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player ready...Reports from Sunday, day four at Lollapalooza in Grant Park, from Greg Kot (GK), Bob Gendron (BG), Kevin Williams (KM) and Tracy Swartz (TS):
Breaking news: Promoters C3 Presents confirm that Lolla will remain a four-day festival in 2017.
12:25 p.m.: Smino has a dreaded opening slot on the festival’s final day, with an expectation that fewer people than normal will show up as they nurse exhaustion, hangovers and other Lolla maladies. But the Chicago-via-St. Louis artist brings a full band plus dancers, and it pays off in a whirlwind set that touches all the bases of his multi-faceted music. He raps, he sings, and the grooves map Caribbean breeziness, Southern trap, ’70s soul and R&B, and gospel. He doesn’t treat this set like an after thought, he’s out to convert hearts and minds, and it appears to be working. (GK)
12:55 p.m.: It’s Sunday, and chances are if you attended the festival, you didn’t go to church this morning. Don’t worry, Sir the Baptist (William James Stokes) has got your back. “You ready to go to church! You ready to get baptized!” The artist isn’t being ironic or metaphorical. He brings the church to the stage. He stages a funeral — his own — and sits and stands on a church pew, while a keyboardist churns through gospel chords. About that casket — Stokes (who grew up in the Bronzeville neighborhood but now lives in Los Angeles) doesn’t mince words or waste time in confronting the violence that has become everyday life in many city neighborhoods. “Would you care if it was me?” he asks, peering from inside the casket, which has been carried on stage by his accomplices. “We gotta wake up,” he demands, and turns the phrase into an extended vamp that includes white-suited gospel singer Donald Lawrence. The set closes with a fierce, hand-clapping take on “Raise Hell,” which is part celebration, part protest song. Stokes plays the preacher as much as the entertainer, and in his overt testifying, unites the pop currency of hip-hop and R&B to the gospel music that underpinned the civil rights movement of the ’60s. (GK)
12:57 p.m.: Lapsley opens with a song in which she describes trying to save a possibly suicidal boy. The classically trained English singer’s tunes don’t really get any happier from there until she launches into the midtempo “Operator” midway through the set, and even it pertains to disappointment and heartbreak–a lover that doesn’t call her. The melancholy moods suit her voice, steeped in contemplation and seriousness. Shrouded with spare electropop foundations and shaded with fluid bass lines, the music favors minimalism and the slow burn. She and her backing band’s all-black outfits seem natural given the setting. It’s difficult to avoid the Adele comparison, yet Lapsley takes her hushed songs along more adventurous biways and places a higher premium on atmosphere and color. A cover of Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work” indicates where her artistic predispositions lie. She also deserves props for preparation and focus. Stationary, and weighed down by foreboding and sadness, Lapsley sings as if she’s standing on a precipice and staring out over a vast landscape. Immune to everything around her, the vocalist projects a quiet intensity that should make anyone think twice before crossing her. (BG)
1:25 p.m.: Drones are not the only large contraband items that have made it over the Lollapalooza fences. This reporter has spotted about half a dozen inflatable loungers around Grant Park. A Lollapalooza spokeswoman said chairs and furniture have always been prohibited. Organizers took the extra step this year of adding “inflatable furniture” to its prohibited items list, which also includes “chairs of any kind.” There are a few seating areas on festival grounds, including at the wine lounge and beer garden. There is also a larger pink structure that spells “hi” near the Perry’s stage that has been used for seating. (TS)
