Pitchfork

Photos by Kirstie Shanley (unless otherwise indicated); above photo by Matthew Solarski; text by Matthew Solarski

Behold, the second Solarski dispatch from the Lollapalooza front. You may check out/revisit the first one here.

Tapes 'n Tapes [MySpace Stage; 1:30 p.m.]






Hightailing it from indie sensation to indie sensation, it's easy to forget Lollapalooza plays host to all sorts of generic and no-name rock acts-- bands that say things like "ARE YOU READDDDY??", as James Murphy so aptly parodied the day before. Had I not known them, I might have mistaken Minneapolis' Tapes 'n Tapes for one of these as I approached the MySpace Stage, head still spinning after a deliriously exuberant showing from I'm From Barcelona (who, for the record, lost the numbers battle to the Polyphonic Spree, but wound up winning the enthusiasm war).

I don't recall this band being so forceful, but harsh sounds abounded during the first half of their set, comprised mainly of new songs-- with crunchy bass, barked out vocals, punchy staccato bits-- such that shimmery keys here or the warm murmur of a euphonium there felt like a soft caress to everything else's whiplash. Josh Grier even kicked off a song with a forceful "1! 2! 3! 4!"; I could have been watching James Hetfield.

Tapes sanded down the rough edges during the latter half of the set, playing familiar, jaunty fare like "Cowbell" and "Insistor", still the fulcrum of the band's sets. A cursory scan across the audience, however, revealed a distressingly low head-bobbing index, while crowd shots on the stageside jumbotron depicted a sea of blank but attentive faces, suggesting the crowd was just taking it all in, not sure what to do about it. I wasn't sure either.

Rhymefest [Playstation Stage; 3:30 p.m.]





Photo 3 by Matthew Solarski

Chitown's own Rhymefest brought a DJ, two sidemen, breakdancers from Chicago Tribe, and a nine-piece funk band called Zzajé to the smaller Playstation Stage, but this big huggable bear of a hip-hopper is still at his best all alone on the microphone, as on a mid-set a cappella built around the question, "What's the closest you've ever been to...?"

While a bad mix marred many of the other selections (the band and DJ were first too quiet, then too loud), 'Fest also showcased new jams he put together with Kanye West, Just Blaze, and DJ Jazzy Jeff-- the third of which, if you'd believe it, was another highlight: a grimy number constructed over a thunderstorm sample that had Rhymefest at his most focused.

Indeed, focus will be key if the man born Che Smith ever hopes to truly break out. And he'll have to beware of getting a little too wrapped up in asserting he's the genuine article rather than being it. When a small fight broke out in the second row, for instance-- affording Che a chance to practice what he preaches-- he was too busy talking up his new album to notice.

The Roots [Bud Light Stage; 4:30 p.m.]










Do You Want More?!!??! the Roots once asked, and with a live Roots show, you get more-- perhaps too much, depending on your tolerance for, yes, jam bands. But to say the Roots are a hip-hop jam band isn't to diss them. Their live chops are second to none, and this show went like clockwork, doubtless leaving the affable (and ridiculously white) audience more than satisfied.

MC Black Thought knows how to work a crowd, whether inciting hands to raise, tossing in the odd Basement Jaxx reference, or leap-frogging through a medley of recent radio hits and classics that appropriated ODB, Biz Markie, Rich Boy, Mims, and more. Even the solos were a notch above, particular's Hub's extended bass bit early in the set.

But a 10+ minute rendition of "You Got Me", complete with solos and breakdowns, one might argue, saps much of the emotional thrust from the original. Then again, who wants to feel all emotional at five o'clock on a weekend afternoon?

Regina Spektor [Adidas Stage; 5:30 p.m.]

Photo by Matthew Solarski

Spektor thrives on two fronts, humor and pathos, and they often cohabit her songs. The humor-- and she can be quite funny-- springs from eyebrow-raising lines intended to garner a response; dudes and gals alike smile (for different reasons, one suspects) when Spektor declares "Summer in the city means cleavage, cleavage, cleavage!", while a mix of discomfort and awed laughter erupts when "Bobbing for Apples" culminates in the repeated line, "Someone next door's fucking to one of my songs!"

