Festival overload

Glam pop fops, weird rock chicks, whiny indie
kids, old cranks, sad Scots and grotesque
clowns play Chicago’s Lollapalooza

FROM THE GUTTER TO THE STARS: Jane’s Addiction singer/
Lollapalooza founder Perry Farrell and Of Montreal’s Kevin Barnes

by LORRAINE CARPENTER

I have a permanent bruise on the spot I’ve been kicking since 1994 for not attending Lollapalooza the one and only summer the then-touring extravaganza came to Montreal. Among the great acts in ’94 was the Beastie Boys, who were also meant to play this year’s edition, a sedentary affair in Chicago’s beautiful Grant Park since 2006. As was the case at Osheaga, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs filled in for the Beasties, and in tribute to cancer-afflicted Adam Yauch, guitarist Nick Zinner laid on that guitar riff from “So Whatcha Want?” The wild attire and rock-chick antics of Karen O stole the show; less predictably, she flubbed the lyrics to “Maps,” but quickly recovered with a storming rendition of “Date With a Night.”

With its awesome line-up, array of affordable food and reasonable facilities for a crowd of 80,000, Lollapalooza may be the king of North American outdoor music festivals. Too bad “the king of beers” was the only brew going. On Friday night, face-painted teenage patrons of Athens pop surrealists Of Montreal smoked weed and dropped acid instead, but the band’s fairy-tale wardrobe, hyper-saturated animation and performers in animal and mock-Christian costumes were hallucinogenic enough for me. They complemented their giddy glam and nympho funk with a cover of Bowie’s “Moonage Daydream,” possibly busting my fangirl meter forever. Rounding out day one was Depeche Mode, whose singer Dave Gahan is in the same boat as the Beasties’ Yauch but appears fit as ever. I was hoping for more mid-’80s material, but their early-’90s hits, solid new songs and spectacular showmanship were airtight.

British indie upstarts Los Campesinos! kick-started day two with their chamber pop heart and witty, whiny punk head, but the highlight of the afternoon was Scotland’s Glasvegas, clad in black to match the heavy melancholy of their post-punk doo wop. Even without the red-lit, smoky, sing-along ambiance of last spring’s la Tulipe gig, and despite singer (and Joe Strummer look-alike) James Allan being a bit full of himself, it was a memorable set.

On Sunday, Denmark’s Raveonettes previewed promising new songs and showed that they share Glasvegas’s crush on the Jesus and Mary Chain, with their sad anthems, guitar squalls and standing drummers pounding on a half-kit. Chicago native Neko Case charmed us with a perfect career-spanning set, in contrast to a cantankerous Lou Reed, who bored casual fans with drawn-out jams on recent material. But he did play a pair of Velvet Underground classics, a pair of solo hits and a noise piece evoking his Metal Machine Music album, so he can be forgiven for being a miserable crank.

I should’ve ended my weekend with Deadmau5, but chose the Jane’s Addiction reunion instead. After all, Perry Farrell is the festival’s founder and chief—the first ever Lollapalooza in 1991 was the band’s farewell tour. But, not unlike guitarist Dave Navarro, the man is laughably grotesque, a barf-bag of absurd moves and poses, swishy space cadet speak and, as revealed in a monologue smack in the middle of “Been Caught Stealing,” shockingly misogynist to boot. Great festival, Farrell, but STFU.