ROFLpaloooza: Who Were Those 75,000?

“Do you see that?” my friend Charles asked, pointing at the sunlit pavement shining menacingly as we stood in one the few shaded areas Grant Park has to offer.  “I want to stay out of that.” 

It was about four p.m. on Friday, Aug.1.I had just arrived at Lollapalooza for three days that would pan out very differently from what I initially expected.Sure, there would be a lot of music and sweat and sunlight, but it was the people sweating and cheering and fighting and dancing, peeing in the Porto potties or against the fences next to them, who made this festival memorable.Because once you’ve stood in a puddle of urine courtesy of the girl who didn’t want to leave her Radiohead spot, your focus begins to drift towards the individuals around you and away from the band that brought this massive crowd together.    

Gogol Bordello

Loud, fast gypsy rock, fat mustaches, and an accordion.  These are where my ears and eyes wandered when I crossed Grant Park from the Bud Light Stage to the AT&T Stage for Gogol Bordello.  My first thought was to commend whoever placed this band on day one, as I could think of few other acts that could get people dancing so merrily.  Having so recently attended Pitchfork, I felt compelled to compare the two festivals, and what stood out to me more than the differences in sheer number of people was how much more unrestrained people appeared here.  It wasn’t just that everyone was dancing (and believe me, everyone was dancing); it was that they were dancing poorly and didn’t give a shit.  People hooked arms and swung around in circles, they stood in lines and imitated the Rockettes – basically, every dance move you don’t take seriously (except for the Macarena, even that had no place here).  Sure, there were a lot of people standing in place and nodding their heads, but even they appeared more festive than the normal indie kids (probably because of their tie-die shirts, which, surprisingly, were everywhere).  I was one of the non-dancing minority when I first arrived, but only moments into “Start Wearing Purple” I found myself swaying my hips and chasing my friend in circles.  The good vibes were irresistible.

Mates of State           

A similarly energetic and fun band followed Gogol Bordello at the Citi Stage, a smaller setup nearest to AT&T.  Mates of State, a duo with a thin, male drummer and blonde, sweet-singing female synth player (the epitome of the hipster couple?) offered a sugary follow-up with its own supply of dance music.  There was a similar, though noticeably smaller group of eager fans willing to hop around, most of whom appeared to be in high school and so happy their parents had allowed them to be here.  At least that’s the conclusion I had come to when Charles turned to me and said, “I keep wanting to say ROFLpalooza.  Is that wrong?”

Next my friend and I went to Bloc Party, careful to find a good place we could hold onto for Radiohead at eight.  Between the end of Bloc Party’s set and the end of Radiohead’s, some seventy thousand people gathered behind us.  What surprised us more than the masses around us was the remarkable behavior of the few near us. 

Radiohead

Before Thom Yorke even came onstage, we knew we were in for an unforgettable show.  No, not because of the band, but because the girl next to us just peed in a cup and poured it on the floor, and, shit, that’s urine approaching my feet.  Gross.

As the crowd began to really coalesce, people got close.  Most were tolerant of this, as most expected it to happen.  I was surprised to find that despite how many people were here, I managed to find someone nearby who I hadn’t seen in five years, standing on the outskirts of the baseball diamond closest to the stage.  I made my way over to him with my friend, and when I felt a backpack nudging my back moments later, I began to expect the worst of the drunk guy wearing it on his stomach.

“This is bullshit!” he cried as Radiohead began.  “I have zero space.”

“Dude, take it easy, everyone’s cramped up,” said his friend, who’s name I believe was Travis.

“Travis, we need to do something about this.  This won’t do.”

So this guy behind me begins doing what he thinks is the sensible thing to do in order to make space – hitting me more with his backpack and threatening to elbow everyone around him.

“What are you doing?” my friend asked.

“We all need to elbow everyone,” Backpack Guy explained, “Then we will all have space.”

“Looks like I’m getting elbowed in the face,” my friend declared.

This discussion was interrupted for a brief moment while we all listened to a peak point in a song by, what’s that band called again? Oh right, Radiohead.  Then, I started feeling the bump against my back from Backpack Guy’s backpack.

“Is that bugging you?  I’m pregnant, I’m sorry about that,” he said, nudging me again and again.  “Maybe if you moved up a bit you wouldn’t feel it.”

Then Backpack Guy saw two girls move away in front of me, leaving a small gap that, if I had taken, would have given me a worse view of Thom Yorke’s puppet-like dancing.  “Take that gap!” Backpack Guy told me.  “Take it or I’m going to elbow you!  You have no choice!”

Then, a strange thing happened.  Backpack Guy’s tone changed.  Compassionately, he said, “Hey,” he said, “We’re all in this together.”  Then he pulled out a small pipe.  “If we’re all staying here, then we’re all fucking!  You kids like marijuana?”

Perhaps it was Thom Yorke’s special powers that lulled Backpack Guy into calming down and playing nice.  Seeing the friendly smile that came to his face when he offered us his pot made me think it was something more.  Maybe despite his drunkenness and his highness and his mob mentality he managed to realize that Charles and I were people with feelings and aversions to things like elbows in the face.  I thought about this as I gave Backpack Guy a thumbs up when he asked how we liked his drugs.  Then when he started yelling, “You’re not attractive!” to a girl on some guy’s shoulders blocking our view, I knew there’d be more to this weekend than the awesome fireworks during “Everything In Its Right Place.”

 Stay tuned for brawls at the House of Blues, break-in attempts, the top five ways to ask for drugs, and a cameo appearance by women's undies at NIN. 

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Jacob Nelson
Jacob Nelson is the news and features editor of the Windy Citizen.  He is still trying to figure out exactly what that means.  He recently read Norwegian Wood by Murakami, which he would like to recommend to everyone.  He's also looking forward to his first summer in Chicago, and hopes it's as fun as everyone says. More