We'd been planning to go to Lollapalooza since April of this year. We just had to go. It was going to be on my brothers birthday, there was tons of amazing musicians we wanted to see and on top of that, we both were do for a much needed reward. Life hasn't been the kindest these past few years. I've struggled in almost every possible way; through addiction, heart ache, homelessness and fights. However, everything up until a few weeks ago was telling us it wasn't going to happen. I barely had enough money to feed myself, let alone throw down 200 some dollars for a concert. Then, the universe began to work with me. I found myself a source of funds that allowed us to just barely buy tickets before they got ridiculous. This helped me realize that sometimes, hoping is half the battle. I simply had faith it was going to work out. Everything. We WERE going to get our tickets. We WERE going to get down there. We WERE NOT going to be sleeping on the streets. And thankfully, it all paid off so awesomely.
Last week was hectic though. I had mad work on my plate to accomplish before setting sail. And after all that was done, we still had to find a place to stay once we got to Chicago. Tickets were one thing. We knew we would be seeing our shows. But up until last Wednesday, we didn't have a floor to crash on. Everything just fell into place for us though. Everything. One of my brothers friends moms was kind enough to take us in. And not only that, but she was kind enough to feed us delicious home cooked meals and stories that I'm not sure can ever be topped. I'm still weighing out which was better- seeing our favorite dubstep groups or meeting someone who played Risk in the nude with Alan Ginsberg. Tough one right there.
Saturday was nuts. For a lot of reasons. For one, having numerous people we were trying to meet up with every hour was so intense to keep up on. With 300,000 people packed within a couple miles of each other, phones just didn't work how they should. Texts wouldn't send, phone calls could be made in disappointing intervals. It was ridiculous. For two, I can say now, even though I realize how sad it is to say this at my age, I definitely should have stretched out before going to the park. Full fledged, every body part, neck, shoulders, back, everything. With trying to find all those people, and trying to get to shows on time, we were standing/ walking/ dancing for 8 hours. Apparently, that does more to a body than I anticipated. Even with the laziest dougie and head bob I threw down, I still ended up stiff as fuck by 9:30. I had to push through that shit though. There was too much to enjoy to worry about my back snapping in half. Beats Antique, Pretty Lights, Super Mash Bros ugh... too much deliciousness for my ears and mind to worry about stupid body parts. I do have to say that Cee Lo... was so... fucking... wack. I really want to know whats going on with him. He needs to go back to his Gnarls roots. Just stop dude. Seriously. Stop.
The train ride back that night felt like hell. Literally. The train was pack front to back and on top of that, it was a sauna. No joke. Just hundreds of sweating, drunk zombies sweltering in this hot box waiting for their stop. It was so rugged. So. Rugged. I think the shower that night was one of the highlights.
The next day, I could barely move. I had this beautiful migraine setting up shop EVERYWHERE in my head. Front, sides, back by my neck. It was great. The bass in Perrys tent was getting so loud that peoples noses were bleeding. Sound ordinances were getting broken. Sets were getting shut down. I think a couple of screws in my head were coming loose too. Anyway, I woke up and had a beautiful conversation with a fellow artist/ writer for about 2 hours. Talked about everything. It got real. I like that. Then, I walked into where my brother was sleeping and said " YO, so its getting late and we need to figure shit out. ONE MORE DAY, lets get it buddy." He looked like ass. We got moving though, and made it down to the park in time for me to catch the last half hour of The Cool Kids, who also got cut off right before Asher Roth came on stage for some shit. He came all the way there for just that little part... and he couldn't even do it. Whatever, I dont really like that guy anyway.
We spent about 45 minutes sitting down after that. We found a nice little spot where grass still existed and sat like pros. Another hot ass day. Everything was throbbing. In the back ground we could hear the constant rattling of 12th Planet and Chuckie, so we weren't missing out on much. I still heard what I needed to. Then, I looked at the sky line and noticed the clouds were coming in fast. And dark. I was happy. A little rain would be fucking great right about now. It was getting close to Jr. Gong and Nas' set, so we hiked our way over to that side of the park. By the time we got our spots, the rain came. And I dont just mean drizzling, little cooling type rain. This was a down pour. It looked like something straight out of the catacombs of Woodstock. The ground quickly turned to half inch mud. Peoples clothes came off. We got drenched from head to toe. Everything. Shorts, shoes, my wallet is still soaked. The crowd would cheer every time the rain came down harder and harder. It was hard not to appreciate the elements at that point. Then the sound of guitars and tambourines came on through the speakers and suddenly, the rain stopped. The clouds parted for Nas and Damian to come out and wreck shit. They came out so hard. That set was so hard. Period. Hands down, one of my favorite shows of the weekend. Ailments and all. Probably the only songs I actually sang along with. They didn't let me down at the Rock the Bells two years ago, and they definitely didn't let me down this year. Amazing.
Afterward, I had to fuckin sit down for a second. I had to. My back was done for. I was shivering. I had to take my shoes off and try to squeeze as much water out as I could. The streets were filled with muddy, ready to go folks. We sat by the fence eating some shit and people watching for a little bit. We had about an hour till Deadmau5 came on. My brother started trying to set up our ride back to the burbs when I looked up and noticed ANOTHER fucking storm was coming. Much more dark than the last one. And this one was coming in fast. We looked at each other and agreed that we couldn't make it through another downpour. We were still wet from the last one. So I had to make one of the hardest decisions in my hole life: stay for Deadmau5 or make it to safety.
We left. Reluctantly and pissed off at my wussy behavior, we decided to walk. As we left, we heard just as many people walking around us pissed off that they had to leave too. So at least we weren't alone in the decision.
All in all, this was a hell of a weekend. A music festival is something everyone should experience at least once in their life. It was a utopia. Tons of great people all gathering together to appreciate life and music and each other. A place where drugs are used like water out in the open, where people let go of who they were on the outside of those gates and a place where everything going on is something worth partaking in.
But god, these were some extremely fancy Pretty Lights huh?
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