1:50 p.m.: Rap Day continued at Pepsi with D.R.A.M., the Atlanta rapper born Shelley Massenburg-Smith. Whenever you read about him, Massenburg-Smith cites a diverse range of sonic influences. But on this day, his set was drab party rap, big beats and party bangers. It drew huge crowds to Pepsi because of the type of rap it was: typical, mostly flow-free rap that straddles that.line between singing and rapping, but doing neither effectively. Dude can’t carry a tune in a dump truck. “Cute” was typical of this set, which again raises the spectre of live hip-hop, and its suitability as a live performance art. It needs to be more that a dude onstage, yelling commands and singing song snippets. The young, white, suburban Lolla crowd loves this kind of dross, but on the same stage, right after Smino and Sir the Baptist, some dude screaming about pot and sex to dull beats and rudimentary keyboard fills just wasn’t cutting it. As with a DJ, just send a thumb drive, and fire up the hologram. (KM)
1:51 p.m.: Oh Wonder? Try Oh Whatever. The British group’s keyboard-doused, bedroom-brewed pop is so cloyingly sweet, it threatens to give anyone within earshot a cavity. This wouldn’t be out place on one of the popular Rockabye Baby series of discs in which mainstream artists’ music gets watered-down and recast as lullabies for infants. Josephine Vander Gucht’s chirpy warble and giddy flying-airplane poses do the presentation no favors. Factor in cringe-inducing rhyming and mawkish sentiments on the level of a Bon Jovi ballad, and Oh Wonder verges on the border of twee — and cherishes all the cuteness for which the style is known. “Dazzle me, dazzle me” Vander Gucht and Anthony West sing, failing to consider their own message. Oh Wonder also plays the hackneyed “we didn’t think anyone would be here” card. Way to set the bar high for yourself, Oh Wonder. (BG)
2:15 p.m.: The city reported three people were arrested and seven citations were issued on Saturday, the third day of Lollapalooza. Fifty-six festivalgoers were sent to area hospitals, which is down from Thursday (84 festivalgoers) and Friday (79 festivalgoers). There have been 12 arrests and 12 citations issued in the first three days of the festival, according to the Office of Emergency Management and Communications. The office also reported 219 people were sent to area hospitals Thursday through Saturday. Hospital spokespeople who talked to the Tribune said the festivalgoers who were treated at their medical centers mostly suffered from alcohol-related ailments. The city reported 34 arrests, 61 citations and 238 medical transports during last year’s three-day festival. (TS)
2:41 p.m.: The booking of Lindsey Stirling at dance-music-heavy Perry’s seems like a stretch, but the acrobatic violinist makes good use of the Starship Enterprise-like stage. One of a handful of outliers at the festival (Chris Stapleton represents country, Ghost comes from the metal camp), Stirling flirts with neo-classical and world music voicings. But get past the impressive showmanship, and her instrumentals feel as light and insubstantial as Yanni’s. (GK)
3:07 p.m.: FIDLAR manages to cover the entire spectrum of every major drug that can be smoked, shot, snorted or sucked down within the first 20 minutes of its set. The Los Angeles quartet also screams the praises of legal substances such as cigarettes and beer. Irreverent, unashamed and sloppy, the band worships at the altar of indulgences. Its members look as if they’ve been wearing the same outfits for a week and rolled out of bed just before showtime. Day jobs, obeying social rules and growing up are anthema to FIDLAR, an acronym for a saying in line with its surf-punk mentality. Songs race on by with their pedal down and a slacker destination on a collision course with reality. “Drone,” “Max Can’t Surf” and the aptly titled “Stoked and Broke” belong serenading party-obsessed inhabitants of crash pads and frat houses. Singer/guitarist Zac Carper delivers the sonic tantrums in a full-throated yelp unconcerned with imperfection or scratchiness. “Just four idiots with three chords and a bunch of weed,” says Carper, describing the band’s garage origins before playfully telling off his father, who likely told him he’d never amount to much. FIDLAR is all fun and games, a reprise of what American punk acts such as Fear, Circle Jerks and T.S.O.L. explored decades ago. The exception? “No Waves.” On the surface, the paranoid screed about jonesing for vices appears harmless. But when Carper’s history of heroin addiction and recent sobriety are considered, the song takes on all-too-real autobiographical meaning. (BG)
