin. And what we heard is exactly what you would imagine would be produced by someone going slowly insane in the middle of nowhere. Not like, "shrieking and running naked in the woods" insane. More like "melancholy staring out the window from the bed you haven't left in 12 days" insane. I dunno, I'm sure it's all very intelligent and thoughtful and heart-rending if you pay attention to the lyrics, but that's more attention than I'll ever devote to a guy with an acoustic guitar and a beard singing in falsetto.

Ben Folds was next! He still has quite the devoted fanbase, as this was probably the only show of the day where I felt uncomfortably hemmed in by the crowd and suggested to the group that we move back a bit. I was a big fan of the Ben Folds Five breakout hit album, Whatever and Ever Amen, with its witty lyrics and Gen-X angst--so perfect for me in that stage of my college career. After that, I kind of lost touch for some unknown reason, although I did happen to catch him live at the Guiness Oyster Fest one year, and since he spent a lot of time playing slow, ponderous tunes that night, I figured that his career was kind of heading in that direction. If you goth and punk cabaret kids aren't familiar with Ben Folds, you might know him as the producer of Amanda Palmer's solo album, Who Killed Amanda Palmer?, and I feel as though his influence is particularly strong on a song like "Astronaut"--big, crashing piano with a touch of heartbreak.

I am pleased to announce that Ben Folds kept his Lolla set up-tempo. It's really the only way to go if you're playing a large outdoor festival, where all the kiddies are on drugs, and everyone is sweaty and gross (or drenched with rain), and people are generally coming and going throughout the performance. I was happy to hear "Rockin' the Suburbs" and "Kate," an old favorite, although I would have paid him cash money to play "One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces," as I always felt it was rather a personal anthem for me.

We took a bit of a break after Ben Folds, having a nice sit on a wet bench in front of Buckingham Fountain and doing some people-watching, but we headed back to the north side of Grant Park for a bit of the Decemberists. People who talk about these sorts of things on the Internets were wondering aloud whether the Decemberists would play their latest concept album, "The Hazards of Love" in its entirety. I guess they did, but we didn't stick around for the whole performance. It's not that I don't like the music, but it really wasn't the best venue for long, flowing dresses and quiet songs about "My love rode off into the woods today," or whatever the hell they were singing about. I once read the Wikipedia entry for this album to try to understand what the whole "story" of it was, and you can find that information here, but this is how I explained it to my companions: "Um, so there's like this woman, and she's riding off in the woods, and she falls in love with some elf or demon guy or whatever, and he's got a mother who's magical, and then the girl gets kidnapped by this evil guy...uh..." So, yeah, I'm kind of torn on it all. The music is much catchier than you would think, especially "The Rake's Song," which is rather disturbing, but it still is pretty pretentious. But at the same time, you have to give Colin Meloy credit for doing something very different from the mainstream. It was not engaging us at all during Lolla, unfortunately, and I think the music started to pick up in general as we were on the way out, but by that time, we were heading to the other side of the park for Of Montreal.

Oh God, what to say about Of Montreal without sounding like the world's crankiest old fogey...hmm.

Musically, I have no objection; pleasingly, they remind me of the Scissor Sisters. So you know, upbeat, oonce-oonce, good to dance to, good for outdoor music festivals where all the kiddies are on drugs, and everyone is sweaty and gross (or drenched with rain), and people are generally coming and going throughout the performance. Except the stage show...dear Lord. I couldn't really see it all very well from my vantage point, but it involved unnerving animation on the screen, approximately 5,000 people onstage in all sorts of costumes, ranging from alien heads to one-armed, one-legged unitard things. Were there people dressed as nuns and gorillas? I don't remember, but there might as well have been. Oh, who am I to piss on someone's enjoyable acid trip? I'm just a miserable goth at heart, so I just feel that sometimes, a LOT less is more. I do want to give Of Montreal credit, however, for ending on time, which is more than I can say for certain OTHER acts on subsequent days, but we'll get to that later.

Fortunately, it was at this point that the rain FINALLY stopped, and I felt brave enough to remove my poncho (as I had superstitiously felt during any other break in the precipitation that if I took off the poncho, I would bring on a torrential downpour and electrical storm that would shut everything down). It had been a long, rain-soaked day, but we were all eagerly awaiting Depeche Mode (well, I don't know how "eager" Mr. Iris was to see Depeche Mode, but I'm sure he was certainly eager to bring this soggy day to a close). Barring any sudden catastrophe, it looked as though the Ro Curse would finally be broken! And, shockingly, they took the stage, right on time, and Ro finally had the chance to see one of her favorite bands of all time. Well, Depeche Mode should be among everyone's favorite bands of all time, right? I've spent quite a bit of this summer listening to the old hits as well as the new album. There's something about Depeche Mode that speaks to my personal life situation as I savor my 30s--the yearning for pure love coupled with a certain knowing cynicism. Not believing in the fairy tale is not the same as not wanting the fairy tale; Martin Gore knows that, and that's what has always made Depeche Mode so resonant and heartbreaking.