But lines like that have diminishing returns, and Spektor's gig would soon be up if she didn't so ably play that pathos card. Following a nearly a cappella intro (with Spektor tapping out a spare beat on her microphone), the gal flashed a smile that took up half her face and proclaimed, "I love you all so much!" It's useless to question intent, but what matters here is her sentiment felt genuine.

Songs like "Us" and "Samson", too, tug at the heartstrings more than they tap the funny bone; the latter prompted one of those Two Dudes at a Chick Show Grappling With Emotions conversations to spring up to my immediate right:

Dude #1 [talking over poignant song]: Wow, man, she's pretty good.
Dude #2: Yeah, man, for real.
Dude #1: Super talented.
Dude #2: For sure, she's great.
Dude #1: Yeah, awesome.
Dude #2: How 'bout a beer?

It says something that Spektor-- here on guitar for a couple songs, and baby grand for the rest-- is probably the only act I'll see this weekend that carries a major stage all by herself.

Spoon [MySpace Stage; 7:30 p.m.]








So this was Encyclopedia Brown and the Mystery of the Missing Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Songs. No "You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb", no "The Ghost of You Lingers". And where the hell were consensus favorites "Finer Feelings" and "The Underdog"? I realize a crucial set of instruments was missing, but couldn't they have rounded up a few stray I'm From Barcelona members backstage and formed an ad hoc horn section?

Where I come from, we were taught that when you release an ace album, you should play the acest songs from it at your shows. But I'm sure Spoon had their reasons (the absence of a horn section, for one, is legit), and what they did play was tight, demonstrating again that restraint may be Spoon's greatest asset. Taken in context, the little guitar outburst in "The Beast and Dragon, Adored"-- to cite an example-- could trump a thousand Slash solos.

While one wishes his bandmates would show a bit more pep, Britt Daniel's a fine showman with a boyish appeal, not unlike that of fellow tall-guy rocker Thurston Moore. And not long after "I Summon You", Spoon summoned the rain, which had been threatening since Rhymefest's late-afternoon set, to fall in earnest. Setlist qualms aside, I found this performance and the summertime showers similarly refreshing.

Muse [AT&T Stage; 8:30 p.m.]



Really bad Muse photos by Matthew Solarski

Early reports indicated that Muse's muse was in fact Radiohead, and on the strength of this lofty comparison and debut album Showbiz, these Brits attempted a largely unsuccessful U.S. invasion back in 1999. Undaunted by the lukewarm response Stateside, they quickly amassed arena-size audiences in pretty much every other developed country in the world, then finally clicked on this side of the pond in 2004, with the American release of third album Absolution. Now it's 2007, four albums into their career, and Muse finally have the U.S. arena reach to make them one of Lollapalooza's headlining acts.

High school me was all about these guys, using any and every opportunity to rock their first two albums. Naturally, then, I longed to hear the old tunes-- and I got a few: "New Born", "Plug In Baby", their cover of "Feeling Good" (which I never much cared for), and "Sunburn", which frontman Matt Bellamy dedicated to "anyone who remembers our first album."

And all the new material, culled from Absolution and most recent effort Black Holes and Revelations, made for adequate substitutes for Origin's most bombastic space opera moments. Bellamy's quite the performer too, equally at ease pounding out hard rock riffs and solos or going all Rachmaninov on an electric grand (with some kind of light up lid??!), all while maintaining an impressive falsetto.

The major dealbreaker here though, apart from the melodrama, is the lyrics. Most read like action movie poster taglines: Quips about the end of the world, time running out, fighting to survive, stuff like that. But bad lyrics sure didn't stop-- and indeed, probably only helped-- thousands from singing along. And the sometimes overcaffeinated light/video show-- no Daft Punk, but dazzling nonetheless-- only aided in creating a worthy day-capping spectacle.