3:44 p.m.: Singer Olly Alexander has clearly learned a thing or two from his other profession, acting. The Years & Years frontman seizes every opportunity to make the girls watching him shriek with delight. He’s in hearthrob mode. Point out the puddle of sweat he left on a piano bench? Check. Preen and posture as if preparing to auditon for a melodramatic role in “Hunger Games.” Done. Call attention to the heat and step down from the stage to get sprayed with water by security? Completed. A wispy vocalist clearly trying to ape Sam Smith, Alexander qualifies as passable for the 80s-inspired electropop in which he trades. His falsetto drops out on multiple occasions, and he relies on two backup singers as a safety net. Years & Years’ club-going songs also hurt for variation, but akin to everything else onstage save Alexander, they’re at best and incidental at worst. Does aural substance count at a fashion show? Vogue on, sir. (BG)
4:47 p.m.: “I was terrified,” Halsey says of her first appearance at Lollapalooza last year. She doesn’t look scared now as she confidently struts across the big stage at the south end of Hutchinson Field and sings in a voice robust enough to suggest she just might own the place one day. More than a few passersby remark about her striking resemblance to Justin Bieber — is she the Biebs’ sister in another life? No, and her stage demeanor also lacks the Biebs’ oily seductiveness. She projects anger and restlessness in songs that feel a little simplistic, most egregiously her 2015 hit “New Americana,” but connect to her young fans, who sing her lyrics as if they’re tattoed on their forearms. When Halsey pauses briefly to say that she feels “stupid” singing her songs in pink shorts because there’s “a lot going on in the world,” her fans look confused. I saw a similar reaction from many attending last night’s Vic Mensa set, when the Chicago rapper eschewed party rap for more politically pointed fare. Festivals aren’t the best place in the world to get serious about world affairs, but as Halsey suggests, it’s also misguided to think it’s imperative to just shut out the turmoil for fear of bursting someone’s party bubble. (GK)
5:09 p.m.: A drone sitting on the field attracts a bevy of curiosity seekers as Local Natives premiere a new song, “Villainy,” in the distance. The Los Angeles band is lucky more people don’t notice it. Local Natives epitomize a popular strain of contemporary indie rock. Pensive songs bow to an electicism keen on intricate arrangements, open architecture and orchestral complexity. Keyboards, in fashion today as much as they were in the 80s, prominently figure and often serve as guides. Taylor Rice and Kelcey Ayer trade off lead vocals, each enamored with sun-kissed croons. Sincere harmonies and gentle polyrhythms permit Local Natives’ fare to build and contract without requiring euphoric crescendos or urgent flourishes. It’s all very delicate, and nice, yet the art-school preciousness could stand some streetwise edge. By preventing rock motifs a greater say in the elaborately constructed tunes, the band puts attention spans at risk — particularly when something more compelling, like a drone, happens to be in the area. (BG)
5:52 p.m.: Mothers vocalist Kristine Leschper doesn’t hide behind any veneer. Her damaged emotions pour out with every line she sings, and the words sting. Cupability, blame and insecurity weigh heavily on her mind. Vulnerability reigns. “I don’t like myself when I’m awake;” “You circle once and lay down like a dog;” “You won’t see me, you won’t see me walk away;” “I felt alive for a little while/But when I died I had the time to notice.” Leschper treats each song as a painful but necessary act of catharsis, cleansing her conscience of nightmarish memories and tortured breakups. Until they return the next morning. Mothers’ angularity and collapsing folk-rock passages match the oddness of Leschper’s deliveries. She pushes her reedy nasal timbre to the extreme, shaping as much as enunciating. It’s a potentially polarizing approach, yet the quivering vibrato and biting cries suit the material. Guitars sound like piano strings being crudely struck by long fingernails; drums tremble and dissolve. It’s enough to make one thankful for healthy romantic relationships–and frightened for what can occur once they go south. (BG)