The Setlist (a respectable collection of new songs and greatest hits...most likely much shorter than on other stops of their tour because at Lolla, the plug gets pulled on *everything* at 10:00 p.m.):

In Chains
Wrong
Hole to Feed
Walking in My Shoes
It's No Good
A Question of Time
Precious
Fly on the Windscreen
Home
Come Back
Policy of Truth
In Your Room
I Feel You
Enjoy the Silence
Never Let Me Down Again
Stripped
Personal Jesus

So, if you like the new album, then you'll probably think they started off strong with "In Chains" and "Wrong." (The only problem with "Wrong" is that the beginning always reminds me of the SNL parody of The McLaughlin Group)

"Hole to Feed," eh. I really would much rather have heard "In Sympathy," my favorite song from Sounds of the Universe. But at least it's better than "Peace," with the gayest of all gay DM lyrics: "It's an INEVITABILITY!!!!" That line snaps me out of whatever musical trance I happen to be in, as I think, "Ugh." Probably the most pleasant surprise of the evening was "Come Back," which was truly hypnotic, especially with the deep space imagery, although it also kind of resembles that old "Starfield" screensaver.

I certainly can't take issue with any of their other selections, although I missed "Master and Servant," "Somebody," "A Pain that I'm Used to," "A Question of Lust," "Shake the Disease," "It's No Good," "Everything Counts,"--oh, who am I kidding? I'd really have loved to see the show go on for two more hours than it did.

Dave Gahan's voice seemed a little strained and off-key, but hell, with tumors and gastrointestinal problems and leg injuries, I'm just happy he was alive and able to take the stage. Of course, he did his skeevy sexy dancing and strip show. To those who say tattoos look gross when one reaches a certain age, you couldn't prove it with Dave Gahan's upper body...yum! He wanted the crowd to do a lot of his singing for him, which is fine if he's asking us to do the chorus of "Enjoy the Silence," but he really should keep in mind that most Lolla attendees weren't even twinkles in their parents' respective eyes when "A Question of Time" came out.

Martin Gore looked fetching in a shiny silver suit and sounded pitch perfect on "Home." I wish we could have had more of those moments...what a gorgeous, gorgeous mind and voice that man has.

The highlight of the evening was "Enjoy the Silence" for me, which may not be obscure enough for some diehard Depeche Mode fans, but that song taught me at the tender age of 14 that music can make you feel funny...down there. The lyrics represented everything that I ever wanted a lover to say to me, but of course, it's so fucking romantic, it would never happen in real life, with a real average guy, if he had to come up with it on his own. The disappointment of reality is never denied, but the dream isn't surrendered. That's Depeche Mode in a nutshell for me.

And that's Day 1 of Lolla. More to come!

The Hand that Feeds Amanda Palmer--Part II

Okay, so I needed some time to catch up on work and wanted to wait until we had all our audio-visual material uploaded, so that I can provide suitable examples, but now I can tell you all about The Coolest Thing the Places Parallel Girls Have Ever Done, Seriously.

So, on Wednesday, December 3rd, I weaseled my way out of work early, and Iris and I packed up all the food (in our Glad family of products...I felt just like a contestant on Bravo's Top Chef!) and a crock pot, just in case the Metro was poorly equipped, and we set off in a light but traffic-jamming snowfall to the Metro on Clark Street in Chicago.

Now, the Metro is located very near Wrigley Field, which is a notoriously rotten area to look for any sort of parking, but we were very fortunate to find an open meter just across the street from the venue. We were early, so we took to a bar for some liquid courage, as we were both feeling pretty nervous at this point.

But we arrived promptly at the doors of the Metro at 5:30, as requested. Steve, our contact, happened to be waiting outside, and he had us wait just inside the lobby for Kat, another member of the Danger Ensemble, who would escort us backstage.

