Yes, I did plagiarize “down to fork” from the Chi Trib’s Red Eye, but I hate the Chi trib.
The rough draft for this post was something along the lines of “LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B OH MY GOD BASED GOD LIL B LIL B LIL B WOO WOO WOO WOO WOO WOO WOO WOO LIL B #COOKIN WOO #VERYRARE #RARE ULTRA RARE WOO WOO WOO LIL B WOO WOO” but then I made some minor grammatical changes, and what ensues is the final copy.
You know what they say: Sunday, funday. What happened on Friday was a nightmare compared to Sunday. Actually, no. Friday had its nightmarish moments in its own right. Anyway, by Sunday, my blisters had multiplied (shout out to working extra hours on Saturday with my organization!). I’m convinced it takes true talent to grow blisters WITHIN other blisters. Needless to say, my 25 minute walk to Union Park was unnecessarily long and excruciatingly painful.
I was asked to work at the sound board for the red stage. Do you know whose stage was the red stage? LIL B’s. My gig entailed handing water bottles out to people from the comfort of my seat and its immediate area; the rest of the time I watched acts on either the red or green stages (because I had a perfect view of each). First I saw Tree. I had read earlier that he “[felt] good. [looked] good.” but I didn’t quite anticipate that he and his crew would look dapper as fuck. They walked onto the green stage wearing black dress pants (though Tree wore khakis) and white button ups with ties (and a blouse for the fine lady with the killer vocals). He was loud and all over the place, and I mean this in the purest way possible. His set was fucking awesome. Much to my dismay, he didn’t bring in my boy Danny Brown to join him, but he still totally owned and represented all the badassness that I love about Chicago.
Next was Foxygen on the red stage. My first thought was “great. Now I have to hear some folk indie shit after this gangsta-as-hell rap set.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for ~indie folk punk grunge alternative~ thingys, but not really after I listen to cold, hard, honest-to-god soul trap. They played this weird, mellow Bob Dylan-esque, lemonade-listening songs. It was way chill, or they might prefer, judging by how they looked, that I say something like “totally gnarly, brah. Absolutely radical, dude. Cowabunga.” It was peaceful and kinda perfect for just relaxing in the sun, which as it turns out, was exactly what I felt like doing. I had forgotten to put sunscreen on my face, but lucky for me, I only burned/tanned half of my face (AGAIN. THE SAME SIDE) because my enormous hair shaded the other side (GOD DAMN YOU COW LICK!!!!!!!!!). Furthermore, because I am very skilled in the art of logic and sense, I put on my glasses (of the non-sun persuasion), so I ALSO got a bitchin’ cat-eye frame tan. More importantly, I will definitely be checking out Foxygen’s albums.
Next I saw the one, the only… K I L L E R M I K E. It was hard to grasp that fact that this individual was actually in my presence. I thought I was excited to see him, but the 40-something year old punk librarian who was volunteering with me damn near pissed his pants. I’m not talking trash about him or anything. On the contrary, I thought it was kind of adorable how happy he was to see KILLLAAAA. I learned a thing or two about Mr. Killer, but the most relevant are that he smokes weed and goes to strip clubs with his wife. I want a Killer relationship what the fuck?
Following was El-P on the adjacent stage. Naturally, Killer Mike showed up and practically performed for the entirety of El-P’s set with him. I wasn’t sure what to expect because I don’t listen to much of El-P, but he was kinda phenomenal. I think the duo did an great job with Run the Jewels. You should give it a listen. I don’t have too much else to say about this performance because I was counting down the seconds for my shift to be over (at 4) so I could go to be elusive blue stage eleven miles away to see Waxahatchee.
Eventually, after hours and hours and hours of treading through the swarms of sweaty girls with flower crowns and dudes who thoughtlessly wore button-up shirts, I made it to Waxahatchee. The crowd was an amalgam of skinny white girls straight out of Forever 21 and a few guys who had the “I’m too obscure for you” face. It was so awesome. I didn’t get very far into the crowd before I realized that I didn’t really want to be there and that Katie Crutchfield is too sad for me. I once listened to Cerulean Salt and cried for 45 days straight. Then I was all like “ok I’ll listen to American Weekend” and I’m still crying about it– I probably listened to that like four months ago. The music itself was nice if I drowned out all the words with happy thoughts, but the crowd was unforgiving, so I was glad when the set finished about ten minutes after I got there. Thank you but no thank you. I don’t cry in public and the last thing I need is some Holier Than Thou asshole rolling his eyes at me.