5:55 p.m.: “I’ve been looking for the conqueror, but you just don’t seem to come my way,” sings Aurora Aksnes. Actually “sings” isn’t quite correct. The Norwegian artist shouts as if calling for a Viking invasion from a Nordic mountain top. The singer’s energetic dancing punctuates a set that places a premium on big gestures, at the expense of anything resembling nuance. A festival crowd doesn’t usually have much patience for subtlety, and Aksnes doesn’t test them. Her range is grand and showy, and each song becomes a would-be anthem, a formula that becomes exhausting after 45 minutes. Aksnes’ enthusiasm for her job translates well, right down to her charming stage banter in broken English. Now she just needs to find a few vocal approaches below the “over the top” setting. (GK)
6:39 p.m.: Vic Mensa continues his headline-making run and jumps onstage to rap “Lose It” as Flume dials in the beats atop his deejay throne. Flume, credited with popular remixes of Lorde and Sam Smith hits, turned in one of this year’s buzzed-about headphone albums. Now, the Australian producer faces the challenge of translating music preferably experienced through a personal medium to the masses. Alas, failing to take the lead of a Major Lazer or Deadmau5, Flume neglects to stage a show. Apart from Mensa’s slot, and a subsequent guest appearance from Vince Staples, the visuals amount to a dude pushing buttons, twisting knobs, programming sequences and bobbing his head. At least Flume understands what most Perry’s artists fail to grasp: Variation in tempo, texture, construction and mood. And the importance of melody. This isn’t just mindless bang, throb and thump. He stitches together house, pop, electronic and soul threads, altering the ebb and flow while manipulating vocal fragments into soundscapes that run the gamut from skittish to aggressive. Still, sans guests, Flume hasn’t any answers for vocal-driven tracks such as “Never Be Like You.” Here, it’s just a prerecorded song aired on a loud system. Flume’s flashy sonics and hybrid bleep-blipping amalgamations translate in any language, but it’s one best spoken–and appreciated–through headphones. (BG)
6:45: Oh, dear me. Haim is this absurd, irresistible power-pop juggernaut. It’s all perfect. No. Perfect. Hair, guitars, posturing — this band exudes a flawlessness that conquers all. But not in that Taylor Swift way, rather like the smart kid at school who has it all figured out. They even told the story of coming to Lollapalooza in 2007, vowing to go on tour and now … the big stage, down at Bud Light. “Honey and I” was introduced with a shout out for all the single people, followed by that Haim staple, a bouncy power-pop ditty. It even featured a muted guitar solo, which is next to impossible to pull off, much less getting people to come along for the ride. A cover of “I Would Die 4 U” by Prince was note perfect, both in length and reverence. No vamping, no messing about. The only crank-inducing moment came when they introduced new material, saying “Mind if we play some new stuff?” JUST PLAY IT! It’s not like they aren’t going to, right? The first new song, “Give Me Just A Little of Your Love,” was classic Haim, which admittedly made me think, “You’ve been in the studio a year for THIS?!” It was another fine, note-perfect Haim number. “It’s time to get some s— off our chest.” Then came the lyric, “Honey, I’m not your honey pie,” delivered with a mouthful of nails. Thing about Haim, is the group is like a jazz singer who knows her exact range. Every song is tailored for that range, with occasional deviations, just to let fans know that an effort is being made. These women can play, but nobody will call any of them virtuosos. That ain’t the point. The point is pop music effectiveness. Set pacing was flawless as can be, mixing new songs in a quantity that made the throngs feel a part of something almost conspiratorial. “Nothing’s Wrong,” another new track, had a wee bit of country twang is the guitar intro, as well as the solo, which was, of course, the perfect length. And that country inflection. Crossover? Nope. No way. A juggernaut doesn’t need to worry about crossing over. It already rules everything that it sees. The thing about pop perfection is that you.don’t really have to like it, but you can’t resist it. That’s Haim, and it was brilliant. Pretty much all you need to know about this set is there was a shot of the audience, featuring a teen girl, a woman and a young man. They all had the same look on their faces as they sang along. It was that kind of party. (KM)
