Lollapalooza can sometimes feel like a practical joke of a festival. It’s an international gathering in a city that I’ve considered my “home town” for quite some time. It doesn’t have the arrest record of the Gathering of the Juggalos and it doesn’t have the snooty quality of Pitchfork. It’s an interesting change from all the street festivals around Chicago from April through September and I, presumably along with the rest of the world, fell in love with Perry Farrell’s wife Etty Lau Farrell during the too-brief singular season of VH1’s Married to Rock.
It’s both exclusive - where you want to be with golf carts - and totally egalitarian – where you might not want to be with people caked in mud. This year there was an ominous amount of rain and impromptu downtown hotel parties. FILTER became a tent amongst tents in the Media area for bringing in 300 White Castle burgers during afternoon crunch time. Countless people were able to get Jesse Pinkman to pose for Instagram shots with them. Additional countless people lost their minds while “dancing” to “primal beats” at Perry’s Tent.