Did I feel weird at Pitchfork because I was wearing running pants and running shoes? Yes. I commend the girls who wore their bikinis with (or without!) shorts because most people, I guess, envisioned an underground fashion show because I saw gorgeous dresses paired with fucking heels. I mean, it’s not my problem at all, AT ALL, but I certainly did not feel bad for the homegirls who looked somewhat troubled while walking on BUMPY GRASS.. AT THE FESTIVAL GROUNDS. The only thing I could feel was: “????????” As for the guys, well, it was very divided. There was a faction of dude-bros who wore no shirts or tanks/tshirts and shorts and converse and who looked drunk and happy and there was this other faction who, like many girls, wore fashionable attire to an all-day, sunny, late July event at a park. There were the aforementioned guys in button-ups, guys who wore overalls and gladiator sandals, guys (unsure of preferred pro/nouns) in dresses (no shame, but again…DRESSES AT PITCHFORK????), guys in all black because they gotta look punk as fuck everywhere they go, and well, I could go on, but I won’t. I should have ditched the running pants and worn a bathing suit, but I shall save this idea for next year.
This was my first year at P4k, and it was a success. As you definitely know because you definitely read the previous post, Friday I met up with my friend, but Sunday I went alone. I was concerned because I had thought I would have to awkwardly stare at my phone so as not seem lonely, but the event turned out to be 1. too busy and AWESOME to really use my phone 2. very friendly. The volunteers I worked with were VERY COOL. We talked about Murakami, DFW, Franzen, sci-fi, Chicago bookstores, where we work/volunteer(/intern), why we hate R. Kelly but can listen to Bump ’n’ Grind like no one’s bidness, Pissed Jeans, clavicle-long beards, and Tunisia. Shout out to Lindsey, Katie, Dan and Jeremy. I think I’m forgetting someone.
OH MY GOD BASED GOD YOU CAN FUCK MY BITCH BASED GOD #SWAG #BITCHESONMYDICKCUZILOOKLIKEJKROWLING #WOO WOO WOO WOO WOO I LOVE #YOU THANK YOU BASED GOD
So after the failed Waxahatchee episode, I walked back towards the red stage and sat down for a while before submitting myself to the growing crowd for Lil B. Before I actually got up, however, I asked myself why the hell I wanted to be surrounded by thousands of people who like Lil B. One or two people, yes, definitely. Five thousand? Probably not. Too many people who like Lil b = too many people who are like me = too many people who are obnoxious = bad. Slipknot, however, said it more eloquently: PEOPLE=SHIT.
Actually, I don’t ever want to be more than a foot closer to anybody in this world after Lil B for two reasons: 1. people were all up IN my grill trying to get closer to the stage, and when the set finally started (TYBG), all the white people of the world came together to #cook and elbowed me in the ribcage and spine like it was their last day on Earth. It was weird for me because I finally realized that for every black person who listens to Lil B, there are five hundred million white people. Or maybe this observation was skewed because tickets were $5o dollars per day, and I guess only the People of the Suburbs can afford that and not disenfranchised minorities (thanks politics!). 2. I TOUCHED BASED GOD SO I CAN NEVER TOUCH ANYTHING OR ANYONE EVER AGAIN BECAUSE IT/THEY ARE UNCLEAN AND UNWORTHY OF MY HAND THAT I WILL NEVER WASH AFTER I HAVING TOUCHED HIS RIBS AND RIGHT ARM. Lil B was too extraordinary to describe in words, and I ain’t about to try, so you will be left wondering what the hell that was like. I will say, however, that the show was enhanced by the fact that I was undeniably second-hand high. Everyone around me was going hard on the j, and yours truly was but a free rider to this arguably positive externality.
I was going to stick around for M.I.A, but I couldn’t move because the park was completely sold out and immobile. I decided to leave; no one is worth the puking of claustrophobia. I missed R. Kelly, but I can bump and grind nearly everywhere else in the world and not be concerned that I’m in front of a pedophile. The train ride was cold and seemingly eternal, but that’s ok. Today is now Monday and tomorrow I am importing my best friend from Arizona.
LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B LIL B THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD THANK YOU BASED GOD .
homegurl out. (TYBG)