Let me start by apologizing for my recent lack of updates. Let me further apologize to anyone who I've unwittingly convinced to enjoy or otherwise look forward to posts on this blog. This was not my intention. As a result of having a job I no longer despise, I've found myself working longer hours and often in good enough spirits to actually leave my apartment and interact with the outside world. Also, I bought Rock Band for my Wii. . .
At any rate, I spent this past weekend in Chicago, hanging out with my sister and enjoying some of the best, greasiest food this country has to offer. While I was there I caught a Cubs game that was delayed by thunder storms and a tornado warning, and, more importantly, I spent three days watching the world's greatest mainstream-alternative rock acts find new and innovative ways of selling out. . .
3:00
3:20 - The Kills
We instead decided to see the Kills, which was probably a mistake (and if I was paying closer attention to the schedule we totally would have gone to the kids stage to see Tiny Masters of Today). The Kills are, of course, a solid band, and I might even have a slight crush on Alison Mosshart, but they are not band that looks good in direct sunlight. They are a band whose entire existence is dependent on their seeming cool (in this case, literally). So when I can see sweat dripping onto the scarf that Jamie Hince in inexplicably wearing in the 90-degree Chicago heat from 40 feet back, the facade is ruined and I have to actually start paying attention to the music, which doesn't have near enough energy to sustain the festival-sized crowd they're playing to, nor is it earnest enough for me not to feel ridiculous that I'm standing behind third base of what is normally used as a baseball diamond. Luckily, they ended a few minutes early to beat a hasty retreat to the chic Soho loft from whence they came, giving us some time to get a spot for Gogol Bordello.
4:15 - Gogol Bordello
At first listen, Gogol Bordello seems like some sort of bad joke, as if Yakov Smirnoff had reinvented himself as the lead singer of a hardcore band. But as you keep listening, you realize that the singer's broken English and dropped articles are 100% serious, and his handlebar mustache is 100% awesome. It would probably be a gross over-simplification to say that they're a gypsy punk band in the way Flogging Molly is an Irish folk-punk band, but it's probably the best comparison I can come up with. And true to their gypsy heritage, they are a band without nationality. With a Ukrainian singer, two homeless Russian guys playing violin and accordian, an Ecuadoran percussionist/rapper, two half-Asian cheerleaders, and a giant Ethiopian bass player holding the ensemble together, the band is indeed a multi-cultural cluster-fuck of the highest order. If Joe Strumer were still alive, he'd probably throw away all his old records and listen to them exclusively. Needless to say, these guys are extremely entertaining and also a bit obnoxious. For the finale of the show the lead singer threw a metal bucket over his mic stand and played a drum solo on it that drove the crowd nuts. That's showmanship. . .
5:15
We probably would have tried to go to the neighboring stage to see Mates of State at this point, though it was becoming clear that we would have to fortify our position here if we wanted to have even a halfway decent spot for Radiohead. So we killed an hour, and luckily the next band was someone we wanted to see.
6:15 - Bloc Party
I tend to agree with Noel Gallagher's argument that Bloc Party is just a pretentious college band that becomes less and less appealing the farther removed you are from any sort of academic institution, or as Noel puts it, "indie shit." But they do have at least a couple of songs that make me wish I was in an warehouse club in Manchester popping ecstasy tablets like tic tacs, and I have to admit that I was pretty impressed that they don't use drum machines at all for their show (though I'm not ruling out the possibility that Matt Tong is a robot). Also when they started playing "Hellicopter" it was funny seeing all the frat guys, who had clearly played the song dozens of times on Guitar Hero, light up as they watched Kele Okereke's play it for real.
7:15
In preparation for Radiohead, and in order to kill an hour, we sent Joe out to get some wine. Our anticipation grew as stagehands began deploying Radiohead's massive lighting array and Claire, Joe, and I collectively downed two bottles of the Blackstone Winery's most mediocre riesling and pinot grigio out of plastic jugs.
8:15 - Radiohead
I've seen Radiohead once before. It was at Red Rocks in Denver, where the band ditched their entire stage set in favor of the natural ambiance of the amphitheater, and it was possibly the greatest show I've ever seen. This time around, they went completely overboard with their lighting and video setup, and, with a little help from the Bears training camp, who were setting off fireworks behind the stage, blew my mind all across the grounds of Grant Park.
For all their slow droning and odd rhythms it's easy to forget how much Radiohead just fucking rocks. I remember watching Radiohead's tour documentary Meeting People Is Easy, in which Thom Yorke spends about an hour whining about how depressed and lonely America makes him feel, and wanting nothing more than to smack him upside the head and tell him to man up. So it was refreshing to see the band quit with all the politics and melodrama and just have a good time. It made my 8th grade self happy that Radiohead has somehow become the most important rock band in the world (even if the signicance of that title has been somewhat diminished over the last decade), though it made me feel totally old when I looked around and saw the crowd of college kids singing along to all of the In Rainbows songs and then looking dumbfounded when the band kicked into anything off The Bends or OK Computer.
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