The Metro is a tiny venue, so it's not surprising that the artists have a tiny area to themselves backstage. The walls are painted all black, and there is some curious decor:





All sorts of people were already backstage...including Amanda Palmer (gasp!) who was sitting in a recliner, being videotaped by someone. It was hard to tell who was who...performers, fans, etc., and to tell the truth, it was all pretty intimidating. Kat led us into a room that was loaded with food brought by fans, and I sheepishly realized that I could have probably gotten away with bringing hummus and pita. I asked her if there was any kind of microwave, and to my infinite disappointment, she said there was not. Seriously, Metro? You can get a microwave at Target for like $60. Kat assured us that it would be okay if the food were cold, but we strongly recommended that we go back to the car to get the crock pot and at least heat up the soup. But inwardly, I was fretting because the tacos would remain cold, and who really wants a cold veggie taco? In addition, although crock pots are very handy for keeping things warm, they're not exactly known for their speed in reheating things, so I then became The Girl Who Neurotically Fussed Over the Crock Pot for 90 Minutes. The only open space for said crock pot was right in front of a mini-fridge, so I was also The Girl Whose Fucking Crock Pot was in the Way of People's Cold Bottles of Water. Oh, why, I inwardly lamented, why didn't I just think to bring hummus and pita or sandwiches, like this guy Chuck who sat on a couch with his Sullen, Silent Female Companion? (Although I have to give props to Chuck for providing me with a ladle.)

The fans who provided food all sort of huddled together silently and terrified in a corner of the room. It was an awkward atmosphere, let me tell you, although it was also very interesting to be a fly on the wall backstage. I wish I could tell you that I was cool, but I'm not cool. I'm a total fucking dork, and when confronted by people I like and admire, my brain function decreases by a good 40%. When Amanda strolled by, doing her vocal exercises, my conversations with her were completely profound and scintillating, like this:

Me: So, did you get to enjoy Chicago at all today?
Amanda: No.

Amanda (lifting up lid of tacos): Mmmm, this smells good!
Me: Yes, they are veggie tacos.

(Note: I didn't actually see her consume any of my food, as she didn't want to be "too full" for the performance, which is understandable, especially since my food was very bean- and lentil-heavy.)

Nope, nope, nothing like "'Leeds United' is the most amazing song" or "The first Dresden Dolls album helped me survive a very difficult time in my life" (cheesy, but true) or any of the things I'd actually want to say if I were theoretically to encounter Amanda Palmer.

Also, she was doing warm-up exercises and flitting around here and there, and although we probably could have made her pose for pics or do silly videos, and I'm sure in her extreme generosity, she would have gladly obliged, but Iris and I were both struck by the desire to let her prepare for the show and relax in peace. So our documentation of our time backstage is, unfortunately, limited to some pics we took on the sly:





Although dreadful performance art group, Pony Spread, kindly posed for a picture with us. (I'm sure they're wonderful people beyond their dreadful performance art):



But Iris did get a chance to present Amanda with a t-shirt that she had made for her. As you may know, Amanda's had some problems with her record label lately. Among other issues, they criticized the appearance of Amanda's TOTALLY not fat stomach in the "Leeds United" video, sparking the online "Rebellyon," wherein fans have been posting pictures of their own less-than-whippet-taut bellies as a "fuck you" to the execs at Roadrunner Records. Anyway, in one of Amanda's blog posts, in response to the controversy, she threatened the life of a My Little Pony. Therefore, in Iris' t-shirt, the ponies get their revenge.



Amanda was delighted with the shirt and started showing it off to people, whereupon Iris' head exploded with joy, which was a little messy, but it was worth it.

So they had us hanging out awkwardly backstage for about 90 minutes, and then they informed us that it was time for the show! Now here comes the glowing part of this review. I mean, I'm not a professional rock critic, so I basically pay money to see the artists that I like, and more often than not, I like it. So the haters can suck my metaphorical balls if they're not happy to hear that this show fucking rocked our faces off!

First up were The Builders and the Butchers. It takes a very special opening band to get me enthused, as many times I view opening bands as my punishment for arriving early. But this indie group from Portland, Oregon, is more than up to the task, with their heavy percussion, use of eclectic instruments (banjo, accordion, mandolin, etc.), audience participation (at one point, the lead singer passed out maracas and tambourines, so that audience members could play along), and infectious melodies. A lot of reviewers label their music as "dark folk" or "reminiscent of gospel," but it reminded me a lot of Irish rock, like Flogging Molly, but without the accents.



This is one of the few times that an opening band had me enjoying every note, as opposed to checking my watch and shifting my weight from my left to right foot, killing time before the opening act. I wish that their set wasn't so short, and I'm looking forward to their next appearance in the Windy City.



Next up was the amazing solo cellist, Zoe Keating. This woman is extremely coordinated, as she handled all the pre-recorded parts on her laptop herself during her performance. Her music is like the most mesmerizing, mournful soundtrack to all the movies in your head:



Zoe Keating is an amazing musician, with incredible poise, even when her computer crashes on her. ANOTHER opening artist that I didn't want to see leave the stage.

