Lollapalooza
Berlin 2015

The Lollapalooza story began in 1991, when Jane’s Addiction frontman Perry Farrell curated the festival as a farewell tour for his band. The festival kept going as an annual tour of North America up until 1997, before being revived at various locations in the noughties such as Chicago, Santiago and São Paulo.

That early golden Lollapalooza era, which comprised of 90s alt-rock and hip-hop royalty – and of course Homer Simpson being shot in the stomach with a cannonball – bears hardly any resemblance to this particular weekend, which includes a fair amount of unapologetically commercial artists (e.g. Clean Bandit, James Bay and Bastille). Nonetheless, there’s certainly enough good stuff for us to get our teeth into.

We kick our weekend off with Parquet Courts, whose deadpan garage punk probably wouldn’t have sounded out of place at those early Lollapalooza festivals, particularly during the excellent Stoned and Starving. We then continue with a DJ set from Joe Goddard, who plays a trademark hour of house, hip-hop and disco, culminating in Prince’s I Wanna Be Your Lover, which sounds just lovely in the warm September sun.

Sparks and Franz Ferdinand unite under their collaborative moniker FFS. Playing songs from the back catalogue of each band along with songs off the debut FFS album from earlier this year, they’re able to put together one hell of a festival set. If nothing else, Ron Mael, staring grimly from behind his keyboard, still has one of the best onstage personas in the world.

The weekend’s most bizarre performance by a distance comes from Mr Lollapalooza himself. Perry Farrell is on the bill, and he’s playing on his own stage, “Perry’s Stage”. As we approach, big, trashy electro comes vomiting out of the PA underneath a voiceover promising a new experience for our mind, body and soul. Uh oh. Naff house veteran DJ Joachim Garraud then emerges and starts to hype Farrell and his wife, Etty Lau Farrell.

Garraud leaves his post behind his laptop every three minutes to play a riff on his keytar or chuck alien masks into the crowd. All the while, videos containing the trio are projected as the stage backdrop, including one of a giant Perry Farrell dancing in a vest while the real life Perry Farrell – who’s wearing a black cowboy hat and gold medallion – works the crowd. But you know what? The Farrells seem very much in love, and there’s a few thousand punters bopping around, too buzzed to care about what it actually sounds like, so yeah, whatever, good luck to them.

Back on Perry’s stage later is Dog Blood, the collaboration of Boys Noize and Skrillex which sounds, well, exactly like you would expect a collaboration between Boys Noize and Skrillex to sound. It’s absolute filth, and not in a good way, and so it’s a relief to end the day with a greatest hits set from The Libertines. Having cancelled shows in Camden and Manchester over the previous two evenings due to Pete Doherty suffering anxiety attacks, we count ourselves lucky to be able to cap off Saturday with sing-alongs to The Delaney, Horrorshow and Death on the Stairs.

Sunday is another scorcher, so not ideal conditions for Brand New who look like they’d be more comfortable playing their emo-post-hardcore with their hoods up. They really have an enduring quality, the hugeness of their sound today showing why they have now made the progression to delivering the goods in arenas the world over. And Sic Transit Gloria… Glory Fades is still great fun live.

Run The Jewels are raucous and fun as ever, taking to the stage to Queen’s We Are the Champions before tearing through an hour of high-octane beats and obscene punchlines. Where RTJ are consistent in their ability to throw a great party, My Morning Jacket never fail to make everything feel serene and beautiful, with Jim James once again reminding us that he is a formidable guitarist and vocalist. Wearing a towel on his head while singing angelically in note perfect falsetto, he’s a like a hairy, psychedelic cherub who has the ability to transport you to different worlds over the space over a few moments.

All round lovely bloke Stuart Murdoch then leads Belle and Sebastian through a string of perfect indie pop songs, before instigating the least rowdy stage invasion you’ll ever see for The Boy with the Arab Strap. All that’s left is for Tame Impala to close the festival with their brand of elegant, psychedelia before a swirling, multi-coloured backdrop. They really are flawless, particularly on Mind Mischief and Eventually, and it’s incredibly impressive how all the detail that Kevin Parker pours into his records comes through during the band’s live performances. It’s a beautiful sound, and the perfect way to end a great weekend.