by Justin Valmassoi

I’m sure, like myself, at some point during a bout of gourmet cooking you have had to boil vinegar. Perhaps for a reduction? A component of a delicious corn relish for pan-seared sirloin? Just for fun? Whatever the reason, the first time you do it, once it begins simmering properly, the urge to lean in and inhale the aroma is ingrained and irrepressible. A lifetime of sniffing at soups and sauces has trained us to do this. The difference between the timeless, comforting smell of chicken soup and hot vinegar is so vast it can barely be described, the difference between a lengthy kiss from a long-lost lover and being stabbed in the face.

If you take that stinging, cloying assault on the nostrils and add just a tinge of old beer, a sprinkle of marijuana and a soft but pervading fecal undertone, you have the smell of Lollapalooza day three. A couple hundred milling, possibly unwashed people baking in their own juices, a mile of port-a-johns and $8 beer sweat, hot dirt and collective yearning for a Craigslist missed connection smells, inexplicably but decidedly, just like hot vinegar. The scientific community (all friends of mine) has no explanation.

The luxurious shower I took in the opulent Embassy Suites (Embassy SWEETS) was useless after five minutes of wandering around Grant Park. Thankfully, after an hour or so your own body stink mingles with the general miasma and you stop making what I now refer to as “hot vinegar face.” Unfortunately forRa Ra Riot, the first act I happened to catch, most of the crowd had not acclimated themselves to the stench, so they must have looked fairly unreceptive if not downright angry from the stage. Of course, this could also be due to the fact that Ra Ra Riot, a complete misnomer, are neither cheerleaders nor riotous. Their mellow, violin accented indie rock was completely unsuited to a 12:30pm performance on the hottest day of the year.

Amazingly, I took this as a sign I should go to the media tents and drink a Bud Light Lime or two. I know. It’s crazy. I simply wanted to be full of natural citrus goodness when I made my way back into the hell oven crowd to catch the unbelievably pretty and decidedly talented Natasha Khan, aka Bat For Lashes. Taking the stage in a leotard/sparkly top combo, and running the gamut from soft cooing to actual wolf howling, her particular musical style was, much like Ra Ra Riot, inappropriate for mid-afternoon. From the sparse, tinkling bells and steady, booming kettle drums, the stuffed crow and frightening dolls on the keyboard to the band’s general sound and tone, it would have been fantastic at dusk or later, where the stage lights would have done wonders with her sequin-studded getup. I know that stages and times are divvied up according to a band’s relative popularity, and trying to rework it is probably a logistical nightmare, but it does seem remiss on the festival organizers’ part to ignore the type of music being played vs. the time of day/night. Still, the performance itself was excellent, covering a good mixture of material from both Fur and Gold and Two Suns (which is what it felt like we were standing under).

It was after their set my friends and I headed over to the Hard Rock Hotel for some VIP lunching, a bajillion vodka/Red Bulls and oodles of schwag. This is in part because I love the aforementioned items and in part because I did not trust myself not to assassinate Dan Deacon for crimes against music. While eating some delicious and surprisingly healthy foodstuffs and repeatedly trouncing my friend at Connect Four (can’t compete with my hunky scientific brain) we were treated to an in-house and rather intimate performance by New York’s Alberta Cross. Not my cup of tea, but not bad either, and it was nice to see a band perform indoors for a change.

Unfortunately, all good things (relationships, vacations, Arrested Development) must end, so it was back to Lollapalooza for New Pornographer/redheaded menace/sword-wielding chanteuse Neko Case. Utilizing one of the Budweiser stage screens for animated videos rather than band close-ups, she let loose on material from her latest LP (Middle Cyclone) including fan favorite ‘People Got A Lotta Nerve.’ I myself had the nerve to leave before she finished to try getting ahead of the inevitable crowd bustle, forgetting completely that all of Grant Park was solid crowd bustle from eight different directions at once.

It was during this arduous pilgrimage back to the press pits I couldn’t help but notice that America’s teenagers are all dope fiends. For some reason, nobody seemed to think smoking pot in broad daylight, out of a pipe, was in any way a bad idea. Considering what police I did see appeared to be completely oblivious or unconcerned, I guess it wasn’t. Good job, pot smoking youth. Something has to make Vampire Weekend less boring.

It was also during this perilous, sticky, desperately-thirsty-for-natural-lime-flavor trek that Cold War Kids took the Vitamin Water stage, and I’m just going to say it right here and now- I like the Cold War Kids. Those are some good Kids. I think I’ve been doing that curmudgeonly old man thing (I’m 68) where I judge a band by the people who tell me I should like them. No offense, CWK, but you need less annoying fans. Still, as I stood there with my Bud Light Lime and shit eating grin, wiggling a little bit, I realized that not only do I know several Cold War Kids songs, I like all of them. They hit all the crowd pleasers (‘Hang Me Up to Dry,’ ‘We Used to Vacation,’ etc.) and the crowd was massive and responsive. And dancing, or at least doing that thing that white people do where the top half of your body kind of twists or jerks while the other half just kind of shuffles around. There was a lot of that.

The clear champion of the weekend (Constantines aside) was Snoop Dogg. I was going to say “hands down” but every single hand in the south end of the park was up in the air and waving for a solid hour. Tens of thousands of arms moving in unison while the living, pot-fueled enigma (and pornographer, and rapper, and swell dad) performed hit after hit after House Of Pain cover after hit. Unlike many other of the weekend’s acts (I’m looking at you, Decemberists), Snoop seemed to perfectly understand the concept of a festival appearance. You have a couple hundred thousand people wandering around, with every conceivable taste, trying to decide between competing headliners. What will please the most people, and lure folks away from The Deerhunters and The Lou Reeds, is a nonstop barrage of bangers and marijuana jokes. From the very front of the 2016 stage to Buckingham fountain, which is about a half a mile, there wasn’t an inch to wiggle not occupied by a grinning, bouncing fan. It was an ocean of arms and smiles. The entire media area was lined up along our little fence, dancing and drinking and snapping pictures for the entire set. It was fantastic.

Full disclosure here: I was technically supposed to be watching Lou Reed, but I had, at this point, gone completely rogue. A man under the influence of 254 Bud Light Limes and a Snoop Dogg dance party cannot be controlled or contained.

I stayed for Silversun Pickups, whose kind of old school Smashing Pumpkins vibe was certainly not unenjoyable, but it’s hard to get into after you’ve been Snooped. It was kind of a throwback to Lollapaloozas of yesteryear, though, reminiscent of the days when “alternative” was still a genre. Their latest, Swoon, seems beamed directly from 1994, which isn’t as terrible as I just made it sound.

While many in attendance were murmuring about catching The Killers, I was murmuring afterparty, so it was back to the Embassy Sweets for another shower before Hard Rock Hotel round two.

All in all, and weather notwithstanding, I had a much better time than I thought possible, and I am actually looking forward to next year’s festival already. An ocean of thanks to UR, the bands, the stinky fans and the SPIN tent for all that Bud Light Lime. Despite all my initial grumbling, Lollapalooza is well worth your time and cash (except for the $8 beer). See you in 2010.