Insert The Walkmen, Ana Sia, Peanut Butter Wolf and weird Devo hats and hazmat jumpsuits here.
Matt and Kim kicking ass at the Adidas stage Friday afternoon
Jamie Lidell, who I saw more than once this weekend, since we were conveniently staying at the same hotel, was an artist to not be missed. That is, if you like funk, soul, electronica and British accents. I am not familiar with Jamie's new cd, so a lot of the songs were foreign to me, but that didn't stop the enjoyment of the smooth, genuine notes. 'A little bit more,' a killer song from his second album is performed with only the beats from his mouth, mic and a looping machine, and "Little bit of feel good" were all I needed to hear to feel good about this show. The crowd was feeling it too, boppin' along to the rhythm, as Jamie Lidell and the Sony Bloggie stage produced one groovin' performance.
Then utter disaster and disappointment struck. In the form of a bloody fame monster. And, no, that isn't my wannabe British accent carrying over. Not even mid-way through the performance, this little monster came on stage covered in blood, or faux blood, either way, shut the front door Lady Gaga.
Seriously, the best thing about Gaga's set was the cute little boy next to us unconditionally loving Lady Gaga and unknowingly singing along. I don't know, was I expecting too much? Lady Gaga basically has that 'everything I touch turns to gold' thing down so I guess I figured she would own Friday night. She capsized like Bennifer after Affleck proposed to J-Lo with a pink diamond. Here's why: instead of singing her hits (I admit to increasing the volume to unreasonable decibel levels when hearing 'Just dance' come on the radio) the "Lady" theatrically and angrily preached, shouted, and praised her own awesomeness all while repeatedly panting into the microphone. I'm all about self confidence, but when screamed rashly it teeters on still needing therapy. Who cares that people were mean to you in high school? People were mean to me in high school too, but I'm not going to repeatedly reference my awkward high school career in relation to my global superstardom (when I obtain it, ha!). Lollapalooza is not the venue for raving ridiculous antics; it's a music show. “No one fucking believed in me, but we did it. And look at all of us nowwwwwwww.” Pant, scream, pant, rave, rant, pant. Shrieking positive messages is an oxy-moron, no? I think the blog Time Out Chicago said it best, "It's hard to look past a woman screaming at a mechanical octopus’ “monster” tentacles, “Don’t rape me, monster!”
We found solace at Perry's stage where the Dewaele brothers aka Soulmax aka 2ManyDJ's were electro-fying the crowd with heavy mash ups. Expensive sunglasses might have been lost but we danced in front of the jumbo-tron thing, and could still see Gaga's lavish fireworks display.
jumbo tron thing--that's Matt waving and I'm to the left taking a picEpic Burger ended the evening on a high note. An epic high note. Perhaps as high as Gaga was during her bloody rendition of Beautiful, dirty rich (or whatever it was she was "singing" during that escapade). A more mindful burger, you say? I will always say yes when the word epic is involved or after a night at Lollapalooza. Can you spot the burger with the egg?
-B.o.b...Matt and Kim...Epic burgers = Epic.
-Lady Gaga = Fail.