Pitchfork

Photos by Kirstie Shanley and Joseph Mohan; Above: The National by Kirstie Shanley

Welcome to our coverage of Lollapalooza 2008, which concludes today. Check back for reports from Joshua Klein, Amy Phillips, and Scott Plagenhoef.

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

Brazilian Girls [2:15 p.m.]

Photo by Kirstie Shanley

As Sabina Sciubba strutted on stage in a lacy white getup heavy on the fabric, parasol in hand, hair and makeup done up like Bow Wow Wow's Annabella Lwin, the dusty fields on the south end of Grant Park suddenly felt infused with all sorts of alien and surreal energies. The song was "Strangeboy", and as its otherworldly sounds filled the air I was thinking about punning on genres. Brazilian Girls' brand of polyglot pop isn't world music-- it's otherworld music! Because it's otherworldly! Get it?

:-(

Thankfully the allure of that idea wore off right along with "Strangeboy"'s trance state. Un-thankfully, the Girls' more eccentric and cabaret-esque material began to give way to a stream of their meandering, largely chorus-less offerings, which seemed to lull everyone into a lifeless groove. And then, inevitably, there was silly signature song "Pussy", followed by the requisite gasps and cheers. "Pussy, pussy, pussy"? More like lazy, lazy, lazy.

Black Kids [3:30 p.m.]



Photos by Joseph Mohan

Black Kids, what mixed signals you send us! You call yourselves "kids" and write endearingly precocious pop songs like "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You", then you sing about giving head to statues and implore us to "Listen to your body tonight/ It's gonna treat you right." Your vocalist sounds like Robert Smith on one tune, then Richard Butler on the next. You give away four awesome songs, and now you're trying to sell us six more not so awesome ones.

I guess it's only fitting, then, that this mid-afternoon set was a mixed bag. "Boyfriend" and "Hurricane Jane" provoked ebullient sing- and dance-alongs, and folks were generally receptive, but by the latter third of the set the band was visibly fatigued. Reggie Youngblood can sing, but he often got over-excited and missed the mic slightly, resulting in an uneven vocal sound.

But I do want to take a moment to spotlight keyboardist/backing vocalist Ali Youngblood, whose wide smiles and mischievous big-eyed glances feel genuine and collectively comprise a charm that goes a long way to redeem this band.

Love and Rockets [6:15 p.m.]



Photos by Kirstie Shanley

If there's an audience clamoring for the reemergence of Love and Rockets, that audience wasn't gathered around the Bud Light stage at quarter past six yesterday. Apart from a few scattered bouncers and hand-wavers and swayers, most of the folks in the first couple dozen rows-- many decked out in NIN regalia awaiting the band's headlining set, including at least one gal with the words TRENT REZNOR IS GOD scrawled across her chest and stomach in black marker-- simply stood by and took in this serviceable set with polite indifference while batting a few beach balls about.

Even a personal introduction from Perry Farrell himself-- who declaimed he has been "in love with" Love and Rockets since he was young-- and lively renditions of "It Could Be Sunshine" and "Kundalini Express" failed to really rouse the crowd. Then the grim realization sunk in that without any backup singers or extra microphones in sight, we probably weren't going to hear Love and Rockets' one big hit, "So Alive" (we didn't), and I was all but ready to write this one off, and perhaps suggest that it really ought to have been a big Bauhaus farewell show instead.

And then... this happened:



And it was awesome.

The National [7:15 p.m.]



Photos by Kirstie Shanley

Irony? As I was walking away from a prime spot for the Nine Inch Nails set, the National's Matt Berninger began singing over yonder, "Walk away now, and you'll start a war." And indeed, the internal conflict was something fierce, but I had my assignment-- and heck, I like the National too-- so victory in this war was theirs.

Indeed, I like the National enough that I forgive the occasional dud lyric, though I have to wonder if even Berninger feels a little embarrassed when he sings a line like, "I'm sorry I missed you/ I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain." But hey, at least that song-- Alligator opener "Secret Meeting"-- gives the man a chance to really let loose with the yelling, something he doesn't really get to do with any of the material off last year's excellent Boxer.

Berninger would get that chance two more times, including an electrifying finale of Alligator closer "Mr. November". Rather than go the obvious route in light of the band's recent t-shirt campaign, Berninger instead announced that he was not dedicating the song to John McCain.

But it was during the much more subdued and melancholic "Racing Like a Pro", whilst panning a sea of sun-battered but smiling faces, that it occurred to me: what more perfect post-festival comedown music could one ask for? I even considered skipping NIN altogether, so that I might savor the mood of this moment on the long ride home. I'd ultimately opt to let Trent Reznor shatter that serenity, but what a sublime serenity it was.