7:47 p.m.: After a masterful debut album like “Summertime ’06” last year, Vince Staples would appear primed to pull off a Kendrick Lamar-style band show to showcase its musical richness. But it’s just Staples and a DJ. Nonetheless, he’s a master MC and it’s fascinating to watch the way he takes a track like “Hands Up” and teases it as a hip-hop trope — the old “Put your hands in the air and wave ’em around like you just don’t care” gambit — but underplays it, to the point where it becomes a warning. For those not paying attention, it’s actually a track about police harassment, a theme that underlines the evening’s rather dire subject matter. He doesn’t celebrate his street life as a wayward teen, but magnifies it and spins one cautionary tale after another. “One more pill, I might overdose,” he raps. “You’re so damn high I see a ghost.” In “Fire,” the hopelessness, the meaninglessness of a life lived amid poverty, gangs and drugs threatens to consume him. Staples’ deftness as an MC keeps things from tipping over into morbidity, even as the honesty in his lyrics becomes almost too much to bear. (GK)
7:53 p.m.: Striving to emerge from the dreaded “where are they now?” dustbin, Bloc Party revs up with the helicopter-chop inertia of “Banquet.” For an instant, it’s 2005 and the band owns both sides of the Atlantic with its pivotal “Silent Alarm” debut. Ever since, the British group has struggled with its identity. Such uneveness litters this performance. Vocalist Kele Okerke and company sound formidable when they play as if being chased by a pack of wild dogs, running to stay one step ahead with galloping songs laced with jagged riffs, wailing noises and skittering commotion. The swift “Positive Tension” evokes the wiry tangle of an urban jungle, and forces Okerke into a reactionary stance. Bloc Party goes astray when pursuing slower, spiritual options. Okerke wilts as a soul crooner. “Only He Can Heal Me” never finds its footing. Bloc Party’s retooled lineup may owe to the bumpiness. New drummer Louise Bartle looks overwhelmed. Her timing is off, and she remains behind instead of in front or in stride with her mates. Chunky rhythms seldom makes for a desirable sonic quality, but Bloc Party is saddled with them here. (BG)
9:25 p.m.: So this is how the 25th anniversary of Lollapalooza ends on a main stage: A mainstream pop star delighting in mixing board-assisted vocal boosts, glitzy spectacle and slick electro-groove soundscapes. Fitting, perhaps, given the festival’s transition away from an event at which blockbuster types such as Ellie Goulding were shunned and into a gathering where brand, style and commercial appeal are first priority. Goulding’s closing slot confirms the transformation is complete and Lollapalooza’s roots vanquished. Dressed in a combination dress-cape, the 29-year-old British singer parades about the stage as if she was just handed a diva crown and wants everybody to see. Her high-chirp warble squeaks, her fizzy trills lack power, her falsetto exposes threadbare depth, her emotions yearn for personality. Leon Bridges’ backup vocalist, Brittni Jessie, displayed far superior pipes at his set yesterday. Goulding’s turn at guitar on the sacharine “Devotion” feels as token as the lyrics. No matter. Glossy hits (“Something in the Way You Move,” “Aftertaste,” “Outside,” “On My Mind”), heart-string-pulling banter and overstated hand-over-heart drama fall down like rain. Generic? Liberally so. Mired in mediocrity? Let’s just say Beyonce, Rhianna, Adele and company have nothing to worry about. The difference? Goulding comes equipped with a high swoon factor and a breezy, whistled tune whose carefree title (“Keep on Dancin'”) might as well serve as Lollapalooza’s new theme. (BG)
9:30 p.m.: LCD Soundsystem played a farewell show in New York City in 2011, but in rockspeak, “farewell” really means “catch you later.” The reunited band closes out four days of Lollapalooza with a set not at all dissimilar from the ones they performed five years ago, though no one appears to be complaining. The throng that gathers in Hutchinson Field rivals the massive audience the Red Hot Chili Peppers drew the night before. James Murphy leads his bandmates through a set that jumps from one high point to the next: the patented groove-trance of “Us V Them,” the vintage New Order flashbacks of “Tribulations,” the speeding subway train that is “Yeah,” the moving “Someone Great.” As Murphy sings “Losing My Edge,” it’s clear that LCD’s is still sharp. Bring on the new album. (GK)
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