Then...we had Pony Spread. Like I said, I'm sure they're nice folks, and maybe it's just my personal bias against some of the more esoteric forms of expression, but I HATE HATE HATE the performance art segments of Dresden Dolls/Amanda Palmer shows. They had a Christmas-themed performance for us during which impish reindeer simulated masturbation, Santa was crucified, a girl was persecuted by women dressed like the Virgin Mary(?), the reindeer and the Virgin Marys attempted to force Santa to rape the girl, but they were thwarted by a woman dressed all in black who was the girl's true love or something, and Santa blessed their relationship, and it all ended happily ever after or some shit. I mean, I guess I just wish it wasn't so cliched...I mean, crucifying Santa? Zzzzzzzzzzz...give me more Zoe Keating.

Next, we had...oh NEIL FUCKING GAIMAN read a "eulogy" for Amanda Palmer IN PERSON. NEIL FUCKING GAIMAN! Apparently, he and Amanda are working on a book together to accompany the whole "Who Killed Amanda Palmer?" murder mystery that I couldn't keep up with online. Hopefully it will all show up in the book, and we'll know who killed her in the end too.



Amanda came onstage in her usual dramatic fashion and opened with the infinitely awesome "Astronaut." Seriously, I'm, like, fucking OBSESSED with this song these days. And watching the video again gives me goosebumps.

Onstage, she was accompanied by the Danger Ensemble, backup dancers and performance artists who do it right (take note, Pony Spread). They managed to be thought-provoking and convey their interpretation of the music without being obtrusive.

Pretty much anyone who's into the Dresden Dolls would enjoy Amanda's solo work, and she's never less than electrifying onstage, banging violently on her piano, her leg flying beneath her. I'm probably more of a fan of her uptempo songs: "Runs in the Family," "Guitar Hero," and the superb "Leeds United," all of which made an appearance in the setlist. The one songwriting weakness of Amanda Palmer, I'm afraid, is that she's got just a few too many songs that sound like this:



But I do enjoy the lyrics of "Ampersand":



"The ghetto boys are catcalling me
As I pull my keys from my pocket
I wonder if this method of courtship has ever been effective
Has any girl in history said 'Sure, you seem so nice, let's get it on'
Still, I always shock them when I answer, 'Hi, my name's Amanda'

And I'm not gonna live my life on one side of an ampersand
And even if I went with you, I'm not the girl you think I am
And I'm not gonna match you, 'cause I'll lose my voice completely
No, I'm just gonna watch you, 'cause I'm not the one that's crazy..."

Or maybe I'm the only one who identifies with that, in a way. Anyway.

One of my favorite songs of the evening was one co-written with Neil Gaiman: "I Google You," which is meant to be an Ella Fitzgerald/Frank Sinatra standard for the internet age. We've got a portion of this recorded, but unfortunately, our nemesis for the evening, a particularly zealous Metro security employee, kept zeroing in on Iris (despite the HUNDREDS of other people taking photos and videos) and forcing her to stop recording:



Because of Our Nemesis, we are not able to bring you video of the chilling ode to school shooting, "Strength Through Music," the rousing "Guitar Hero," the playful lip-synching to Rihannna's "Umbrella," or the climactic, infectious closer, "Leeds United, complete with horn section.

Amanda was available to sign merch after the show, but we eschewed the long lines and made our way backstage to get our coats, signed posters, crock pot, etc. During the whole show, I had been brooding about the culinary disappointment of the evening...that I couldn't even get my damn soup sufficiently reheated. But then! Like a Christmas miracle, when we stepped backstage, we could smell the delicious, comforting aroma of my soup in all its glory. The crock pot had finally brought the soup to its optium temperature, and I started getting all kinds of compliments! Kat from The Danger Ensemble enjoyed a bowl, and the horn section were *particular* fans. I felt so vindicated and overjoyed, I can't even tell you. I hope that Amanda and the gang got to enjoy the leftovers as well as heat up the tacos in their microwave on the bus because seriously, those are some upscale veggie tacos...made with tawny port!





One of the horn players kindly provided some video testimonial with regard to the awesomeness of my soup (of which he consumed multiple bowls), but unfortunately, he uses my real name in the video, so it's not going up here. But trust, people...it was a success!

Iris and I left the Metro that night absolutely thrilled. We had had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to cook for one of our favorite musicians, hang out backstage, and then see a kickass show that we'll always remember. So when the Amanda Palmer Experience rolls into your town, I can of course, recommend it, and I'd like to add that it's well worth it to bust out your wok, Cuisinart, baking pans, crock pot, what have you, to feed her as well.