Pitchfork

Photos by Kirstie Shanley and Joseph Mohan; Above: Lupe Fiasco by Joseph Mohan

Welcome to our coverage of Lollapalooza 2008, which will continue through the weekend and conclude Monday. Check back for reports from Joshua Klein, Amy Phillips, Scott Plagenhoef, and Matthew Solarski.

For Joshua Klein's coverage, click here: Friday
For Amy Phillips' coverage, click here: Friday
For Scott Plagenhoef's coverage, click here: Friday
For Matthew Solarski's coverage, click here: Friday, Saturday

Foals [2:15 p.m.]

Photo by Kirstie Shanley

Foals guitarist Jimmy Smith is a braver man than most, breaking an unspoken rule of performance by hitting the stage in...brightly colored shorts. But, hey, it's his birthday, and he and the rest of Foals recognized that no matter what they were wearing, their set was one of the day's best early bets. Foals have been branded math-rock, but it's tough to dance to odd time signatures. Rather, the group proffered agitated, stuttering dance-rock with singer Yannis Philippakis' yelp leading the charge. The rhythms may have been largely four to the floor, but the synths and guitars were following their own unpredictable path around and through the propulsive grooves. The results were a meeting ground between the cerebral Battles and more strident crowd-pleasers such as Bloc Party, a hybrid that drew a respectable crowd to one of the side stages.

DeVotchKa [3:30 p.m.]

Photo by Kirstie Shanley

When DeVotchKa plays Chicago, the group generally performs for a few hundred people. At Lollapalooza, they were playing to a few thousand. Were they all already fans? Merely curious? From the looks of it, the latter category quickly joined the former as the Denver band played its genial mix of Eastern European folk and indie rock.

While hitting the same scattershot touchstones as Gogol Bordello (among seemingly dozens of contemporary Roma-infused rock acts), DeVotchKa were a mellower proposition, albeit no less eccentric. If anything, the group recalled the globetrotting pop leanings of pioneers Camper Van Beethoven, minus the laughs. Traditionalists might not have been impressed, but it's hard to dislike any act that makes room for theremin solos and Mariachi detours, not to mention singer Nick Urata playing the bouzouki like a gypsy Dick Dale.

Lupe Fiasco [6:30 p.m.]

Photo by Joseph Mohan

Before hitting the stage, a brief Lupe Fiasco Lollapalooza timeline was offered as a sort of reminder of the rapper's relativey quick ascent. He'd appeared two years ago as a guest onstage with Kanye West. He got his own stage last year. And this year, Lupe Fiasco was bumped up to the prime south stage pre-Rage Against the Machine position. Aware of expectations, he stepped up, too. Wearing a white suit with silver shoes, Lupe brought along horns, a full band, even a gospel choir. Not just one of the Chicago's favorite sons, Lupe was representing for all of hip-hop, which is still often stigmatized as stiffing live despite any number of acts that, night after night, prove detractors wrong.

Even then, Lupe was something else. Opening with "Kick, Push" and quickly continuing with "Go Go Gadget Flow", he was on fire, setting the bar high for mentor West the next night. "Why don't you sing it like it won a Grammy!" Lupe demanded in the middle of "Daydreamin". "Cause that's what it did!" By the end of the set, Lupe was totally wiped out and the growing crowd amped, with empty bottles arcing through the air like people were loosening up and practicing their aim for the main event.

Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings [7:30 p.m.]

Photo by Kirstie Shanley

Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings redefine the word "tight." The band is old-school tight. "On the one" tight. Tight like the days when you did it right or you didn't do it at all. Coming straight after Jamie Lidell's soul-stirring, mind-blowing, body-moving set down the park, Jones and band were one of the Lollapalooza's bright spots. For this hour it wasn't just another festival. It was "The T.A.M.I. Show." It was "Wattstax." It was "Monterey Pop."

There was no "neo" about it-- this was soul music, straight-up, exuberant, unifying, and unyielding in its classiness in the face of crass commercialism. A huge hunk of the credit went to those Dap-Kings, who showed what they can do with a real singer once freed from the deadening commitment to perpetual anchor/collision-course Amy Winehouse. But Jones herself (a former corrections officer) was key to the experience, not just as a singer but as a powerhouse of charm, who could challenge Tina Turner to a strut-off in stilettos and get away with it, too.

Rage Against the Machine [8:30 p.m.]

Rage Against the Machine probably weren't spoiling for a fight, but surely it must have been in the back of their mind. Grant Park, site of the 1968 riots, and in an election year, no less? Bring it on!

The band brought it, of course, along with all the repercussions that "it" generally entails. With its inchoate counter-everything message in full effect and the band's music as relentlessly intense as ever, the crowd went apeshit, with predictable results. Rage Against the Machine are an outlet, and its fans were all too ready to stick their finger in the socket. With great power comes great responsibility, so credit to the band for realizing when the switch needed to be flipped off.

"Brothers and sisters!" pleaded Zack de la Rocha, stopping the show just three songs in as the fans surged forward precariously. "Take care of each other! Please take five, 10 steps back. Save that shit for the streets!" The music eventually resumed, only to stop once again a short while later. "Please, this is serious!" implored the singer. "Take 10 steps back! People are getting hurt!" Backstage a triage unit was indeed treating a steady stream of injured fans, some crushed or trampled, others bruised and battered. A rumor spread that two fans had actually been stabbed, and the Chicago Sun-Times reported that fans outside Grant Park tried to storm one of the security gates before the police swooped in on horseback.

The second time the show stopped, de la Rocha raised the prospect of cutting the show short altogether. "We want to be able to play every song on our list," he pleaded, before stating that things couldn't continue as they were. A concerned Perry Ferrell fretted backstage. A security guard addressed the crowd. If we have to end this early, de la Rocha stressed, "it will be nobody's fault." No doubt he was laying the groundwork for a possible clean getaway, but from his perch on stage he obviously understood that cutting and running would be a disaster.

Fortunately the fans slowly but surely heeded his instructions and the show went on, stopping briefly only once more after "Guerilla Radio" stirred the pot anew. By then, however, the show had settled into some semblance of order, with tens of thousands of white fists (apparently, the revolution will not be colorized) raised and pumping in unison, once again underscoring the unfortunate, frustrating limitations of Rage Against the Machine's aggro approach to protest. However admirable or ambitious the band's intent, the medium still brings out the lowest common denominator, and in the end manufacturing dissent and adrenaline in one fell swoop proves as self-defeating as it is thrilling.